Lynkos ruled in Scythia, the vast grassland that stretches north of the Black Sea, a region that the Greeks knew only through the stories of traders and the reports of colonists who had settled on the northern coast. The Scythians were horse-riding nomads, fierce warriors who fought with bows and arrows from the saddle, and who buried their kings with horses, servants, and golden treasure in great burial mounds that dotted the steppe. Lynkos was one of their kings, or so the Greeks imagined him, a man who lived in a palace of wood and felt, surrounded by warriors whose lives were spent in raiding and herding, and who looked south toward the civilised world with a mixture of envy and contempt.

The civilised world came to him in the form of Triptolemus, the young hero of Eleusis, the sacred city in Attica where Demeter, the goddess of the grain, had established her most secret and most powerful cult. Triptolemus was the son of Celeus, the king of Eleusis, or in some accounts of Metanira, the queen, and he had been chosen by Demeter to carry the gift of agriculture to all the peoples of the earth. The goddess gave him a chariot drawn by winged serpents, creatures whose speed carried them across land and sea, and she placed in his hands the seeds of wheat and barley, the instructions for ploughing and sowing, and the promise that any land that accepted his teaching would never know famine. Triptolemus travelled from Greece to Syria, from Syria to Libya, from Libya to Asia, and everywhere he went he taught the people to break the earth and plant the seed, and the people welcomed him as a messenger of the gods.

When Triptolemus came to Scythia, Lynkos received him with the formal hospitality that kings owe to divine messengers. He offered him food and drink, listened to his account of the goddess's gift, and watched with wonder as the winged serpents coiled in the courtyard of his palace. But Lynkos was not a man who accepted gifts gracefully. He was a king of the steppe, a ruler whose power came from the sword and the horse, and he understood that the secret of agriculture was a power greater than any army. If he could possess the seed and the knowledge of how to plant it, he could feed a nation, build cities, and conquer the civilised south. The thought of receiving this gift as a lesson, of being taught by a young Greek as if he were a child, was intolerable to him. He decided to take the gift by theft and murder.

That night, while Triptolemus slept in the guest chamber of the palace, Lynkos took a sword and crept toward the bed where the hero lay. The winged serpents were coiled outside, their eyes closed in reptilian sleep, and the chariot stood in the courtyard ready for the morning's departure. Lynkos raised the sword above the sleeping form, preparing to strike a single blow that would kill the messenger and leave the secret in his hands alone. But Demeter, the goddess whose power extends to every seed in every field, was watching. She had blessed Triptolemus with her protection, and she saw the treachery of the Scythian king as clearly as she saw the growth of a blade of wheat. Before the sword could fall, she transformed Lynkos into a lynx, the spotted wild cat whose Greek name was lynx, a creature of the northern forests that hunts by night and whose eyes shine in the darkness.

The transformation was instant and terrible. Lynkos felt his body shrink and twist, his arms becoming legs, his face lengthening into a muzzle, his skin sprouting the spotted fur of the beast. The sword fell from paws that could no longer grip it, and the king of Scythia found himself on all fours, his human mind trapped in the body of a predator, his voice reduced to a growl. He fled from the palace into the northern forests, and Triptolemus woke to find the sword on the floor and the king vanished, and he understood that the goddess had protected him. He continued his journey, and the Scythians remained nomads, their land too cold for wheat, their people never learning the art that Lynkos had tried to steal.

The myth of Lynkos was told by the Greeks as a warning against the barbarian north, but it was also a story about the nature of the gift. Agriculture in the Greek mind was not merely a technique but a sacred covenant between humanity and the goddess of the grain. It could not be stolen. It could not be bought. It could only be received as a gift, taught by a messenger, and practised with reverence. Lynkos thought he could take it by force, and in that error he lost not only the gift but his humanity. The lynx that prowls the northern forests is, in the Greek telling, the king who wanted to be a farmer and became a beast instead.