In an instant, a hush descended on the room. Eyes that only a moment ago had been scrunched in laughter now flitted nervously, the flames of the oil lamps flickering in the stillness. A bastard son he may be, but he was still the bastard son of Zeus. If Polydectes saw the fury and fear flash around his face, he did not show it. This was the King in public, Perseus considered, biting his tongue so hard he could taste the spill of blood. This was the best face he could put forwards for his new bride. The gods alone could only imagine how much more hideous he could be in the privacy of his own chambers.
‘You approve, I assume,’ Polydectes continued. ‘This marriage for your mother – at her age – is a great blessing. An honour. She has found herself quite a remarkable suitor, do you not agree?’
Whether Polydectes’ men were admirers of their King made little difference to the fact that they were his men. Guards with their hammered spears and kinsmen with concealed knives surrounded him, faces plastered in false smiles. There was only one answer Perseus could give.
‘Naturally, what son could wish for more?’ The reply was met by an unmistakable sneer from Polydectes.
‘I have already been gifted two dozen horses as wedding presents. Have you heard of such a thing?’ He pointed his question briefly at Danae before returning his attention to Perseus. ‘To be gifted such things before a date for the union is even set.’
‘I only wish I could offer you a gift worthy of such a union,’ Perseus replied. ‘Yet, I wonder what gift that could be.’
Such a slight remark said with such ease and composure that, for a second, Perseus did not see the snare waiting. The wine-induced glaze vanished from Polydectes’ eyes in an instant, his yellowing teeth fully visible in his sneer.
‘There is one gift you can bring me,’ he said.
Words had been exchanged. Toasts were raised, and the curtain of impending doom had fallen on Perseus, as tangible and weighted as the cloak on his back. The head of the Gorgon Medusa was to be Perseus’ wedding gift. The head of a creature millennia old who had murdered thousands of innocent men. His heart drummed at the trap he had walked himself into. He was to leave as soon as he had readied a ship. And on the day of his return, his mother was to marry Polydectes. That was what Polydectes had promised. Only, no one ever returned from Medusa, and the tyrant King knew this all too well. A simple plan to rid himself of an unwanted stepson. However, Perseus, perhaps naively, had hatched a plan of his own. He would retrieve the Gorgon’s head as Polydectes had requested, and then turn the wedding present against the King, freeing Seriphos from his malevolent reign.
Chapter 20
In the days preparing to set sail, Perseus’ heart grew heavy with his impending fate. In contrast, his head grew numb from the wine he used to avoid thinking about it.
‘You will take my boat,’ Dictys said. ‘It is small but sturdy. And it’s the best you’ll find this end of the island. You will need to find yourself a crew, though. Six men should be enough. And choose wisely. A man’s temperament on dry land is rarely the same as one who must endure storm after storm.’
His stepfather had spoken with resolution and authority, as opposed to the bitterness he had every right to. That alone was enough to churn up even more guilt from the unending supply of which Perseus had found himself in possession. No word had come from his mother, and each passing hour without news only caused the guilt and fear to multiply. Perseus nodded mutely to Dictys’ instructions, the effects of the previous night’s wine slowing his rate of comprehension.
‘I cannot take your boat.’ He realised he had not offered an answer. ‘It is your livelihood. You need it. You will not be able to fish without.’
‘Really? I had not considered that fact.’ Dictys smiled with a good-naturedness that Perseus was unable to reciprocate. ‘It is fine. We have enough for now. And with two fewer mouths to feed, what we have will stretch twice as far. Probably four times given the amount you consume.’
His grin continued and, this time, Perseus allowed himself the briefest smile, if only for his stepfather’s sake. ‘It is kind of you to offer, but I cannot,’ he said, the smile already gone. ‘You need it. This journey is long. And if I don’t … If I am not …’ Perseus swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. ‘It is possible that I … you know.’ Some hero, he sneered to himself. Such a hero that the mere thought of dying was enough to slicken his skin with sweat. He forced his shoulders back and straightened his spine. ‘This journey may take many years,’ he said. ‘I could not allow you to go that long without being able to provide for yourself.’
‘Well, then perhaps I will take to shipbuilding,’ Dictys replied. ‘These arms have still got plenty of strength in them yet. I am not the withered man my brother has become.’ He placed a hand on Perseus’ shoulder, his flippant manner gone. ‘Do not worry about me, Perseus.
