‘She can’t marry you,’ he said. ‘We have to stay here. I help Dictys with his catch.’
‘How old are you?’ asked the king. Dana? prayed to her son’s father.
‘Sixteen,’ said the boy, trying so hard not to look like a boy any more, as Dana? tried to will him back to infancy. It was her fault, she saw. She had never taught him about men’s cruelty, she had never wanted him to need to know. And here he was, sure that his answer would make this powerful man reconsider.
‘Sixteen.’ The king nodded. ‘Old enough.’
‘Old enough for what?’ Perseus replied.
‘You want your mother to stay here with you and him?’ Dana? could almost taste the viciousness in the king’s voice that her son could not even hear.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Perseus.
‘Very well.’ Polydectes turned in his chair so he could look the boy fully in the face. ‘Then she shall stay while you go and fetch me something I want. You can sail, we know that. And you must be strong from carrying all those fish up the hill every day.’
‘I am.’ Perseus straightened a little, not seeing the trap.
‘Good, then you can bring me something that would be impossible for an ordinary young man.’ The king smiled. ‘The head of a Gorgon.’
‘Brother,’ said Dictys. ‘Please.’
‘Of course I can,’ said Perseus. ‘She stays here until I return?’
‘Well, I don’t want to give you a reason to delay,’ Polydectes said. ‘So let’s say a month, shall we? No, two months, because your mother looks so sad at the thought of you having to rush. That should be more than enough time for you to travel to the Gorgon lair and home again.’
He stood up and took a step towards the door.
‘I’ll return in two months,’ he said to Dana?. ‘You’ll be ready to accompany me then.’
And having destroyed their home, he walked out of it.
Gorgoneion
You’re probably feeling sorry for him now, aren’t you? Poor little Perseus, the reluctant hero. Defender of his mother’s honour. Boastful little fool: if he had simply kept his mouth shut while Polydectes was swaggering around trying to intimidate him. All he had to do was behave like any other of the king’s subjects. Say yes sire, no sire, whenever he was spoken to, and the whole thing would have been over by now. Dana? would have gone to the palace and, what? What harm would have been done, exactly? Polydectes isn’t a monster, he’s just a pompous little man with an irrational grudge against his brother. Greece is literally full of men like this. Dana? only had to offer a few words of criticism of Dictys as she swanned around the palace for a few days, having other people sweeping the floors for a change and eating something that didn’t have gills. Would that have been such an imposition? Food without scales. Most people would be relieved.
Polydectes would have lost interest in her in weeks, probably days. He only wants her because his brother had her: he’s the king. He can have anyone he wants as his wife. The second-hand wife of a dead man （as he believes Dana? to be） and housekeeper to an unloved brother? She’s hardly the trophy he’s looking for. Maybe if he knew about the Zeus connection, that might be persuasive? Although he might find that intimidating. （Do you really want to take the place of the king of the gods in a woman’s bed? Even if that king of the gods was golden rain when he appeared to her?） It’s often hard to say with men, isn’t it?
Anyway, don’t even begin to feel sorry for that brat. He isn’t saving his mother from some awful torment. He’s saving her from the mild inconvenience of travelling a day or two on horseback, making a few snide remarks about former lovers until the king – who isn’t even interested in her, just spiteful – loses patience and sends her away again. Probably lending her a horse for the return journey.
The idea that Perseus is a hero is one I have taken exception to since – I can’t even tell you how long it is. As long as I’ve known his name. He’s arrogant and he’s spoiled. You can’t blame Dana? for it: she had such a traumatic start to his life. She’s always let him do as he pleases. Dictys could have disciplined the boy better, I suppose. But it’s hard with a boy who isn’t your own. And he was so thrilled to have a child in his home, against all his expectations. Of course he indulged him: he followed Dana?’s lead.
And none of that would even have mattered if Perseus had stayed in his little village, catching fish for the rest of his life, upsetting no one. Well, the fish probably wouldn’t have liked him much, I suppose. But no one thinks about fish.
Certainly not Perseus who – you’ll soon see – has no interest in the wellbeing of any creature if it impedes his desire to do whatever he wants. He is a vicious little thug and the sooner you grasp that, and stop thinking of him as a brave boy hero, the closer you’ll be to understanding what actually happened.
Athene
Athene loved her new breastplate, loved it in the same way she loved her owl. She loved the way it gleamed in the sun, couldn’t stop turning it in her hands and watching it catch the light. It wasn’t bright and glittery, like metal. And not dull, like animal skin, only becoming shiny through use and wear. It had the beautiful soft glow of Parian marble gleaming in the evening light. Hephaestus had worked it into the perfect piece of armour for her, although he had a curious expression while he did it. Athene wondered what was bothering him – he made armour all the time – but she didn’t ask because she wasn’t very concerned so long as he made her what she wanted. And if he didn’t want to know where she had found her skin, she didn’t really know why he’d asked her. But whatever his reservations had been, they hadn’t interfered with his work. Quite the opposite, in fact: he had made it more quickly than even she had anticipated. The fastenings were strong and it fitted perfectly.
She was wearing it now, as she thought back over the war. She had relived it many times already, but it never hurt to do so again. She revelled anew in the noise and dust and blood, and the smell of burning from each lightning bolt Zeus fired. It was the first time she felt she really understood any of the other gods, when she thought about how they fought and killed. The coldness of Apollo and Artemis made more sense to her when she remembered them with bows and arrows in their hands. The shiftiness of Hermes wasn’t directed at her, it was in his nature: that was why he fought using tricks and deception. Her father, raining his anger down almost indiscriminately. Poseidon cornering his opponent in the sea, where he was strongest. And then a small annoyance rose within her, when she had that last thought. She couldn’t quite identify it. The sea, was it something about the sea? She allowed the sea to fill her mind, cast her nets around it. No, that wasn’t it. Poseidon, then? Yes, the annoyance buzzed a little louder. Something to do with her uncle. But whatever it was hadn’t happened during the war on the giants, had it? They had barely noticed one another, fighting in quite different parts of the battle. He hadn’t said or done anything to her. And then the buzzing intensified again. Yes, it was something he had done somewhere else, to someone else. But it had also been done to her. He had injured her in some way. And then in a rush, she remembered.