‘The sandals,’ Medusa spoke. ‘I’m not sure you will find them much help in severing my spine.’
‘But the sword of Zeus should be more than sufficient.’ A shudder rolled down his spine at the casual tone of his voice. He hastened on. ‘And a shield too. Given to me by Athena.’
Another of her now familiar scoffs made its way to his ears.
‘You cannot swing faster than I can blink. My serpents will see to that. Besides, they will twist their way around any armour you have made for them.’
‘I do not believe it is for them. The shield that is. I believe it is for you. For your gaze. It is a mirror that is unlike any I have encountered. Perhaps, if you were to look at it, the snakes would be confused as to what they saw. It would give me a chance to strike. Only a second, but I am good with a sword.’ He edged closer towards her voice. This was it. He was certain. This was what the gods intended for him. Not just to behead the Gorgon, but to bring her story to the world. Her truth.
‘I will drop the shield on the floor,’ he said, taking the Priestess’ silence as acceptance. ‘If you can bend your head to look at it, only for a second, that will give me enough time to strike.’
More silence followed. Outside, the storm had hastened and rain pelted to earth. Inside, the hissing had diminished to a low hum. ‘If you are wrong about this, I will have no choice. I will turn you to stone before you could even raise a hand against me.’
‘But if I am right, I will be saving both you and my mother.’
‘I am beyond saving,’ she replied. ‘You are not. You could turn around now and leave with your life.’
He gave the comment only the briefest consideration.
‘Either I leave this island with your head or not at all,’ he said. ‘Please, this will work. Let me do this for you.’
Chapter 29
It was but a second. A second of hope. A second of sadness. She now understood why she did not speak to these men. How much harder would it be to drag the stone statue of the boy, Perseus – loving, doting, sacrificial son – to the edge of a cliff, knowing his mission, than it had been to drag all the unnamed heroes that had gone before him? She would need to remove it straight away before her sisters returned. Who knew to what extent they would torment her if they found a statue this deep in their cave?
‘I will throw it now,’ he said. ‘Just promise you will try.’
Try. What she wanted to do was to tell him to run again. To head back to Seriphos and save his mother with a sword and an army like every other hero did. To forget what she had told him. But she knew he would not listen.
With doubt and fear shadowing her heart, she heard the clang as the mirrored shield fell to the ground and saw the flash of light only a moment later. Her eyes and her serpent’s eyes darted to look at it.
For the first time in two thousand years, she saw herself, as clearly as all the men that had stood in front of her. The young girl, full of optimism, was long gone, although there, in the depth of her irises, she saw the slightest glimmer of hope.
Epilogue
For the longest while, he slept with her head beneath his bed. It was not for fear of what his men would do with it - though that thought had crossed his mind. He kept it there for himself and the Priestess. This was her momentary sanctuary after years of torment. When he returned to Polydectes, he would find a place on Seriphos to give her the burial she deserved. That was all he could do now.
Perseus had picked his way down the rocks and back to the shore, the kibis swollen with the mass of Medusa’s head, and he had it in his mind that he would let the whole world know the truth of the Priestess. No longer would the stories told of her be those of terror and death, but rather of reverence and gratitude. The Priestess who continued to sacrifice even after death. The woman who offered herself to Perseus to save his mother from a tyrant king. So, when he boarded his ship, embraced by his men with tears in their eyes, he tried and tried again to explain that his heroism was undeserved.
Yet, every word of his protest fell on deaf ears. That first night, he learned that men did not want to hear tales of heroes who allowed a wronged priestess to sacrifice herself – unless, of course, the tale took place in a bedroom, and the Priestess was half-dressed and on her knees. They did not listen as he told them of their exchange, but rather they refilled his cup and shouted over him with cheers and adulations. He realised then, alone in a crowded room, that to fulfil his promise to Medusa was to deny his loyalty to Athena, his sister, who had done all in her power to make him a hero. Telling Medusa’s story would make monsters of all the men that had gone before him and failed. And what of himself? Would the world respect his mercy as easily as they accepted his might and bravery?
So, Perseus stayed silent. That night and every night that followed. Years passed, and Perseus went on to become one of Greece’s greatest heroes, held in such high esteem for his feats. Meanwhile, Medusa’s truth was lost, and all
