Knowing he had no other choice, Perseus agreed to the offer.
His family’s generosity did not stop there. Clymene insisted on plying Perseus and his men with all the dried fish, fruit, and grain they could manage, rousing the village into action to see that the stores on the small boat were full.
‘It will be hungry work out on the sea,’ she said, looking at him with the same motherly tenderness she always bestowed. ‘And I know it is not a lot, but we have some pieces; some gold and silver that you can trade if you need to.’
Perseus shook his head. ‘I cannot take any more from you,’ he said, pushing the items back into Clymene’s hands. Her eyes shone softly in the light.
‘Perseus, we could give you every item in our possession, and it would still not be enough to repay you for the years you have allowed me the gift of having you as a child. That is the same for your father, too. You know that.’
The lump that had become a consistent feature in his throat over the past few days began to swell further, blocking the air to his lungs and causing his eyes to sting with tears. Still, he refused the gifts.
It had taken only a couple of days for Perseus to find himself a crew and, although eager, they were younger than he would have hoped for.
‘It is no surprise,’ he said to Dictys as they walked together to the port on the arranged morning of his departure. ‘Anyone older is either with children and wives they do not wish to see widowed, or merely sensible enough to know that nothing good will come from this.’
‘Do not lose faith,’ Clymene looped her arm through his arms as she walked. ‘Remember, whether we think of you as our own on not, you are the son of Zeus. You have the gods on your side.’
‘It would be nice to see evidence of such a fact,’ he said grudgingly.
By now, the news of Perseus’ quest had spread across Seriphos and, as such, he was unsurprised to hear of a crowd gathering at the port. It would be a bittersweet farewell, he considered. The one brief moment before the event when he could bask in the glory that a real hero felt. He should enjoy it, he thought. Or at least pretend to.
Despite having heard the rumours of a send-off, Perseus was not prepared for the sight that befell him when he turned the corner onto the harbour.
‘This cannot all be for me, surely?’ The nerves and butterflies that had beleaguered his body since morning gave way to confusion. The crowd he saw was as big as any that would gather at a feast of the gods, with what appeared to be the entire island crowding around the water. At the back, many were craning their necks, standing on tiptoes, or hoisting their children onto their shoulders to get a better view and, from the hills, more still were rushing down to join them.
‘I must get through.’ Perseus used his hand to push aside a man at the edge of the group. ‘I need to get to my boat.’ The man turned his head quickly, only to twist it back around and fish about for a better view of the sea and the boat. A clicking sound travelled through his skull as Perseus rolled his lower jaw from one side to another. ‘Did you hear me? I need to get through. My boat. My crew. I must make haste.’ Whatever the excitement was, it took Perseus only a minute to now realise that he was not the cause of it. ‘I am done asking,’ he said and began to elbow his way into the mass. Only when he had pushed himself into the middle of the crowd and found that the front half of the congregation had fallen to their knees did he realised the source of the furore.
‘Brother, you have arrived.’
The cerulean sky was dull in comparison to the way she shone. Clad in grey, yet brighter than Helios, she approached him across the shore, her feet leaving no mark in the sand. ‘Make room. Make room for my brother,’ she spoke again, and Perseus felt the weight on his shoulders diminish and double at the exact same instant.
‘Pallas Athena?’ The name came out as a question, for he questioned how it could be possible that the Goddess of Wisdom, fiercest of warriors, and patron of the greatest heroes, could be standing on the shores of Seriphos addressing him as her kin. Her eyes glinted. A moment later, he fell to his knees.
‘Perseus.’ She reached a hand down and pulled him back up to standing. Her touch was as light as air, yet behind it all, the strength of an Olympian. ‘We should get going. Your crew is awaiting you.’ Then with a wry smile, she tilted her chin towards the ocean behind her.
Perseus had seen great ships before. Less than a week ago, he had been standing at the harbour of Polydectes’ palace, and white clouds had rolled above him as he gazed, half admiring and half-belligerent at the King’s fleet. He had thought about Dictys at the time. How tiny and puny his own vessel would look in comparison. But the ship before him now was something truly magnificent to behold.
If he ever did return from the voyage, this would be his gift to Dictys for his years of adoption. This ship. And with his hero’s bounty, a crew who would forever be at the helm for his beloved stepfather. Beneath its towering masts, men clad in armour grasped at oars or else strode from one side of the ship to the other, barrels and ropes slung effortlessly over their shoulders. These were not the half-dozen men of his selection, but two dozen warriors. Beasts of men. Perseus paled. As the son of Zeus, it had
