Panic shot through me, and my snakes began to writhe. What if Perseus decided to walk round the rock? What if this declaration meant that he’d had enough of my games, and would see me for who I truly was? How honest was he prepared for me to be?
I held my head in my hands, and my snakes fell forward like a morbid, warning, weeping willow. No matter, I said to them: I have to tell him how I feel.
‘Perseus,’ I whispered. ‘I think I love you too.’
On the other side of the rock, Perseus sighed. It was a strange sigh, a sound of contentment, and one of sadness.
‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ he said. ‘We promised to tell our stories to each other, and I keep my promises. You’ve told me about Poseidon. And I will never forget that. So tomorrow I will tell you why I left my home.’
CHAPTER NINE
Perseus returned to his cave and I to mine, promising to meet the next day, his love like a column of light I bathed in wherever I wandered. I could not believe my luck that he had found me on this remote island. I marvelled that we could fall for each other without meeting face to face, that the mortal mind was capable of such gymnastics when it wanted.
I believed the words he told me. I believed in the warmth I felt when I was near him. Until now, I’d never told a living soul the details of Poseidon. My sisters wanted me to blank it out, move on, start a fresh chapter. But you can’t start a fresh chapter until you’ve ended the old one. Perseus had turned up out of the blue, the sunlight at his back, and my story had flowed.
Maybe there was something inside him that I wanted for myself – the ease he had in his own body, his sense of freedom? Or maybe I’d sensed in him a slim chance to reclaim some of the happiness and magic the gods had taken from me? Tinder will not catch without a spark, and the fire was not all Perseus’s doing. I’d been taught for so long to ignore what was in me – my own fire, my own voice wanting to be heard. And now it was time. I wanted to tell my story.
But as much as light lets you see clearly, it can also leave you with nowhere to hide. I was frightened by the force of my feelings for him, and where it could possibly lead.
I wondered what Perseus did during the few hours he was awake and not with me. He never wanted for food, for I left him a parcel every day outside the entrance arch. Maybe he walked the island paths? Or strayed from them – because despite his declaration of love, I sensed a restlessness. Not always obvious, but always there – at odds with his golden inheritance, his lovely dog, the bold way he’d arrived here on a boat.
I had the impression that Perseus usually did a good job of hiding his true self. But on this island, with no one but me to talk to, it was not so easy to conceal. And Perseus always wanted to unpack himself, like a delicious picnic I dearly wanted to eat. We were dealing in the market of ourselves now, presenting our parts, the swift and heady bartering of tales. Something bad had driven him to leave Seriphos, of that I was sure; but what were the parts of his story he wasn’t telling?
I thought of the sword on his boat, the way it almost dwarfed him. The mesmerising shield, those winged sandals. But it wasn’t those instruments of war that bothered me. Like fool’s gold in lapis lazuli, something else was corrupting Perseus’s confidence and I couldn’t put my finger on what.
I pictured a possible future: Perseus and me, walking hand in hand along the shore, our dogs bounding ahead, the wind in our hair – or in my snakes – and everything whole and safe and fine. Or another future: maybe we’d take his boat and go travelling on the high seas? Or yet another: two small cribs, a homestead, sheep grazing on a hill, simple dinners under the stars. Another, another, another: these possibilities tortured me with their impossibility. Athena’s curse still rang in my ear. Woe betide any man fool enough to look upon you now! What woe? If she’d merely intended to damage my self-esteem, she’d managed it. But was it more?
In those weeks that followed, I didn’t leave the house. I didn’t even leave my bed. My sisters tried everything: sweet date cake, embraces, cool flannels, distance. The freshest octopus laced with lemon and thyme, grilled to perfection. But I couldn’t look at an octopus tentacle without wanting to be sick. I wanted simply to hide. I’d been punished enough, just for being myself.
But Athena had turned up, of course. ‘Where is she?’ I remember her saying. ‘Where is the little slut? Where’s Medusa?’
At the sound of her voice, I crawled out of our house, blinking at the bright moon. I kept a shawl round myself, hugging it tight.
‘How dare you!’ the goddess said. ‘You desecrated my sanctuary. Carrying on like that in my sacred place.’
I felt the floor sway beneath me. ‘Carrying on?’ I said. ‘I – He …’
(Back then, I couldn’t say those particular words.)
‘I trusted you,’ said Athena.
Stheno emerged from the front door, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, staring at our guest in astonishment. ‘What’s going on?’
By now Athena was glowing strangely, pointing her finger at me. It felt like an arrow piercing my skin: ‘That girl destroyed my temple.’
‘I rather think Poseidon did that,’ said Stheno.
‘And he would never have been there if it wasn’t for her,’ said Athena. ‘You two are to blame as well, for letting Poseidon set eyes on her in the first place.’
‘Oh, come on,’ said Euryale, who had followed Stheno out of the house. I suppose being immortal, they had the guts to talk to Athena like this. They’d known each other a long time.
‘Be reasonable, Athena,’ said Euryale with a grimace. ‘Be wise. You of all immortals should understand that Medusa had nothing to do with what happened in your temple. We could have put her on a desert island and he’d still have come to find her.’
‘Nothing to do with it?’ said Athena, pointing at me. ‘She was a willing party.’
‘A willing party?’ I repeated, choking on my own breath.
‘You knew what you were doing,’ the goddess said to me. ‘You promised him. And now my temple’s gone, my fountain, my pillars, my groves—’
‘I didn’t promise him a thing!’
Athena sneered. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. You fickle mortals! When you were out on the water, you made him a promise, girl, and what you allowed to happen in my temple—’
‘Made him a promise? Allowed?’ Euryale was shouting now. ‘You think she set a candlelit dinner in your temple and sent that brute an invitation? And besides – any promise forced like that is more than allowed to be broken, and you know it, Athena. Poseidon intimidated her, he hurt her, and now he’s trying to discredit her. And all Medusa did was utter some words in distress. She asked for your help, Athena. You said you’d protect her. So go and bother Poseidon about this, not her, or by Zeus, I’ll—’
‘What? What will you do?’ Athena laughed; Euryale could only glower.
We all knew why Athena was laughing. She was one of the most powerful goddesses in the world, unintimidated by Euryale’s threats.
Yet again I fell mute in the face of other people’s words as they discussed me. As the argument between Athena and my sisters raged, I stared deep into my spirit. Had I been doing anything to provoke him, either out in the boat, or inside the temple? Of course I hadn’t. I hated the way things like this made you even more unsure of yourself. It felt strange to listen to a goddess being wrong, but I didn’t dare disagree with her, for fear of what she’d do.
‘Athena, this isn’t really about your temple, is it?’ Stheno interjected. ‘You couldn’t care less about those bricks.’
‘It’s about propriety and decency. Respect,’ said the goddess.
‘And not Medusa’s happiness, or her right to walk about inside her body without any fear? No. The truth is, Athena, you’re jealous.’
‘Jealous?’ hooted Athena, so loudly it would have been comical coming from anyone else but her. The goddess’s eyes narrowed, and her face began to turn bright with a deep inner fury. I willed my sister to shut up as Athena pointed at me yet again. ‘Jealous of her?’
‘I see it clearly enough,’ said Stheno. ‘Medusa’s more beautiful than you—’