Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two

by Bernard Evslin

  “I choose her!” cried Perseus. “I choose Medusa!”

  By this time a crowd of courtiers had gathered before the palace. They laughed loudly when they heard the lad’s words,

  “By the gods,” he cried, “who laughs at me will taste my blade before the Gorgon does.”

  “What blade?” said one gorgeously dressed young man. “I see no sword, and doubt that you own one. Or do you mean that butcher knife of your mother’s stuck in your belt?”

  “Who will lend me a sword?” shouted Perseus, wild with anger. “I promise to wipe the blood off before I return it.”

  “Softly … softly,” said the king. “I’ll have no squabbling in my presence. Perseus is my heir now, everyone take note. Carried away by visions of glory, he has made a foolish boast, perhaps, but he is very young. I give him this chance to retract his vow and choose a mission less perilous.”

  “Thank you, king,” said Perseus. “But I retract nothing. I shall return with the head of Medusa or not at all. This is a pledge of blood, Polydectes.”

  He rushed away from the palace, followed by laughter.

  Running across a field toward his mother’s house, he met a tall, black-haired girl clad in leaves. She stood in his path. “Stop!” she said.

  “I should like to make your acquaintance,” said Perseus. “But I must bid farewell to my mother. I leave on the morning tide.”

  “To seek the head of Medusa, no doubt.”

  “How do you know?” cried Perseus. “You weren’t there when I spoke of this.”

  “But I know things,” said the girl.

  “Are you perhaps the young sorceress so popular at court?”

  “I am Dimona, yes. Everyone thinks I’m an apprentice witch, who learns faster than she’s taught. And, in all modesty, I am adept at the dark arts. However, I must confess I’ve had a headstart. I’m not really human, you see. I’m a meadow nymph of the mushroom clan. I serve the goddess Athena and have been sent here on a special mission to help a half brother of hers who has fallen into deadly peril.”

  “Half brother? Who might that be?” asked Perseus.

  “Athena is a daughter of Zeus. Her half brother would therefore be a son of Zeus. Now the king of the gods has a thousand and three sons at the latest count, but not so many on this small island. In fact, you’re the only one.”

  “Oh … you’re talking about me!”

  “I don’t know.… Athena said half brother, not half-witted brother. With such exalted parentage, your perceptions should be a bit quicker. Of course I’m talking about you. You’re the only son of Zeus on this island, and the only one in deadly peril.”

  “What peril?”

  “Is not the king sending you after the head of Medusa?”

  “He didn’t send me. I volunteered.”

  “I see.”

  “In fact, he tried to discourage me. Urged me to do something a little less dangerous. But I chose this task.”

  “Well, whether he’s sending you or you’re sending yourself, you’re still going—which signifies deadly peril. Do you not agree? Or perhaps you think hunting Medusa is a recreational activity?”

  Perseus laughed.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  “I’m not laughing at anything. I’m laughing with pleasure. You’re quite beautiful, and you say funny things. Funny, sharp things.”

  “Oh Goddess, give me strength,” cried Dimona. “This is a sweet boy, but with no more brains than a sand crab. Look, Perseus. My mistress, Athena, your half sister, takes a special interest in you and has sent me to help you. But you have to help me help you. So listen carefully, and try to understand. I’ll speak slowly.”

  He laughed again.

  “Stop cackling, and listen. How do you intend to journey to the far place where Medusa dwells?”

  “The king has offered me a ship,” said Perseus. “Complete with crew.”

  “Set foot aboard that ship and your mission ends right there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that the king doesn’t plan to wait for you to be turned to stone by Medusa. He expects to hear news of your death within hours of your departure. Every member of that crew is a trained assassin who has been offered a generous bonus to plunge a knife into your heart. So your first instruction from Athena is: Do not board that ship.”

  “What then shall I use for transport?”

  “Look here.”

  She stooped and lifted a rock. Under it was a pit; in the pit were various objects wrapped in oiled leather. She took up the smallest packet and unwrapped it, disclosing a pair of winged sandals. “These are called talaria,” she said. “Ankle-wings. Athena is not only a potent weaver, but she cobbles magically too. These sandals are exactly like those she made for another half brother, the messenger god, Hermes. They allow him to fly through the air more swiftly than any bird. They will do the same for you. And you will be the first mortal ever to wear them.”

  Perseus tried to thank her, but his throat was choked with tears. He had wanted to fly so badly that he had risked his life many times diving off the highest cliffs he could find just to have a brief sensation of flight.

  Dimona peeled a larger object of its oiled leather and raised it with a flourish. It was a bronze shield, its center panel so highly polished that Perseus could not look at it, for it held the sun like a mirror.

  “This has a double purpose,” said Dimona. “When fighting an ordinary enemy, you can flash the sun in his eyes, impairing his vision. But it is specially contrived for hunting Medusa. Because no one can look upon her without turning to stone, you must look only upon her image as reflected in the mirror of your shield.”

  “Thank you,” he muttered.

  “Finally—your weapon.”

  She drew out a sword. Its blade was curved like the new moon; it glittered like a new moon, and was sharper than any blade made by mortal man. Dimona pulled a hair from her head, tossed it up, and as it floated down, swung the sword, cutting the hair in two.

  “Here,” she said, handing him the weapon. “Strike right and you’ll cut through any neck, no matter how monstrous.”

  “Speak on, sweet tutor,” said Perseus. “Instruct me. How do I find Medusa?”

  “Her dwelling place is a secret known only to the Apple Nymphs.”

  “How do I find them?”

  “They tend the Garden of the Hesperides, where are buried many secrets, many treasures; among them are two more things you will need to vanquish Medusa.”

  “How do I find this garden?”

  “Ah, my young friend, that too is a secret, known only to the Gray Ones, three weird hags who are sisters of the Gorgons. They dwell on an ice floe, which you will find by flying due north until you feel your marrow freezing. Farewell now, brave lad. Good hunting to you.”

  Swiftly she brushed her lips over his, wrapping him in a fragrance of crushed grass. He reached for her, but she had vanished.

  “I’ll come back for you!” he shouted. “And you shan’t escape me again!”

  He strapped on the sandals and rose straight in the air, shouting with joy. Turning, he swooped down to pick up his sword and shield. Keeping the afternoon sun on his left, he sped over the central mountains of Seriphus toward its northern shore and out to sea, so drunk with happiness that he quite forgot that he, who had never spent a night away from his mother, was now leaving her, perhaps forever, without saying good-bye.

  9

  The Gray Ones

  Now Perseus was flying over gray-black water, littered with ice floes. The air was so cold that it hurt him to breathe. A hailstorm spat ice at him, cutting his face. The cuts bled; the blood froze. He wrapped himself tightly in his cloak, lowered his head, and butted through the freezing wind.

  Perseus spotted something below him and flew lower. Three hags sat in a circle on the floe, screaming as they passed things from one to the other. He swooped down and landed silently among them. They stood clad only in their own gray hai
r, which was so long it dragged on the ice. Their skin was as tough and wrinkled as a crocodile’s. Their feet were leather claws. They kept snatching something from one another and screaming softly. Perseus saw that they had a single eye and a single tooth to serve the three of them, and these were what they passed from hand to hand, screeching all the while.

  Two of the crones were exchanging tooth and eye while the third yelped angrily, “My turn … my turn …” Perseus stepped among them, snatched tooth and eye, and stepped quickly back. Immediately the hags screamed, “Where is it? Where’s the eye?” “I gave it to you; you took it. Where’s my tooth?” “You took the tooth.” “Liar.” “Liar.” “You’re both liars! Selfish, rotten liars! It’s my turn for the tooth, my turn for the eye. Give them to me! … Give them to me!”

  Shrieking with rage, they flung themselves upon one another—slapping, kicking, gouging. They tried to bite, but had no teeth. But their jaws were powerful, their gums tough, and these toothless bites left great bruises. They made so ugly a spectacle that Perseus could hardly bear to look at them. But he could not afford to be squeamish until his task was done.

  “Silence!” he roared.

  They stopped screaming and turned blindly this way and that. Then they pointed their faces straight at him, and he realized they had developed noses keen as hunting dogs.

  “A man!” shrieked one. “I smell a man. A young one.”

  “A man … give me the eye; I want to see him.”

  “Give me the tooth so that I may smile.”

  “Listen to me,” said Perseus. “I have your tooth and eye, right in my hand. And you shall not have them back until you tell me where the Apple Nymphs dwell.”

  “The Apple Nymphs!”

  “Oh, no, not the Apple Nymphs! Not that secret,” yelped one hag.

  “It’s a terrible secret, a Gorgon secret,” cried another.

  “They’ll tear us to pieces if we tell,” said the third.

  “I’m hungry now,” said Perseus. “I’m about to chop a hole in the ice and go fishing. I’ll use this eye for bait. As for this sharp yellow tooth, I can use it also.”

  He began to chip ice with the tooth, and the crones felt the painful cold in their gums. He pressed the jellied eye lightly between thumb and forefinger, and they felt the pain in their empty sockets. They wept. It was too cold for weeping. Their tears froze and fell musically on the floe.

  Swiftly then, gasping and tittering and sobbing, they told him what he had come to find out—that the Apple Nymphs guarded the Garden of the Hesperides, where Hera’s golden apples grew and where other treasures and secrets were buried. They also told him of the many brave voyagers who had visited that place, not one of whom had ever come back.

  Perseus thanked the Gray Ones, returned tooth and eye, and leaped into the air. The hags’ joyful cackling faded on the wind, which grew more and more bitter the higher he flew.

  10

  The Apple Nymphs

  Perseus flew westward. The frozen sea melted beneath him, and became blue water. This gave way to rocky shore, then to a great forest belt, stretching to the horizon. Another sea appeared, then islands rich with meadow and orchard. Dominating the outermost island was a mountain, rearing stark against the sunset.

  “Well,” he said to himself. “If the hags weren’t lying, and I have flown straight, this should be the Garden of the Hesperides.”

  He dipped toward the earth. Three nymphs were dancing among the apple trees. They were enchantingly beautiful. When his shadow fell upon them, they stopped.

  “It’s Hermes!” they cried.

  “Welcome, sweet Herald!”

  “Come down quickly. We’re pining for company.”

  Perseus flew lower and hovered above their heads.

  “It’s not Hermes!”

  “Not a god.”

  “Much smaller.”

  “But big enough. Clean and sweet and young.”

  “Come down!”

  “Then what?” asked Perseus.

  “You shall dance with us all the sunny day, then dance the night away.”

  “How do I find Medusa?”

  “That’s a deep and dismal secret. It will cost you a few kisses and much dancing.”

  “You’re three to one, my lovelies. And I have journeyed far.”

  “Oh, do stop hovering. Come down or fly away; don’t just float there out of reach.”

  “I can’t stop now,” he said. “I’m on a mission.”

  “You men and your stupid missions. When will you learn what women have always known—that happiness is the only victory and love the only happiness? Stay with us, lad, we’ll teach you love.”

  “I’ll come back after I kill Medusa. I promise. And I keep my promises.”

  “You may have another mission you don’t know about. It has been foretold that a strange young cousin would come to us on wings and change our lives. Aren’t you he? Who are you?”

  “More than I was and less than I will be,” said Perseus. “My father is Zeus, who courted my mother as a sun ray, lancing through her prison wall, illuminating her sorrow, warming her solitude, and leaving her with what turned out to be me.”

  “If you are a son of Zeus, you are the cousin destined to aid us. Were you sent to us, sweet one?”

  “In a sense.”

  “Oh joy! Then you are he who will free us from the awful vigil of our father.”

  “Who’s your father?”

  “See him there on the horizon?”

  “That mountain?”

  “That’s no mountain; that’s a Titan—the mightiest of all. What looks like snowy peaks are his hair and beard.”

  “Why does he hold his arms so broad and wide?”

  “He is the Titan Atlas, who rebelled against the gods, and has been condemned to bear this corner of the sky upon his shoulders. But we, his daughters, are condemned, too, living as we do under his stern gaze. And when we’re lucky enough to have a guest, why then this father of ours simply stamps his great foot, squashing the visitor like a bug. Won’t you please come down?”

  “And get squashed?”

  “He doesn’t know you’re here. Storm clouds abet us, lovely boy. They veil his eyes so he cannot see.”

  “Oh nymphs,” said Perseus. “Even at this distance I am bewildered by your beauty. I grow dizzy on your fragrance. If I come down and touch your petal skin and breathe your cider breath, I’ll go drunk as a bee among apple blossoms. I’ll lose my sting, forget my oath, forfeit my newfound manhood, and be no good for you or anyone else.”

  “What can we do for you, then?”

  “Help me, sweet nymphs, and by the gods I’ll love you forever. I’ll come back with Medusa’s head, and tell you the tale of my battle, and dance with you and do your pleasure.”

  “Let us tell him what he needs to know,” cried one nymph. “The sooner he goes, the sooner he’ll be back.”

  The nymphs leaped up and seized Perseus’s ankles, pulling him to earth. They clung to him, kissing him and whispering. He felt his wits spinning, his will melting under their apple fragrance and the touch of their hands and lips. But they were not trying to keep him now—only to be near him, because they could tell nothing to anyone they could not touch. Whispering and murmuring, they told him where Medusa dwelt and how to get there.

  Then they pulled him over to a great oak and dug among its roots. Buried there were what looked like a golden bowl and a leather pouch. The bowl, they told him, was a helmet, a most ancient and magical one—the Helmet of Darkness, which lent invisibility to its wearer.

  “The pouch is magical too,” said one nymph. “It’s called the kibesis, and it is made from the hide of the Delphic serpent slain by your half brother Apollo at the dawn of time. Only this pouch can contain the head of Medusa, for the envenomed slaver of its snakes will burn through any other. Both helmet and pouch are necessary for your mission. Thank us nicely now.”

  Perseus put on the Helmet of Darkness and immediately d
isappeared. They had to grope about to kiss him farewell.

  Radiant with happiness, Perseus rose into the air, shouting, “Thank you, beautiful cousins! I shall return!” And he flew swiftly away.

  11

  The Gorgons

  Hills flattened as Perseus flew the route given him by the Apple Nymphs. Fields and orchards gave way to a wide, dark plain cut by weed-choked rivers. This was the Land Beyond, called Hyperboreas, meaning behind the North Wind. It was neither earth nor sea but something less than both, a foul marshland from which animals departed, and where no travelers came. Here, Perseus had been told, was where the Gorgons dwelt—snake-haired Medusa and the two monstrous, brass-winged sisters who had followed her into exile. These winged Gorgons were meat-eaters and would snatch any living thing, tear it to pieces in midair, and stuff the gobbets of raw flesh into their mouths.

  Perseus had hung the Helmet of Darkness from his belt and was flying bare-headed. For when he wore the helmet he became invisible to himself, and it made him uneasy not to see his own body. He knew, though, that he was getting close to his enemy now, and he decided to put on the helmet. But he had waited too long.

  There was a clatter of brass, and he saw two huge shapes rising to meet him, wings and claws gleaming in the muddy light. He was about to clap the helmet on his head when he was struck by a bold idea. He held the helmet in his hand, hovering, letting the Gorgons see him. He watched them climbing, rise toward him, then separate to attack from both sides.