Chapter 18
Serifos
The bards at Serifos liked to tell the story.
The princess, their guest, did not like to listen but she liked to pretend.
Pretending protected her sanity; it gave her secrets like talismans that guarded her against the worst of herself.
When the crowds crowed for the tale of their Prince and the Monster, she stretched her face wide into the smile they expected and chastely nodded her head.
She was their star, the object. The monster, of course, was the subject; their prince, of course, the verb.
Anything else would be unnatural. The bards prepared themselves to begin, finding their branding-iron words to blaze through history.
They were joined by the prince. On such occasions, where a large group gathered, he liked to perform his part. They began:
There was once a young princess who was saved by a young prince.
She was tied to a rock by her father for the hubris of her mother.
Poseidon, lord of the tides, master of white horses and god of the seas, would bring a divine reckoning on her kingdom, for her beauty was unmatched and the gods are jealous of the gifts they give.
The Lord Poseidon set the might of his seas against the princess, where she lay prone and radiant, the white of her dress offsetting the glorious dark of her skin. She pleaded with him, but he was the sea and the sea does not show mercy.
The princess begged for help and, flying far above, a young prince heard her call of distress.
And he was no mere prince. He was the son of a god, he was a hero, he had just slain the Gorgon, a fearsome creature with snakes for hair and eyes that turned men to stone.
He was returning to his home of Serifos – and here goes up a cry – atop his flying steed Pegasus, when he heard the piteous wail of the princess and spied her below.
At once his heart swelled and tightened, for she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
He fell in love with her, right there, in that moment suspended above, looking down on her prostrate form. He knew he must make her his wife.
He flew down towards her.
‘Princess,’ his voice was a soft croon, as though speaking to an injured bird that might, in fright, do itself more damage, ‘one as lovely as you should not be so tied to anything but your intended. How come you to be this way?’
She, a virgin and an innocent, had no understanding of the ways of men and could not bring herself to speak to him.
She was humble and it would be wrong to be so bold.
She shied away, covering her face and turning her head.
But between her fingers, he saw that her large, dark eyes were full of tears.
He insisted that she answer him, coaxing and gentle.
‘Come now, it is no slight on your modesty to tell me your name? And what kingdom you are from?’
Eventually she stammered, in a low, sweet voice, ‘Andromeda. Of Aethiopia.’ She told him of the punishment set upon them by the dread Poseidon and the young prince was filled with rage and courage.
‘Fear not, lovely Andromeda. I will help you.’
He flew away to seek her father. King Cepheus was weeping on the beach.
His wife, the queen, had been punished for her boasting; the sea god had cut her into pieces, turned those pieces to burning, agonizing stars, and set those stars among the heavens.
So as to condemn the queen to immortal indignity, he had also permanently fastened her to her throne, which he then hung, suspended, upside down.
Forever looking down upon all she had ruined.
And now King Cepheus would lose his daughter too.
Were it not for the fine Prince Perseus.
Here some keen-eyed courtiers caught the gleaming of their princess’s lashes and their chests tightened, moved by her gratitude.
The king was shocked and delighted when he saw the prince, strong and golden, Zeus’ image, flying towards him.
He said, ‘I am Perseus, son of Zeus and Danae who, imprisoned against her will, was filled by the King of the Gods’ own golden shower.
It is from that shower that I am begotten.
I would save your daughter from my brutish uncle and his monster, and, in respect of my courage and great lineage, would have her for a wife. ’
King Cepheus of course agreed and promised Perseus the prosperous Kingdom of Aethiopia for his heirs.
The deal was struck and Perseus returned to his betrothed. He had been on the rock but a moment when the great sea monster reared its ugly head. The vicious creature emerged from the frothing white. Some say it was a kraken, with many legs and a slurping, sucking mouth.
Some say a whale, the largest whale ever to have existed, black and white and hungry.
And others say a snake, a sleek, black serpent, with a thickly muscled body and spreading, membranous wings and fangs that dripped venom.
Perseus had never seen such a hideous sight.
He drew his sword and placed himself between his love and the creature.
Leaving worthy Pegasus to guard the terrified princess, the young prince ran at the monster, as it advanced towards them, and launched himself from the rock into the air as only one descended from Zeus could do.
He first struck at the monster’s neck, slashing with incredible skill.
The monster roared, gusting spittle and bits of flesh from previous meals into Perseus’ face.
The prince, on his feet before his willing audience, jabbed, ducked and twisted his face into various expressions, in keeping with the words and lilting music of the bards. The crowd cried out in wordless vowels of admiration and delight.
The monster retreated, briefly, and then returned more furious and deadly than before.
Perseus evaded the creature’s attack and then struck again, once, twice, three, four times, hacking through the coating of barnacles and other foul things.
He struck once more and this time struck true.
The creature vomited blood, gave a final belch of stomach and death, and sank beneath the waves.
And so Perseus slayed his second creature in as many days, without sustaining even the slightest wound.
Then, for his great efforts and success, he received his prize, with the blessing of her father, the beautiful Princess Andromeda.
The crowd cheered. Perseus, the prince, stood and bowed, beaming at his bride.