Andromeda

Chapter 10

Aethiopia

My mother is initially suspicious of my long afternoon absence.

She summons Ceto and me to question us. I do not tell the whole truth and perhaps she would not believe me if I did.

I paid closer attention on the journey back and noted the swift, deadly rapids, the multitude of predators, not to mention the surreal distance, which warped and shifted around us.

My mother would not believe me capable of such a journey.

She would worry or, worse, she would suspect that I am stronger and more ungovernable than she has thus far believed and tighten her reins.

She would give me the world, but the world would not be mine to wield.

I am to be adored, petted, protected. But not empowered, not full of my own strength and potential. I wear hubris so you don’t have to.

‘We swam a little way upstream, Mama. I wished for persea and heard there were some a few miles south.’

‘Persea? You need only have asked, I would have sent someone for them.’ She stands, cups my face in her hands, turning it this way and that. ‘I do not like you taking risks, my little queen.’

‘It was no risk, my lady.’ Ceto speaks calmly. ‘I am oath-bound to protect her. I would not let anything happen to my future mistress.’

My mother returns to her seat. We are in her apartments.

Over the last months her women have gradually retreated from outside of my door.

I do not know if this is as a result of my ageing or Ceto’s presence, but I am glad for it.

It seems that they too have acknowledged that harm is unlikely to befall me now that I am under the protection of Poseidon’s proxy.

‘Very well,’ my mother says thoughtfully, ‘these little excursions are probably good for you. You are positively glowing, my girl. I suppose you are safe with the Cetus.’

I do not bother to correct her; it does not matter with her.

She reaches for me and kisses my cheek, a dismissal.

I ache as I step back. The space yawns between us and some part of me longs to close it, longs to be reined in by her.

I have played as her pretty pony all my life and I am suddenly frightened of freedom.

I would have prayed at her altar, my divine mother, my personal Isis.

When I think of Cassiopeia on her knees, praying to Tawaret, I think of my grandmother with a river-horse’s head.

It is ironic, given how at odds my mother and grandmother are, but my grandmother is a confidante, great and protective, a lady of pure water whose bosom I would cling to for comfort.

My mother was made for ruling. It is in her bones to wage wars, to face down death.

She has been too long on the battlefield, I think.

She does not know how to find peace. But then she has never sought peace or quiet.

Those belong to my father, and he guards them jealously.

He does not have to fight for them and so he cannot see how his wife dresses his daughter in her kalasiris as if it is armour, oils her face as if it is war paint and braids her hair as if tightening a helmet.

He is not blind, but it is easier for him not to see. It is less work.

Now that is has been agreed that my absence is allowed, no one takes much notice of it. My father and his advisors, the nobles and courtiers, most of them are glad to see less of me.

I have always unnerved them and do so even more now that I am followed by the Nereid with her fathomless eyes and the tumbling castor slick of her unbound hair.

I have fewer lessons now, I can read and write and sew well enough for a future queen, and though my mother deems it necessary that I continue to practise at music and dance, I am permitted to do this without the watchful eyes of tutors.

Ceto and I spend much of our time with my grandmother.

They have grown fond of each other. Achiroe weaves lilies in the Nereid’s hair, as in mine; she seems to know that Ceto is not used to fuss but secretly pleased by it.

She tells us stories and teaches us songs, slapping the rhythm against the driest, barest patches of earth on the banks.

Ceto comes one morning with a gift for her, the empty shell of a turtle.

She presents Achiroe with the hollow once-home and a wooden stick, carved and smooth with a round ball of coral at its head.

‘For your drumming.’

She does this awkwardly, shy in a way that is new to me, and I feel a squeeze like I am being embraced from the inside out.

Achiroe kisses her cheek. ‘You are a good girl, Ceto.’

I don’t know that Ceto has ever been called a ‘good girl’, but I can tell that she likes it.

Her face heats and she squirms in pleasure.

I will remember this. My grandmother begins to drum lightly, a quick stepping beat that makes my heart flutter.

Ceto laughs and claps her hands. She looks so soft that I cannot help myself. I grasp her wrist.

‘Dance with me.’

It is not a question; I order it and she obeys.

I spin her away and pull her towards me – it is only with her that I can be so bold.

We face each other and she imitates my movements, looking at me hungrily.

The shape of me is not enough to sate her, we move together, we each want more.

She is perfect, precise, we have danced this dance before, we must have.

Step, clap, step step, clap clap. On and on and on.

I do not see Phineus so often in my twentieth year.

Occasionally I catch glimpses of him walking in my father’s wake.

My attendants tell me this is where he spends most of his time now, learning the footsteps that will one day be his.

I tend to avoid my father as much as I can, so Phineus drifts even further away.

He passes me one morning, stopping me with a smile. I feel an echo of before, a revenant of that non-place, where I rule a land I have not seen and am beloved by people I have never walked among.

‘Andromeda.’

‘Phineus.’

‘You are well?’ he asks with a sidelong glance at Ceto. She looks back coolly.

‘I am.’

‘You are sure?’ He looks at her again. He is asking something else, and I squint at him, reading the concern.

‘I am quite sure. Why? Did you hear I was unwell?’

He hesitates. ‘It is thought by most that you must be … unwell. You are … I mean to say, your time has not …’ He hesitates again and I dip my head in embarrassment. Of course.

I am unsure what to say. I shrug. ‘I am subject to the will of the gods. Perhaps Artemis is jealous with my maidenhead.’

He is still looking at Ceto, his eyes darting and narrowed.

She raises her eyebrow. ‘Is there something on my face, my lord, or have you some need of me?’

Her directness is at odds with the craft of court, but Phineus’ honesty has always been what I like best about him.

He regards her for a moment, clearly deliberating on whether or not to speak freely in front of her.

He seems to decide that it does not matter, because he says, ‘It is suspected among your father’s advisors that the Nereid has found a way to stay the day of judgement. ’

‘And why would I do that?’ Ceto asks wryly.

‘It is thought that she acts in favour of her sister, Amphitrite. That she hopes to give her more time to find a way to sway the bargain in her favour.’ He answers as if I am the one who asked.

‘Ceto’s orders prevent her from being able to affect the judgement,’ I reassure him. ‘Do not worry, Uncle. Poseidon’s worm follows orders well.’

I keep my face bland, calm, but Phineus still glances between us as if he can see the bloom that lives there, feeding off the private joke. He nods reluctantly but does not leave. He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. I feel the same distance that yawns between my mother and myself.

‘I wish it did not have to be so. We would have had a nice life, you and I,’ he says.

‘I know.’

‘I – I wish—’

‘I know,’ I say, cutting him off. ‘I know.’ I fish around in my pocket and pull out the small wooden hippo that I carry still. I love him for his wishes and gestures. Even if they are tokens only. But he smiles and wraps his large hand around mine, squeezing once before he leaves.

When he is out of earshot, Ceto says, ‘Your mother did a clever thing, tying her life to your future. It would deter most people from trying to find an alternative path for you.’

The way she says most people tightens my shoulders.

‘You would gladly see my mother dead and your sister on the throne next to Poseidon’s, I suppose?’

She shrugs and it is response enough.

‘And you do not worry for your sister? Taking the place of Poseidon’s wife?’

‘I think … I think that she is better suited to such a life.’

The thought suddenly flares, loathsome and unwanted, that all this suggesting that we, together, might set me free from a dangerous marriage might have less to do with care for me than I have been led to believe. The crown was Amphitrite’s first.

‘Tell me about your sisters. You never speak of them.’

Her face closes, tight and flat.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Well … there are fifty of you?’

‘Yes?’

‘But you are not … you do not seem attached to each other?’

‘There are fifty of us,’ she shrugs again. ‘That would be a great deal of attachment.’

‘But … you do not confide in each other? You are not friends?’

‘Not really.’

She does not want to talk about it, and I do not want to push it further.

And the why does not matter. I do not wish to marry the sea god.

And she does not wish it for me. She has experience with oaths, with the gaps and limitations.

I need her help. Her motives are irrelevant.

I repeat this to myself over and over, use it to drown out the memory of the small breath that sighed from her lips as I stroked her hair.

We are both lonely. And we want the same thing. That is all.

‘Meda?’

My eyes open.

‘Are you well?’

My eyes close again. My head rests on my arms on the banks, the lower half of my body is submerged.

I am shivering slightly. Spring is fragrant in the air around us.

The breeze is cool, but not enough that I should be cold.

I have been this way for some time, having declined to race with Ceto and my grandmother.

Achiroe’s hands feel my forehead, run over my shoulders and stop at my lower back.

‘What is it, my little queen?’

‘I feel strange.’ I straighten with some effort and gesture to my abdomen. A building tightness started last night and has not abated. I am heavy with fatigue, my limbs are waterlogged and unfamiliar.

‘What?’ Ceto asks. ‘What is it? What is wrong with her?’ Her voice is pinched and high.

My grandmother’s face clouds. She does not speak for a moment. And then her words, thudding, sinking like stones around us, ‘I … I believe that her time is near.’

Our heads snap to her. No. I am not ready.

‘Are you sure?’

She nods.

Ceto curses. ‘I had thought … perhaps that it would never come. You are nearing twenty, you are so late, I mean—’ She tails off. She is looking at my grandmother. I see it too.

‘Grandmama?’

Her eyes are liquid. ‘I have … I did what I could.’

Our gazes are a question. She pulls herself up on to the banks.

Strokes my hair over and over, as if it is the last time she will get to do so.

My heart picks up but even as I think, I am not ready to leave her, I also think, but Ceto will come with me, and I am so strengthened by this thought that I am terrified.

‘When the oath was first sworn, I went first to my father, to plead your case. He was … unhelpful. He has no love for the Olympians but does not deny their supremacy. He is also …’ she searches for the words and settles on, ‘he preferred my first husband. My first two sons. After the drying of the Nile … he believes he has done enough. And so, I had to look elsewhere.’

‘Athena.’

She nods. ‘She and Artemis are dear to each other and her sister agreed to delay your time for as long as naturally possible. We have had longer than I expected, but you are not fully mortal.’

Droplets of river water cling to her cheeks but I know the tears when I see them. I wipe her face, I do not wish her sensitive skin to sting with salt on my account. I kiss her.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur. ‘I will be all right.’

I look at Ceto. ‘If he asks you about this, what will you say?’

‘I will say Artemis did not will it, it is what I would have said anyway,’ but she is distracted, I know the way she taps her tongue against her teeth. She is testing the oath, feeling the gaps in its shield around her. She has something to say.

‘It would be so awful, wouldn’t it, if your time never came?

’ Her eyes are round with intent, lit with that fierce glow.

‘My master said: I would wait until your daughter is a woman, until she has bled and can give me sons. If such a time never comes, the oath would eventually be declared void. My master would not harm you or your family, he has sworn not to, and he is no oath breaker. But he would rightfully tire of waiting.’

‘And fair enough,’ I say slowly, staring at her. ‘What use is my beauty if I am barren and ill?’

Hope rolls out before me, I wish to walk in its soft rug, but it is Ceto, of course, who takes the first step.

‘You must never drink anything my sister gives you then.’ She leans against the banks, against my grandmother, the reassurance and intimacy surprising. Wonderful. ‘Amphitrite has been gifted salt by our master. She has always been interested in plants and now she has grown many powerful ones.’

I gasp a half-laugh. I am giddy with possibility.

‘No wonder she voiced such concern about the uses of pharmaka!’

‘Indeed.’ My grandmother is also nodding now. ‘And, of course, Amphitrite interfering with your bleeding would not break the oath. She made no such promises.’

I recite Ceto’s orders to myself again, quietly, checking them as she does.

If her beauty wanes, ensure that she and her family do not seek to find a way out of our bargain.

If it does not, do not seek to affect her looks out of loyalty to your sister.

My beauty has not waned. And this will not affect my looks.

Such plotting, scheming to throw away my riches, is unsuspected.

And what is not suspected is not prohibited.

She was right, she has played her part well.

He would not think to forbid her from aiding me in this way.

She is grinning, bristling and feral. ‘I am sure Amphitrite would love to see you robbed of the chance at her crown.’