And manage they could. For when the priestesses arrived at their destinations, some having travelled miles on foot, they were surprised to find that the children were not so sick as they had been led to believe, nor the wives so woeful. Still, they stayed a while and drank and ate with the families, for they had walked far, and it would be an equally long journey back to the temple.
Medusa knelt in front of the candles. Tonight, her thoughts lingered on her family. She had heard rumour after rumour of them since her departure. A mixture of tales that may or may not have whispers of the truth to them. Recently, the rumours had been that one of her sisters had married. It seemed unfeasible. After all, the eldest, Euryale, was just thirteen. While many parents would have seen their daughters sold at such an age, it seemed unlikely of hers. Unless, of course, they had fallen upon hard times. But, rumours changed like the wind, a slight embellishment or omission from each tongue that tells the story, twisting and distorting the tale, further and further. Besides, a more favourable one may well make its way to her by the time the week was out.
Lost in her thoughts, Medusa was gazing at the candles when something broke her reverie. There were no footsteps or voices, just the rustling of feathers and the beating of wings as the birds abandoned their place in the cool and flew upwards into the warm air that they had previously sought sanctuary from. Out of the corner of her eye, Medusa saw the shadow. A figure swallowed by the darkness.
‘Can I help you?’ she said, standing up and turning. ‘Do you seek help from the Goddess?’
‘From Athena? No.’ The man’s voice caused chills to spread across Medusa’s arms and down to the base of her spine. ‘For all her glory, she cannot satisfy me.’
‘Sir,’ she said. The deep voice was unrecognisable to her. ‘You are not permitted to be here. I must ask you to leave.’
‘But this is a house of gods,’ he said. ‘So, the house belongs more to me than to you. And yet, I do not ask you to leave, Priestess.’
The figure stepped into the light. She blinked, confused.
‘I know you. You gave gifts to the Goddess.’
‘I gave gifts to you.’
Medusa frowned as her thoughts cleared. ‘Gifts from your wife. That is right? You gave gifts from your wife. Caroline, is that not her name?’
The laugh that followed was loud and deep and shook the pillars of the earth in a way Medusa had never known.
‘My wife? Oh yes, she is somewhere, casting her net, out there with the urchins and the eels.’
The hammering of Medusa’s pulse grew faster and stronger as she searched for a place of safety in the shadows. ‘Who are you? Why are you here?’
The man smiled. His eyes glinted with fire and water, together in an unending torrent.
‘Which question should I answer first?’ he said as he stepped towards her. ‘Who am I, or why am I here?’
Medusa stepped back, her muscles shaking. She took hold of one of the candles and thrust it out in front of her, pointing the flame towards the man. The melting wax gave way between her fingers, searing her skin, but she did not let go. Not until his body was only feet away from hers, only inches from the flame, did she hurl it with all her might.
The laugh echoed around her.
‘Did you expect that to hurt me?’ He snorted, in her face. ‘And I thought you were wise, Medusa. What kind of priestesses is Athena keeping here if they think that a tiny flame could even mark a god? I fear she has been misled. Perhaps we both have.’
Trembling, Medusa stood firm and faced his watery eyes.
‘I have misled no one,’ she said. ‘This is the temple of Athena, and you are not permitted to enter here.’
His face lost any trace of amusement. His eyes darkened.
‘I am Poseidon,’ he said. ‘And I will enter where I choose.’
Her arms and legs were pinned, her voice silenced by his hand, which, tasting of salt and sea, he clasped over her mouth to drown her screams. Even with her eyes screwed shut, tears ran unendingly down her cheeks. How long it lasted, she could not say, for time lost all meaning, stretched and elongated beyond all possibility. At that moment, Medusa naively thought and believed this would be the worst that would befall her in this lifetime. She had no idea how wrong she was.
Even then, for Medusa, worse than her own defilement was the defilement of the temple of the Goddess she loved. This place of sanctuary was now desecrated and dishonoured. She thought of the women who came to her, of Cornelia, and wondered how many times they had suffered this fate at the hands of their husbands. Her cousins, her aunt, who had died at the hands of such a man. Only this was not a man. This was a god. His pressure against her body reminded her with every passing heartbeat. His body slick as oil, the ichor pumping beneath his skin. Her tears stung, their salt bitter between her lips. Anger surged through her. How dare he come and take what was not his, and in this sacred place. Medusa decided she would look him in the eyes and show him that he might take her flesh, but he would never have dominion over her spirit. Her eyes flickered
