Stone Blind(27)

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.

He had taken some girl – mortal, nymph, she wasn’t sure. But he had done it in her temple. Hers. Where her statue could look down and see it all. She felt an encompassing rage. How dare he? How dare he when his temple was being built next door? He could rape or seduce whoever he liked there, Athene wouldn’t interfere. But to profane her temple, and not even to consider the insult worth an apology?

She would have to find a way to get her revenge on him later. He was – as so often – away in his ocean kingdom: she could not harm him there. There would be an opportunity to humiliate him later, she was quite sure. But in the meantime, her anger was roused and she needed to expend it.

The girl. The girl would do.





Medusa


It happened at night, so that Medusa could never be sure if she had dreamed it or if it was real, or if there was any difference between the two.

She knew it was Athene who stood before her, anger consuming her lovely face, helmet tilted back, spear in hand.

She could see the goddess’s lips move, but she could not hear the words, so that afterwards she felt that if only she had been able to make them out, she might have saved herself.

She was mistaken.

She felt a searing pain in every part of her skull, as though someone had wrapped her head in a cloth and then twisted and twisted it.

Her eyes were burning hot and seemed to be pulsing against their lids, so she believed she must be going blind.

She felt as if her scalp was tearing apart.

Afterwards, when she looked down at the place where her head had lain, there was a perfect halo of her curling hair left behind.