‘Tell me then, Father-who-has-never-lied. What kind of husband would the great King Polydectes make for my mother? A fair one? A just one? Would he be like you and never raise a fist? Tell me, Dictys. What will this marriage entail for my mother? What right does he have to come here and claim any woman he chooses?’
The old man’s gaze wandered from Perseus to his mother and back. To Perseus, Dictys had been an oak of a man. Strength drawn from his roots, unseen, and unshakeable. Yet there, in the diminishing light of the day, his leaves had withered, and his branches curled inwards, gnarled and weather-beaten.
‘I tried my best for you and your mother, Perseus. It might not be a union that I would want for your mother, but I have no sway over Polydectes. To him, I am a simple, contemptible fisherman, no more than that despite our shared parentage. If anything, I fear if I try to exert any sway, it would simply make matters worse.’
Perseus left, his wrath still bubbling. His mother to marry this king? He would not allow it. The rumours of Polydectes’ temper were older than Perseus. An insipid man who made up for his frailty with wiles and bitterness. And to be lied to, for so many years by Dictys and his wife, Clymene, who at times he shared more with than his own mother. They had betrayed them, no matter what his mother said.
His mind was a stinging web of hurt and anger as he made his way to the shore. One by one, he plucked grey stones and hurled them into the grey sky and towards the grey and crashing waves. Surely, as the son of a god, he should be able to put a stop to this. He was the son of Zeus. Brother of Athena. Surely, he should decide who or when his mother married? He grabbed another fistful of rocks, flinging them farther and farther out to sea. Whatever it took. Whatever it took, he would see his mother safe. Such a woman would never be married to a tyrant. Not as long as he was alive.
Chapter 19
The unease in his heart had failed to lessen. Two moons had passed since he had learned of Polydectes’ desire to marry his mother; and three full days since he had fallen into the trap the King had set for him. Three days had passed since he had mistakenly forfeited his life and sent his mother into the hands and bed of a monster. Even he wasn’t naive enough to believe there was hope. Not now. Not after this.
‘Please, Perseus.’ Clymene took a seat at the end of his bed. ‘Tell me, what did the King say? What did he do?’
Still, Perseus could not find the words to admit his stupidity. He had returned home without his mother; enough evidence that Polydectes had thwarted him yet, so far, Perseus had met all his step-parents’ questions with silence. Only after more wine than he had ever drunk in one sitting before did Perseus confess what he had promised to King Polydectes and his mother as a wedding present. First, his revelation was met with silence, then there followed an outburst worthy of the Olympians themselves.
‘You are a fool, child. A foolish, foolish boy. Why make such a pledge? What in the world could have possessed you?’ In the eighteen years of Perseus’ life, he had not once heard Dictys’ voice so full of fury as he spat the words into his face. ‘Who did you hope to save by this endeavour?’
‘You would simply let him take her?’ The wine slurred Perseus’ words. ‘Let him take my mother like she is nothing more than a bull, fit for sale to whoever can pay the highest price?’
‘What difference will this make? He is a king, Perseus. My brother will have your mother either way. Now he has added your life into the bargain.’
‘Not necessarily. It is possible that I will not fail. I am a demi-god.’ His defence was meek. The wine swilling around in his belly was the only source of his false confidence. ‘I am the son of Zeus.’
‘And with your father’s arrogance. Please, Perseus.’ Dictys raised a hand and touched the boy’s shoulder. He slumped in defeat and old age. ‘Will you not think of your mother?’
‘What do you think I was doing? All I am thinking about is her. She is the reason for this. She is the one I was trying to protect.’
In hindsight, he realised he had played straight into Polydectes’ hands. The invitation to the feast had come a full moon before. Perseus had wanted to decline, but even he understood that the simple tactic of avoidance would not work forever. Polydectes had already met with Danae on more than one occasion and, though she had always dressed her plainest and tried her hardest to rebut his advances it had been to no avail.
‘He will announce that you are to be married,’ Perseus said, the night before they were set to travel. ‘He will announce it in public so you cannot deny it without making him look a fool.’
‘I do not doubt it.’ Danae had been so matter of fact in her response.
‘Then why are you going?’
‘Good grace can carry you a long way, Perseus,’ his mother replied. ‘Even with such a man as Polydectes.’ Perseus doubted it was true, although he stayed silent, merely out of respect for his mother.
The day they left, the house was empty. Dictys had been out on his boat since dawn, although Perseus believed it to be more for avoidance sake than a need for any more fish. Clymene had taken a poultice of herbs around to the neighbour whose skin had refused to heal after a scrape out at sea, and she too had been gone all day. The house, once spacious, had grown
