Chlamys soaked with seawater and sea-serpent gore, Andromeda flew back toward Perseus. "I would applaud," he said, "but under the circumstances…" He rattled his chains to show what he meant. "That was very exciting."
Andromeda looked him over. He meant it literally. She could tell. She giggled. Greek statues always underestimated things. Quite a bit, here. She giggled again. Sometimes a sword wasn't just a sword.
She looked up toward the top of the rocks. Nobody was watching; maybe Acrisius' conscience, however vestigial, bothered him too much for that. She could do whatever she pleased. Perseus couldn't do anything about it, that was plain enough. Andromeda giggled once more. She flew a little lower and a lot closer.
Perseus gasped. Andromeda pulled back a bit and glanced up at him, eyes full of mischief. "You said you were here to be eaten," she pointed out.
"By a sea serpent!"
"If you don't think this is more fun…" Her shrug was petulant. But, when you got down to the bottom of things, what Perseus thought didn't matter a bit. She went back to what she'd been doing. After a little while, she decided to do something else. She hiked up the clammy chlamys and did it. Though she hadn't suspected it till now, there were times when the general draftiness of Greek clothes and lack of an underwear department at the Athens K-Mart came in kind of handy. Up against the side of a cliff, winged sandals didn't hurt, either. A good time was had by all.
Afterwards, still panting, Perseus said, "Now that you've ravished me, you realize you'll have to marry me."
Andromeda stretched languorously. A very good time had been had by all, or at least by her. She wished for a cigarette, and wished even more she knew what one was. "That can probably be arranged," she purred.
"First, though, you'll have to get me off," Perseus said.
She squawked. "Listen, mister, if I didn't just take care of that-"
"No, off this cliff," he said.
"Oh." Andromeda dipped her head in agreement. "Well, that can probably be arranged, too." She drew the sword again and swung it. It sheared through the metal that imprisoned Perseus like a divine sword cutting cheap bronze chains. After four strokes-considerably fewer than he'd been good for-he fell forward and down. They caught each other in midair. Hermes' sandals were strong enough to carry two. Andromeda had figured they would be. She and Perseus rose together.
After topping the rocks, they flew north toward Argos. Perseus said, "Can I borrow your sword for a minute?"
"Why?" Andromeda looked at him sidelong. "I like the one you come equipped with."
"It won't cut through the manacles on my ankles and wrists," Perseus said.
"Hmm. I suppose not. Sure, go ahead."
Divine swords had a lot going for them. This one neatly removed the manacles without removing the hands and feet they'd been binding. Thinking about all the times she'd sliced herself carving wild boar-those visiting Gauls could really put it away-Andromeda wished she owned cutlery like that.
Perseus said, "Can you steer a little more to the left?"
"Sure," Andromeda said, and did. "How come?"
"That's Acrisius' palace down there." Perseus pointed. "Who knows? Maybe I can make a prophecy come true." He dropped the manacles and the lengths of chain attached to them, one after another. He and Andromeda both watched them fall.
"I can't tell," Andromeda said at last.
"Neither can I." Perseus made the best of things: "If I did nail the old geezer, Matt Drudge'll have it online before we get to Olympus."
* * *
The wedding was the event of the eon. Andromeda's mother and father, Cepheus and Cassiopeia, flew up from their Ethiopian home in their private Constellation. Acrisius' cranium apparently remained undented, but nobody sent him an invitation. Danae, Perseus' mother, did come. She and Hera spent the first part of the weekend snubbing each other.
Zeus dishonored two maids of honor and, once in his cups, seemed convinced every cupbearer was named Ganymede. After he got into the second maid of honor, he also got into a screaming row with Hera. A couple of thunderbolts flew, but the wedding pavilion, though scorched, survived.
Hera and Danae went off in a corner, had a good cry together, and were the best of friends from then on out. A little later, Zeus sidled up to Andromeda and asked in an anxious voice, "What is this First Wives' Club my wife keeps talking about? Do you suppose it is as powerful as my sword?"
"Which one, your Godship, sir?" she returned; she was in her cups, too. Zeus didn't answer, but went off with stormy, and even rather rainy, brow. Before long, he and Hera were screaming at each other again.
And then Andromeda and Perseus were off for their wedding night at the Mount Olympus Holiday Inn. In her cups or not, Andromeda didn't like the way the limo driver handled the horses. Perseus patted her knee. "Don't worry, sweetie," he said. "Phaethon hasn't burned rubber, or anything else, for quite a while now."
She might have argued more, but Perseus' hand, instead of stopping at the knee, kept wandering north. And, with all the gods in the wedding party following the limo, odds were somebody could bring her back to life even if she did get killed.
Ambrosia-Dom Perignon ambrosia, no less-waited on ice in the honeymoon suite. The bed was as big as Boeotia, as soft as the sea-foam that spawned Aphrodite. Out in the hallway, the gods and demigods and mortals with pull who'd been at the wedding made a deityawful racket, waiting for the moment of truth.
They didn't have to wait very long. Perseus was standing at attention even when he lay down on that inviting bed. Wearing nothing but a smile, Andromeda got down beside him. At the appropriate time, she let out a squeal, pretending to be a maiden. Everybody in the hallway let out a cheer, pretending to believe her.
After the honeymoon, things went pretty well. Perseus landed an editorial job at Argosy. Andromeda spent a while on the talk-show circuit: Loves Fated to Happen were hot that millennium. They bought themselves a little house. It was Greek Colonial architecture, right out of Grant Xylum, and they furnished it to match.
When Andromeda sat down on the four-poster bed one night, she heard a peculiar sound, not one it usually made. "What's that?" she asked Perseus.
"What's what?" he said, elaborately casual.
"That noise. Like-metal?"
"Oh. That." Elaborately casual, all right-too elaborately casual. Perseus' face wore an odd smile, half sheepish, half… something else. "It's probably these." He lifted up his pillow.
"Chains!" Andromeda exclaimed. "Haven't you had enough of chains?"
"Well-sort of." Perseus sounded sheepish, too, sheepish and… something else. An eager something else. "But it was so much fun that first time, I, I… thought we might try it again."
"Did you?" Andromeda rubbed her chin. You don't find out everything right away about the person you marry, especially if it's a whirlwind courtship. Gods knew she hadn't expected this. Still… "Why not?" she said at last. "Just don't invite that damn sea serpent."
And a good time was had by all.
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Greek Missology #1: Andromeda and Persueus Page 2
