Stone Blind(10)

Occasionally she thought about her father too, but she knew more about him and anyway, she only had to look at Euryale’s flock to see that mothers were all that mattered to their offspring, and the lambs were everything to their mothers in return. If they became separated because one of the lambs lost its footing, their distress was mutual. Euryale would fly to help the trapped lamb, reunite them so the frantic bleating would stop.

And that was what Medusa thought about as she sat high over the waves, gazing out over the darkening sea. If a sheep could be so devoted to its young, where was her mother? Did she not know where Medusa was, or did she not care? Would she perhaps see her daughter if Medusa came to this high rock each day and sat there for a while?

The Gorgon girl looked out across the vast ocean and believed she could be seen in return. And she could, but not by her mother.





Amphitrite


Amphitrite, queen of the sea, swam among the dolphins in the cerulean shallows thinking about how her husband had wooed her. He had fallen in love with her voice, he said, which reminded him of water lapping at the shore. And she enjoyed his pursuit, the compliments and the gifts. But there was something about him that made her uncomfortable, so she did not succumb to his undeniable charms. If anyone had thought to ask her why, she might have said that the pleasure she took in his attention was always slightly tainted by the feeling she had that in addition to his charm, which was always on show to her, he was capable of devastating cruelty. She had heard faint rumours: never a whole story, but partial echoes of many, as though she were trying to hear them by pressing a seashell to her ear.

Eventually, her disquiet had exceeded her delight in the gifts and the attention and she fled from the god, and from the sea that was his domain. She hid herself away, picking a defender who she believed could keep her safe. Even the Earthshaker would think twice about taking on Atlas. The Titan had protected her from Poseidon’s rage, but he could do little to keep her from Poseidon’s continuing attention. Messengers were sent, every day, to beg her to return to the deep. If she swam, the fish would murmur that he loved her. If she stayed on the shore, the wind would whip the sand into patterns of waves. There was never a threat, save in the relentlessness of his pursuit. The dolphins, which Poseidon knew to be her favourite, were the next to come and plead his case.

He’ll stop, Atlas said. One day he’ll just lose interest and give up. And she smiled because she wanted it to be true, and because she wanted Atlas to feel that he was reassuring her. But she already knew what the Titan did not, which was that Poseidon would never give up. How does the sea win any of its battles? By attrition.

And over the days and months and years, Amphitrite felt the sharp edges of her resistance wearing down. Wouldn’t it be easier, the dolphins asked (always so friendly), to return to the sea? And in the end, of course, it was easier. Easier to give in than to hold out. And Poseidon had been so delighted with her return, so pleased to make her his wife that he never mentioned the time she had kept him waiting, never hinted that it had been anything other than a delightful game of seduction from beginning to end.

And this was the pattern set for their marriage. Poseidon never showed his anger, and almost all traces of its expression were obliterated. If it weren’t for the sudden darting fear she could sometimes sense in the creatures that filled the water around her, she could have believed everything was as he wanted it to appear. And certainly, he was far more careful of her feelings than Zeus was to his wife, Hera. Amphitrite had to make quite an effort to find out who her husband was pursuing, and – with one exception which she now somewhat regretted because her response had not shown her at her best – she rarely bothered. Hera was her inspiration in this: who seemed to be happier? Amphitrite, swimming with her dolphins in the bright blue waters of the sea, her warm skin stroked by the weeds and the fish? Or Hera, consumed with rage, lost in an endless repeating cycle of fruitless revenge?

So Amphitrite usually paid little heed to her husband unless he was in front of her, giving her another beautiful shell containing another glorious pearl. But on this occasion, she could not help knowing where his attentions were focused. He seemed to be idling in the Mediterranean shallows every day, returning to the same stretch of coast over and over again. She had almost swum into him twice, and it was unlike him to be so careless. But he had been watching the strange Gorgon girl for months now. At least, Amphitrite assumed it was the girl he was watching, and not her Gorgon sisters. The other two had been there for a long time, and Poseidon had never dallied in their waters before. It was the new one who had caught his eye. The Gorgons didn’t fit anywhere, Amphitrite thought, except the lonely little beach they had chosen for themselves. But then, where could winged creatures, who were also daughters of Phorcys and Ceto, ever fit? Poor things. And yet, there was her husband spending every spare moment watching the girl who belonged half to the sea and half to the sky.

She didn’t need to ask him where he had been when he returned to her that evening, but she did, for the pleasure of hearing him lie. Admiring the temple of Hera, he said, which had been built by the townspeople high on the promontory. The distance from the Gorgons was not so great as to make this an implausible answer: Amphitrite had seen the temple too. And she agreed, it was impressive even viewed from far away, in the sea. A second temple was being planned, Poseidon said, and he wanted these people to honour him. No, they were not a seafaring people, he admitted. They did not live on an island, their land was fertile, their cattle grew strong. But he wanted them to offer him a temple nonetheless.