Exerting his will like a single muscle, he bade his throbbing heart to slow its beat, willed the hot, choking excitement mounting in his chest to turn to an icy calm. He made himself wait until he could see the Gorgons’ faces, their bulging red eyes, squashed noses, and yellow fangs, waited until their carrion breath wrapped him in its fumes. Then he put the helmet on his head.
They were about to seize him in their claws. But he had vanished. They groped the thin air, searching, screaming, getting into each other’s way, and entangling their wings. They could not find him. They never guessed he was floating directly above them.
Deliberately, Perseus raised his sword and slashed down with all his strength, shearing off the Gorgon’s four wings, one by one, listening to the music of his enemies shrieking. They dropped like rocks out of the sky and smashed to the earth. Hearing the sickening sound when they hit, he knew that they were two bags of broken bones and that he could safely descend.
Alighting, Perseus waded through the stinking pools and slogged through the mud until he came to a kind of stone orchard that resembled a graveyard. He realized that he was in a grove of statues. Peering more closely at them in the fading light, he saw that they were the stone figures of men and beasts, the human faces wearing expressions of horror, the animals frozen in mid-flight or cowering in fear. He knew that he was among those who had looked upon Medusa.
Perseus raised his bright sickle sword and covered himself with his shield, judging his movement only by weight since he was invisible to himself. Very carefully, he wove his way through the statues until he heard a sound. Something was breathing heavily, snoring. He saw a glimmer of paleness, a movement. He tilted his shield so that whatever was there would be reflected in the polished metal.
He saw a head, saw its hair stand up and writhe, and knew that he had found Medusa. He felt his own hair prickle with horror, as if it too were turning into snakes. He stepped closer, raising his sword.
But the angle of the shield had changed, framing out the snakes, so that he saw only the face of the sleeper. And that face was beautiful. So beautiful and sad that he couldn’t bear the thought of striking it from its body. The sword trembled in his hand; the shield almost slipped from his grasp.
He steadied himself—now the reflection had shifted again. He saw the snakes writhing, swelling with fury, biting one another so that the blood ran over Medusa’s forehead. And the snake blood reeked of death. He felt himself beginning to swoon in the terrible stench and knew that he must act.
Perseus gripped his sword and felt it fuse to his hand, felt the blade become an extension of his arm, growing white-hot with his own intention. He whipped the blade downward in a savage backhanded blow, slashing down, slashing through snake and tendon, bone and sinew—watching the reflection of her head as it separated from her stalk of neck and rolled off his shield.
Perseus stooped swiftly, lifted the head by its limp snakes, stuffed it into his pouch, and stood gaping in wonder. Where the blood had fallen on the ground, two creatures had sprung forth—a warrior holding his own golden sword and a magnificant white stallion with golden mane and golden hooves and golden wings shaped like those of an eagle. They were Chrysaeor and Pegasus. Their seed had been planted by Poseidon, but Medusa had been unable to bear children while living as a monster, and they had grown inside her womb.
The warrior vanished into the mist. The white horse arched his neck, snorted triumphantly, and pawed the ground with his hoof.
Perseus sprang into the air and flew off as fast as he could. He didn’t want to think about the warrior and the horse and where they had come from. He didn’t want to think about the head in his pouch. But it was there.
12
Fruit of Victory
Perseus now had two more promises to keep. One offered pleasure, the other vengeance. When confronted by a choice, he preferred to do the harder thing first. But cutting off Medusa’s head had horrified him. For the first time in his young life he felt the kind of grief that becomes fatigue. And he decided to visit the Apple Nymphs first and restore himself through pleasure.
They greeted him with joyous laughter, welcoming him as nymphs have always welcomed heroes. They drew him into a wild dance among the apple trees, passing him from one to the other. The dance grew wilder and wilder until it slowed into a fragrant sleep.
Perseus awoke to new pleasures. The blood sang in his veins. The nymphs were as fresh as apple blossoms; they twined about him, urging him to stay.
“I have still another mission before me,” he said. “My mother is pursued by an evil king and has no one to help her except me. After I straighten out her affairs, I’ll be my own man again.”
“Will you come to us again and dance all the sunny day, then dance the night away? Will you … will you? Say you will.”
“I will!” cried Perseus. “Nothing will keep me away. I’ll come back every midsummer and dance with you until the leaves flame. We’ll dance the apples off the trees, press the fruit, and drink the juice. Farewell … farewell.…”
He picked up the pouch that bore the head of Medusa, leaped into the air, and flew away.
But he should have started his flight a bit sooner. For now the sky was growling with thunder. The mist that had veiled the eyes of Atlas had blown away in the morning wind. And the ill-natured Titan was eager to punish daughters and destroy guests.
Atlas stamped his foot. The earth shook. He shrugged his shoulders, and comets fell. They fell into the orchard, setting fire to the apple trees. Perseus felt his blood boiling as he watched the trees burn.
He flew straight toward the Titan. Hanging in the air before the giant scowling face, he opened his pouch and pulled out Medusa’s head.
“I return good for evil,” he cried. “You who do a mountain’s task shall have a mountain’s form and a mountain’s immunity to pain.”
He thrust Medusa’s head toward the giant eyes. The Titan turned to stone. He became a mountain holding up the western edge of the sky. And he remains Mount Atlas to this day.
Perseus shouted to the nymphs: “You are free now! You may entertain what guests you like—and tread night into day under your dancing feet. And I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
He wheeled in the air and headed east and south toward Seriphus.
13
The Princess of Joppa
Flying home, Perseus was blown off course. The wind carried him to the eastern rim of the Middle Sea, which was the Phoenician shore. He had climbed high; people crowding the shore below looked like an ant swarm. Swooping down, he saw that an enormous mob stood on the beach, staring out to sea. Among them stood a man and a woman wearing crowns.
Perseus looked to where all the people were staring and saw a strange sight. A naked girl was chained to a rock. She was festooned with jewelry, as if about to be married; but her face was a mask of terror. Perseus understood her fear. Plowing toward her was the great blunt head of a sea monster.
Perseus dropped to the beach and spoke to the man wearing the crown: “Who are you? Who is this maiden? Why is she being sacrificed?”
“My name is Cepheus,” replied the man. “I am king of Joppa. This lady is my wife, and that unlucky girl is my daughter, Andromeda. But I am not usually asked questions by anyone in that tone of voice.”
“And I am not usually treated to the spectacle of a father standing by and watching his daughter being devoured by a sea serpent.”
The king swelled with rage. His hand crept toward his dagger. But a thought struck him. This youth had dropped out of the sky, wearing winged sandals. He held a curious antique helmet, a superb shield, and a new-moon sword. Perhaps he was a messenger of the gods and had the right to ask questions. Cepheus fought down his fury and managed a smile.
“I beg your pardon, young sir,” he said. “You can understand that a father so distraught would forget the uses of courtesy.”
“The beast approaches!” cried Perseus. “Speak quickly!”
“It is sent
by Poseidon,” said the king. “My wife boasted that she and her daughter were the two most beautiful women in the world, more so by far than any Nereid. And the sea god, who has appointed himself patron of all Nereids, took strong offense. He sent this monster to harry our coast, destroy our ships, and devour our cattle. I consulted an oracle, who told me I could wipe out the insult only by sacrificing my daughter. Needless to say, this causes me great grief. But I am head of state, and must sacrifice my private feelings to public welfare.”
“Any state that nourishes itself on innocent blood does not deserve to fare well,” declared Perseus. “Poseidon happens to be my uncle; he will forgive me, perhaps, for sporting with one of his pets.”
He saw the blunt head coming closer to the rock now and knew they had spoken too long. Not waiting to put on his Helmet of Darkness, he leaped into the air, ankle-wings whirring. He flashed through the air and fell like a lightning bolt onto the great scaly back of the sea monster. The beast arched and bucked, lashing at him with its spiked tail, swerving its head to spit flame. Perseus rode the monster, hacking at the enormous head with his sword. But its scales were polished leather, tougher than bronze; they turned the blade.
Perseus knew there was only one thing to do. He rose into the air, pulled Medusa’s head from his pouch, and dived, holding the head before him, dived right at the beast, thrusting the head at it until it almost touched the monster’s muzzle.
The beast was caught with jaws agape, spitting fire. And even the flame turned to rosy marble as the heavy statue of a sea serpent sank to the bottom of the sea.
Perseus flew back to the rock, struck off Andromeda’s chains, and bore her through the air to where her parents stood.
“Your daughter lives,” said Perseus. “I claim her as my bride.”
“Your bride!” roared Cepheus. “She is the daughter of a thousand kings, the most richly dowered princess in the East. Do you think I’ll give her to a homeless vagabond who’s learned a few magic tricks?”
“I see your problem,” said Perseus. “If I had let the monster eat her, you could have kept the dowry for yourself. If you weren’t about to become my father-in-law, Cepheus, I would tell you how pitiful a king you are, how despicable a father.… And if you utter one more syllable I don’t like, I shall orphan your richly dowered daughter and make her an even richer heiress. Take care.”
He lifted Andromeda in his arms, jewels and all, and flew away, leaving king and queen gaping after him and the harbor half-blocked by the stone serpent.
14
A Hero Comes Home
Perseus flew night and day without stopping, and on the third evening he and Andromeda landed on Seriphus, only to find his mother’s house dark and the streets of the town empty.
He hurried to the palace and stood amazed in the courtyard. The marble building was blazing with light and rang with laughter and the clatter of voices. Magnificently clad courtiers thronged the steps and the great hallway. He pushed his way to the throne room.
There he saw his mother. She was dressed in white, hung with jewels, but she was deathly pale and staring glassily. The man clutching her arm and smiling like a crocodile was Polydectes. Perseus realized he had returned just in time, for the king was forcing Danae to marry him, and the ceremony was about to begin.
Perseus heard his own voice thundering through the chamber. “Stop!”
Silence fell. Perseus saw the king staring at him, saw him bare his teeth in a wolfish snarl and nod to his Royal Guard. They raised their axes and advanced in formation.
“I have redeemed my pledge, oh king,” said Perseus. “And I have flown across the world to bring you a gift. But I didn’t know it would be a wedding gift.”
He put his hand in his pouch. “Mother!” he shouted. “Close your eyes!”
He raised high the head of Medusa, and stood immediately in a gallery full of statues. Stone guards stood with stone axes poised. A snarling statue of Polydectes stood on the steps to the throne. There were statues of courtiers caught in mid-bow, smiling toward the king, or staring toward Perseus. And among the grove of statues stood the white, trembling, beloved figure of his mother.
Perseus went to her and took her in his arms. “I’m home now,” he said. “Your past is a nightmare. Your future will be a happy dream. Our enemy, the king, has become his own monument.”
“Two kings,” whispered Danae. “Praise the gods, Perseus. Their whim is our fate. Look …”
She pointed to one of the stone figures. It was a bearded man wearing a crown.
“Who is it?”
“Your grandfather, Acrisius … attending the nuptials of a fellow king, not knowing the bride was his own daughter.”
“Your father—who shut you in the tower?”
“Yes, to thwart a prophecy that a son of mine would kill him.”
“Delighted to oblige,” said Perseus. “My grandfather’s stony heart deserves a body to match. I met another loathsome father in my travels. Not quite so bestial as yours, perhaps, but bad enough. That reminds me: I’ve married his daughter. Come meet her.”
The next day, Perseus was polishing his shield, admiring the way the head of Medusa had burned its reflection into the metal. To his amazement, the head spoke out of the shield:
“Throw me into the sea.”
He gaped at it silently. It spoke again. “Into the sea, which is my home.”
“No! I need you,” cried Perseus. “You are the ultimate weapon. With your help, I’ll go from victory to victory.”
“Beware, Perseus. You cannot be constantly turning your enemies into stone without a deadly hardness entering your own heart. Stop using me as a weapon. Fight in the normal way. Take your chance of being killed. Don’t let success petrify you.”
“How can winning harm anyone? Only losers lose.”
“Not so. We monsters know that monstrous destruction leaves no winners.”
“Must I really give you up then?”
“Yes, my lovely boy. For your own sake, be rid of me. Go on to other warm-blooded conquests.”
Perseus took Medusa’s head to the shore. He looked directly into her face, unafraid, knowing he would not be turned to stone. For he had learned to love her face. And love drives out fear.
He kissed her lips and dropped the head into the sea. It sank to the bottom. And there it is to this day, rolling with the tides, making coral where it goes.
THE MINOTAUR
For my son, Tom
who tracks numbers down labyrinthine ways,
and now has a young Daedalus on his hands,
even as his father did …
So, of course, this is also for his son,
Jarah Evslin
Characters
Monster
The Minotaur
(MIHN oh tor)
Half man, half bull, wholly fatal
Cretans
Minos
(MEE nohss)
King of Crete; Emperor of the Lands of the Middle Sea
Ariadne
(air ih AD nee)
His daughter, a maiden acquainted with magic
Phaedra
(FEE druh)
His younger daughter; her sister’s rival
Europa
(yoo ROH puh)
His mother, a Phoenician princess abducted by Zeus
Pasiphae
(PAS ih fy)
His wife; mother of Ariadne, Phaedra, and the Minotaur
Athenians
Theseus
(THEE see uhs)
Prince of Athens; a hard-riding, easy-spoken young hero
Aegeus
(EE jee uhs)
King of Athens; supposed father of Theseus
Aethra
(ETH ruh)
Queen of Athens; seduced by Poseidon; mother of Theseus
Daedalus
(DEHD uh luhs)
Born in Athens but dwelling in Crete; most brilliant inventor of ancient times, or any time
Icarus
(IHK uh ruhs)
His son, also talented
Gods
Zeus
(ZOOS)
King of the Gods, Lord of the Sky, wielder of thunder and lightning; appearing here first as a bull and then in his own radiant form
Poseidon
(poh SY duhn)
God of the Sea, who sired Theseus during one high tide
Aphrodite
(af ruh DY tee)
Goddess of Love and Beauty, particularly to be feared when answering prayers
Others
The Barley-hag
A prophetic crone
Thera
(THEE ruh)
A sea nymph who sings to Theseus of battles to come
Contents
CHAPTER I
The Singing Bones
CHAPTER II
Son of the Sea God
CHAPTER III
The Tyrant
CHAPTER IV
Aphrodite’s Vengeance
CHAPTER V
The New Monster
CHAPTER VI
The Tribute
CHAPTER VII
Theseus Embarks
CHAPTER VIII
The Castaway
CHAPTER IX
The Sacrifice
CHAPTER X
Hero Meets Monster
1
The Singing Bones
The meadow around the maze was a huge velvety sward tended by gardeners who knew they would be thrown to the Minotaur if they allowed one blade of grass to grow too long.
Two girls were chasing each other over the green, but swerved suddenly and ran toward the outer hedge of the Labyrinth—a deadly puzzle-garden on the island of Crete. The bellowing had stopped, which meant that the killing had started. There was a pulsing hush, then the screaming began. It rose to a shriek, a horrid, anguished din scarcely muffled by the hedges—then fell to moaning and the gurgling coughs from gut wounds.
Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two Page 14