Perseus whirled the loop, hoping the slight whistling noise it made would not startle the stallion further. Just there, he thought excitedly. No need to wait any longer: the throw would be on the mark or it would miss. He let the loop fly.
It jumped like a snake from the concealment of the reeds and landed neatly around the horse's muscular neck. Startled by the sudden constriction, Pegasus reared, whinnying in shock and surprise.
Perseus pulled the loop tight, keeping his attention on the sharp hooves that tore up the earth in front of him as they sought an unseen enemy.
One pull yanked Perseus violently forward, but he couldn't spare a hand to grab for the helmet that tumbled from his head. Now the stallion could see its antagonist, and struck with angry forefeet at the now visible figure.
But Perseus had dodged hooves before. Without letting the rope slacken he managed to stay well out of range of the pawing feet.
Frustrated and frightened, the stallion wheeled away from its enemy and galloped in the opposite direction. The sudden maneuver caught Perseus off guard, and he had no time to admire the horse's cleverness. Somehow he managed to hang onto the rope as the stallion dragged him along the bank of the pool. He was grateful that the water's edge was thick with soft ferns and rushes, not the thorn bushes and cacti of his island home.
"Hang on, boy!" Ammon had bolted from the cover of the tree roots and was splashing and wading awkwardly around the rim of the pool after the combatants.
Pegasus began to gallop in circles, since the taller trees soon shut off any path of escape ahead and other pools did the same to each side. Breath steamed from his nostrils and his eyes were wild as he fought and bucked to shake off the restraining rope around his neck.
Ammon reached them, nearly fell, and barely managed to dodge to one side as the horse abruptly changed its direction and tried to run him down. By now Perseus, scratched and filthy but still full of fight, had managed to get back on his feet. He stumbled along in the horse's wake.
There was a stump coming up on his right. A quick prayer it was not rotten and . . . now!
The loop he'd made caught fast, quivered, and held tight around the stump. The stallion's head bent back and with a violent neigh it came to a halt.
Perseus had no time to exchange pleasantries and Ammon was too tired to, as the youth passed him the end of the rope.
"Try and make another loop around the stump if he gives you enough slack!" Perseus yelled to the breathless playwright. "Whatever you do, hold fast. You must hold!"
Ammon hardly had the strength to nod. Perseus took up the end of the rope, and using it for a guide, worked his way forward, dividing his attention between the horse's back and its dangerous hooves.
Pegasus turned suddenly, but this time he did not charge. Instead he stood quite still, ears laid back, lips curled to reveal his teeth; vapor steamed from his flaring nostrils: man and horse regarded each other expectantly.
Ammon struggled to wind another loop of the rope around the tree stump, occasionally throwing an anxious glance toward Perseus. That the youth could avoid those slashing hooves had been amply shown. But if the rope should snap unexpectedly . . .
Perseus shook himself free of his temporary daze by breaking his gaze away from the stallion's. There was death in those eyes, but also promise.
I have the catch in my net, he told himself, and it's more dangerous than I dreamed. But I would be a coward to let it go now.
He continued working his way carefully along the rope toward the motionless horse.
"Steady," he called softly, in as unaffected a voice as he could manage. "Steady, great one, steady and easy." He started whistling to it, as he'd learned to do with horses and mules as a child.
No truce was evident in those angry eyes, but the ears pricked up at the peculiar sound.
"That's a good fellow, isn't that a nice tune?" He whistled a few more bars. "Almost makes you want to go to sleep. .. . steady."
He was almost within reach of the graceful white head. His eyes once more bored into those of the horse, but his mind did not fog as it had a few moments earlier.
"Steady . . ."
He ducked quickly. The sharp teeth just grazed his upper back. Ah, prince of horses, he thought with an exultant burst of energy, you are clever, and you are fast. But you are not so clever as I!
As the teeth had darted for him, he'd gone down and forward. By the time the head twisted to snap at his rising legs it was already too late. Perseus was seated on the broad back, one hand locked in the thick mane. With the other he drew the sword of Aphrodite . . .
And to Ammon's considerable astonishment, cut the binding rope in half.
The old poet tumbled backward as the tension on the rope was abruptly released. He rolled in the dirt and grasses, trying to stay clear of the powerful legs now released to kick or run free.
He needn't have worried. Pegasus was far too concerned with the startling new sensation of a man on his back to worry about anything else. For several minutes he plunged and reared, bucked and kicked, trying to dislodge the alien weight and presence. Then other instincts took over.
Spreading powerful wings, the stallion struggled into the air. He lifted, touched ground again, and then began a steady climb as he adapted to the extra weight.
"Hold on, boy!" Ammon shouted as he got to his feet. His eyes were wide, his blood racing faster than it had in years. It was as though he and not the youth were trying to gain control of the flying horse, and he urged Perseus on with all the strength in his frail old body.
"Keep his head up, don't let him spin on you!"
It was doubtful whether Perseus heard Ammon's admonishments. He was too busy hanging on with legs and hands as the stallion soared high over the treetops. Flying turned out to be not so very different from diving, so he experienced no vertigo. But he knew that this was far more dangerous than swimming. If he were to relax his grip for even a moment, he would soon be little more than a stain upon the earth.
Pegasus dipped to his left, then his right. He dove toward trees and pulled up at the last second. Once he did a double loop and if Perseus had been hanging on with only his hands he probably would have fallen. But his powerful legs dug tight into the horse's flanks and the momentary pull did not dislodge him.
Ammon danced with frustration and worry as he watched these tortuous maneuvers. Perseus was young and strong, but no human muscles could endure forever the forces the stallion was subjecting them to. Fortunately, neither could equine muscles. Pegasus was tiring also.
There were no more loops or twists, no more violent dips and turns. Gradually the path through the sky became smoother, the acrobatics less extreme. Now and then the wingbeats would cease altogether and the horse would rest while gliding.
Experimentally, the exhausted Perseus used hand and leg to urge the horse leftward. Nothing happened. He tried again, speaking calmly to it while exerting pressure.
This time the horse tucked its left wing slightly in and down and they banked in the desired direction. Perseus eased off and their path straightened out. Now to the right this time . . . gently, gently.
Once the glowing white head turned and stared back at him. It wore an expression of uncertainty. The naked fury Perseus had first encountered had faded, replaced by something akin to acceptance. The stallion had not turned suddenly docile. Perseus doubted so spirited and independent a creature ever would. But it had become manageable.
He had won the aerial stallion's respect. Now he could proceed to the less arduous but no less important task of winning its friendship.
He experimented with other commands. Each time, the horse responded more rapidly and with greater confidence. It was willing to be taught.
Midair commands were simple enough. Perseus had grown up knowing the ways of horses and how to direct them. But he did not know a command which would make one land like a bird.
"Down!" he finally urged the stallion. At the same time he tried pushing down hard with both
hands on the back of its neck. "Down." He pressed again. The horse dipped a little lower before leveling off. Perseus repeated the command and the movement, this time keeping the pressure on.
Pegasus glided smoothly toward the ground. Flushed with success, his rider used two commands simultaneously, trying to make the stallion bank left while descending. It responded immediately, almost enthusiastically, as though realizing for the first time that it had found a wonderful new game.
They were just above the surface, near the pond where Ammon stood waiting. "Hup!" Perseus took his hands off the ironlike neck, pulled gently on the mane. The horse backed air with its great wings, nearly knocking poor Ammon down again, and touched down as lightly as a hummingbird.
Carefully Perseus slid off the back, his hands still entwined in the mane. But Pegasus was as tired as he. It showed no signs of bolting, stood quietly nodding its head and breathing hard. There was no telltale tenseness in its neck muscles.
Slowly Perseus slipped his fingers free of the mane, patted the quivering neck. The horse bent and inhaled the fragrance of several night-blooming flowers. Then it began to eat.
"The most wonderful stallion in the world," Perseus murmured reverently as Ammon hobbled over. "Not another like it." His gaze went skyward.
"Ah, Ammon, my friend, to ride in the emptiness between earth and stars, to feel the wind in your face . . . I wish I were a poet like you, so that I could properly describe the sensation."
"And I wish I were a young man like you, so that I could experience it," Ammon replied, breathing harder than the horse. "You felt no fear, then?"
"Me? Why, of course!" His smile softened and he looked away. "At first I was utterly terrified. If I'd been given the chance I think I might have given up, let go. But the one place Pegasus did not fly me was close to the ground. I had to tame him or die." He gazed admiringly at the stallion as he talked.
"But once he sensed that I meant him no harm, when he felt comfortable with me, he relaxed, as did I. He is responsive to command and willing to obey, as smart a horse as ever I've ridden."
Pegasus looked up at him, his mouth full of flowers, and whinnied. He nudged Perseus with his muzzle. All the rage had gone from his noble face.
"See, he is more than responsive," said Ammon delightedly. "He likes you. Horse or men, it's all the same when it comes to friendship and understanding. He speaks to you with actions instead of words, but they are just as comprehensible."
Perseus nodded, wiping sweat from his face. He stumbled once and Ammon looked alarmed.
"You all right my boy? How do you feel?"
"Thirsty."
"I dare say. Excitement will dry a body out faster than the desert sun at midday. You sweated across half the sky, may the stars forgive you! I could do with something wet and cold myself. But we've neither amphora nor cups."
"I know just the thing." Perseus walked away, heading toward the water. "Stay with him."
"But I . . ." Ammon went quiet, looked up at the powerful animal. Nervously, he patted the white neck. It was like patting an anvil.
"Now then, don't fret, don't fret, my birdlike friend. Your master will be back in a moment. You don't frighten me, you know. You're only a horse, even if you can fly, even if you are gifted by the gods, even if you could trample me to a small, wet pulp under your hooves. No, you don't frighten me. Like Hades you don't.
"I should have brought an apple for you. Or maybe a pine cone. But I can't think of everything, can I? I'm only a poor old playwright. Be good, and I'll write you a sonnet some day."
The stallion reared slightly and whinnied. Ammon stayed close, tried to speak reassuringly. It was difficult, however, considering the quaver in his voice.
"Be good now, great Pegasus, master of the sky. Perhaps you'd prefer a whole play, eh?" He looked anxiously toward the water. What was that boy up to, and what was keeping him?
"Here it is!" came the call from the shoreline a moment later. Perseus's outline bent, his actions concealed by darkness. Then he was returning, something shiny cupped in both hands. Pegasus gave the distracted poet a friendly nudge and sent him stumbling. Ammon kept his instinctive response to himself, however.
Perseus held out the helmet of Athene, now brimming with fresh water. The horse eyed him for a moment, then sniffed at the helmet. And then he was drinking in long, noisy gulps.
"Ah, so you grew thirsty too, my fine friend." Perseus said as he stroked the muzzle with one hand.
By the time the stallion finished, there was only a little left in the helmet. Symbolically, Perseus finished it, then caressed the horse affectionately.
"You and me from now on, my friend without feathers. We drink the same water. Even our names are similar. Perhaps we are related, eh?" He grinned at Ammon.
"We did it, old man. We've tamed the one steed in all the world fit for a god to ride."
Ammon shook his head and spoke admiringly. "No, my boy. You did it." He raised a hand to still Perseus's protest. "I was amply rewarded by being privileged to watch. I will derive a most wonderful play from this night. That is pleasure enough for me."
Perseus held the helmet right-side-up, let it drip clean. "What now? I have a few poor skills, my good friend, but little knowledge."
The mood surrounding them turned somber. "When it comes to tracking gigantic vultures who carry off the astral shells of sleeping princesses, I am as poorly experienced as you, Perseus. We must plan carefully what you are to do next, for if it is truly Calibos who is behind these ghostly excursions of her spirit, only the wise and cautious may return to attest to it." He put a hand on Perseus's shoulder.
"I have grown fond of you in a short time, Perseus. And I even find myself feeling compassion for the Princess Andromeda, though I never thought I could feel sympathy for any member of royalty. I do not wish to see either of you become food for worms.
VI
Andromeda tossed spasmodically on the curtained bed. Always the same dream. Always the same, always frightening, but somehow compelling. Yet it seemed no matter how hard she tried to scream, she could never wake herself up.
It was coming for her again, as it had so many nights previously. How could she tell it was night or day, fast asleep as she was? The small part of her consciousness that remained did not know. What it did know was that it would have to watch helplessly as that true part of her was drawn off, sucked away by some horrid compulsion she was unable to resist. She was weak now, so weak from the repeated draining of self that if it continued much longer she was certain she would die.
She no longer feared death, however. It was preferable to this unclean use of her inner self. Death would end the dreams and free her. A false freedom, she knew, but the only kind she could any longer look forward to.
Her body twisted and she cried out. Something was wrenching at her heart and mind, sending a shiver through her whole body. The magic that compelled her was urgent and brutal, content to have its way without regard for how it left her. She slumped once more, completely worn out, and devoid of hope.
Her second self rose and trod the path it had learned many times over. Down the marble dais, out through the archway, onto the balcony. The cage of gold awaited her there. Moist pools of crimson regarded her impatiently as she entered the open portal. The bars closed tight and she convulsively gripped the arms of her chair.
The vulture lifted from the balustrade. Once more it hovered, grasped the perch welded to the crest of the cage. It lifted ponderously into the night sky and soared to the northeast, retracing the same invisible path it had followed in coming. Nothing was changed, nothing was different.
Only one thing, perhaps.
This night, it had company.
High above and behind the bird, who was as easy to track on the cloudless night as a merchantman's dhow in an empty harbor, flew a far smaller, more agile shape. It was pale white and something dark sat on its back.
Perseus clung to the makeshift harness and kept his attention on the distant but
still clearly defined silhouette of the vulture. The helmet and sword were secured to his belt. Ammon had urged him to take the shield also, but Perseus had declined, reasoning that its additional weight might reduce Pegasus's mobility.
"Besides," he'd told the poet, "if a sword that can slice through marble, and a helmet that renders its wearer invisible are not sufficient protection for one man, then I am unworthy to be husband to Andromeda."
Ammon had shaken a rueful finger at him in parting. "May your success match your gallantry, young Perseus, and not mark you an overconfident fool."
But the shield was heavy. Maybe the boy was right. Anyway, who was he to argue with him? He was a tired old writer, not a retired general. Marshal your words, Ammon, and let younger men marshal their weapons.
But damn, he'd thought as he'd watched man and horse soar upward into the night: I wish I were going with him.
The vulture continued to gain altitude, rising with mighty beats of its enormous wings. Perseus urged the stallion higher, hoping to remain far from the great bird's notice. It seemed intent only on carrying out its task of conveying the princess to some unknown destination, however, and paid no attention to the flocks of terrified birds it occasionally scattered.
A glance downward showed the towers and compounds of Joppa, lines of limestone and marble marring the earth. Behind him was the gleam of moonlight on the Mediterranean.
Perseus returned his attention forward, squinting into the wind and grateful that the night was not stormy. He'd spent too much time in too many small boats out on the ocean for the dips and rises of the flying horse to make him sick. But his mind was filled with too many other thoughts and worries for him to enjoy the spectacular ride.
Finally the vulture began descending toward a layer of low clouds. Perseus urged the horse to a faster pace, not wanting to lose sight of his quarry.
I've been asleep, he thought with amazement. Thank the gods I did not fall!
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