by Stephen Fry
A shower of golden rain streamed down through the narrow slit of the skylight one night, poured itself into Danaë’s lap and penetrated her.fn4 It may have been an unorthodox form of coition, but Danaë became pregnant and in due time, with the help of her loyal female attendants, she gave birth to a healthy mortal boy, whom she named PERSEUS.
Along with the mortal healthiness of Perseus came a pair of very serviceable lungs, and try as they might neither Danaë nor her aides could stifle the wails and cries of the baby which made their way through the bronze walls of her prison all the way to the ears of her father two floors above.
His rage when confronted with the sight of his grandson was terrible to behold.
‘Who dared break into your chamber? Tell me his name and I shall have him gelded, tortured and strangled with his own intestines.’
‘Father, I believe it was the King of Heaven himself who came to me.’
‘You are telling me – will someone please shut that baby up! – that it was Zeus?’
‘Father, I cannot lie, it was.’
‘A likely story. It was the brother of one of these damned maidservants of yours, wasn’t it?’
‘No, father, it was as I said. Zeus.’
‘If that brat doesn’t stop screaming I’ll smother him with this cushion.’
‘He’s just hungry,’ said Danaë, putting Perseus to her breast.
Acrisius thought furiously. His threat with the cushion notwithstanding, he knew that there could be no greater crime than a blood killing. The murder of one’s kin would provoke the Furies to rise up from the underworld and pursue him to the ends of the earth, scourging him with their iron whips until the very skin was flayed from his body. They wouldn’t leave off until he was raving mad. Yet the oracle’s prophecy meant that he could not suffer this grandson to live. Perhaps …
The next night, out of sight of gossiping townspeople, Acrisius had Danaë and the infant Perseus shut up in a wooden chest. His soldiers nailed down the lid and hurled the chest over the cliffs and into the sea.
‘There,’ said Acrisius, dusting off his hands as if to clear himself of all responsibility. ‘If they perish, as perish they surely will, none can say that I was the direct cause. It will be the fault of the sea, the rocks and the sharks. It will be the fault of the gods. Nothing to do with me.’
With these weasel words of comfort, King Acrisius watched the chest bob out of sight.
THE WOODEN CHEST
Tossed in the wild waves of the sea, the wooden box bounced and buffeted its way from island to island and coast to coast, neither breaking up on the rocks, nor beaching safely on the soft sands.
Inside the darkness of the chest Danaë suckled her child and waited for the end to come. On the second day of their heaving, pitching voyage she felt a great lurch and then a terrible bang. After a few moments of stillness she heard the lid of the box creak and shift. All at once daylight poured in, accompanied by a strong smell of fish and the cry of gulls.
‘Well, well,’ said a friendly voice. ‘Here’s a catch!’
They had been caught in a fisherman’s nets. The owner of the voice extended a strong hand to help Danaë out of the chest.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ he said, though in truth he was the one who felt fear. What could all this portend? ‘My name is Dictysfn5 and these are my crewmen. We mean you no harm.’
The other fishermen crowded around, smiling shyly, but Dictys pushed them away. ‘Let the lady breathe. Can’t you see she’s worn out? Some bread and wine.’
Two days later they landed on Dictys’s home island of Seriphos. He took Danaë and Perseus to his small cottage behind the dunes.
‘My wife died giving birth to a boy, so perhaps Poseidon has sent you to take their place – not that I mean …’ he added in hasty confusion, ‘I would not, of course, expect … I make no demands on you as a …’
Danaë laughed. The atmosphere of unaffected kindness and simplicity was just what she needed for rearing her child. Guileless amiability had been in short supply in her life. ‘You are too kind,’ she said. We accept your offer, don’t we, Perseus?’
‘Yes, mother, whatever you say.’
No, this is not the Miracle of the Talking Baby. Seventeen years have now passed on Seriphos. Perseus has grown into a fine, strong young man. He is, thanks to his adopted father Dictys, a confident and skilled fisherman. Standing in a boat in swelling seas he can spear a darting swordfish, and he can flick up a trout from the fast waters of a stream with his fingers. He runs faster, throws further and jumps higher than any other young man on Seriphos. He wrestles, he rides wild asses, he can milk a cow and tame a bull. He is impulsive, perhaps a little boastful sometimes, but his mother Danaë is right to be proud of him and to believe him the best and bravest boy on the island.
The plainness of Dictys’s home seemed all the more remarkable to Danaë when she discovered that this humble fisherman was the brother of Seriphos’s king, POLYDECTES. The island’s ruler was everything that Dictys was not: proud, cruel, dishonest, greedy, lascivious, extravagant and demanding. At first he had paid no particular attention to Dictys’s houseguest. Over the last few years, however, his black heart had become more and more troubled with feelings of attraction for the beautiful mother of that boy, that impertinent boy.
Perseus had an instinctive way of interposing himself between his mother and the king that was most aggravating. Polydectes was in the habit of calling round when he knew that his brother would be out, but every time he did the pestilential Perseus would be there:
‘Mum, mum, have you seen my running sandals?’
‘Mum, mum! Come out to the rock pool and time me while I hold my breath underwater.’
It was too irritating.
At last Polydectes hit on a way of sending Perseus far away. He would exploit the youth’s vanity, pride and bluster.
Messages were sent to all the young men of the island inviting them to the palace for a feast to celebrate Polydectes’ resolution to seek the hand in marriage of hippodamia, daughter of King oenomaus of Pisa.fn6 This was a bold and surprising move. Just as the oracle had prophesied that King Acrisius of Argos would be killed by a grandson, so it had told Oenomaus that he would be killed by a son-in-law. To prevent his daughter ever marrying, the king challenged every applicant for her hand to a chariot race, the loser to forfeit his life. Oenomaus was the finest charioteer in the land: so far, the heads of more than a dozen hopeful young men adorned the wooden stakes that fenced the racing field. Hippodamia was very beautiful, Pisa was very rich and the suitors kept coming.
Danaë was delighted to hear that Polydectes had thrown his hat into the ring. She had long felt uncomfortable in his presence and the surprising news that his heart was elsewhere came as a great relief. How gracious of him to invite her son to a feast and show that there were no hard feelings.
‘It is an honour to be invited,’ she told Perseus. ‘Don’t forget to thank him politely. Don’t drink too much and try not to talk with your mouth full.’
Polydectes sat young Perseus in the seat of honour to his right, filling and refilling his cup with strong wine. He played the young man just as Perseus himself would have played a fish.
‘Yes, this chariot race will certainly be a challenge,’ he said. ‘But the best families of Seriphos have each promised me a horse for my team. May I look to you and your mother to …?’
Perseus flushed. His poverty had always been a source of mortification. The young men with whom he played at sports, wrestled, hunted and chased girls all had servants and stables. He still lived in a stone fisherman’s cottage behind the dunes. His friend Pyrrho had a slave to fan him in his bed when the nights were warm. Perseus slept out on the sand and was more likely to be awoken by a nip from a crab than by a serving girl with a cup of fresh milk.
‘I don’t really have a horse as such,’ said Perseus.
‘A horse as such? I’m not sure I know what “a horse as such” might be.’
‘I don’t really own anything much more than the clothes I wear. Oh, I do have a collection of sea shells that I’ve been told might be quite valuable one day.’
‘Oh dear. Oh dear. I quite understand. Of course I do.’ Polydectes’s sympathetic smile cut Perseus deeper than any sneer. ‘It was too much to expect you to help me.’
‘But I want to help you!’ Perseus said, a little too loudly. ‘Anything I can do for you I will. Name it.’
‘Really? Well, there is one thing but …’
‘What?’
‘No, no, it’s too much to ask.’
‘Tell me what it is …’
‘I’ve always hoped that one day someone would bring me … but I can’t ask you, you’re just a boy.’
Perseus banged the table. ‘Bring you what? Say the word. I’m strong. I’m brave. I’m resourceful, I’m …’
‘… just a little bit drunk.’
‘I know what I’m saying …’ Perseus rose unsteadily to his feet and said in a voice everyone in the hall could hear. ‘Tell me what you want brought to you, my king, and I will bring it. Name it.’
‘Well,’ said Polydectes with a rueful shrug of defeat, as one forced into a corner. ‘Since our young hero insists, there is one thing I’ve always wanted. Could you bring me the head of MEDUSA, I wonder?’
‘No problem,’ said Perseus. ‘The head of Medusa? It’s yours.’
‘Really? You mean that?’
‘I swear it by the beard of Zeus.’
A little while later Perseus stumbled home across the sands to find his mother waiting up for him.
‘You’re late, darling.’
‘Mum, what’s a “Medusa”?’
‘Perseus, have you been drinking?’
‘Maybe. Just a cup or two.’
‘A hiccup or two, by the sound of it.’
‘No, but seriously, what’s a Medusa?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I heard the name and wondered, that’s all.’
‘If you’ll stop pacing around like a caged lion and sit down, I’ll tell you,’ said Danaë. ‘Medusa, so they say, was a beautiful young woman who was taken and ravished by the sea god Poseidon.’fn7
‘Ravished?’
‘Unfortunately for her this took place on the floor of a temple sacred to the goddess Athena. She was so angry at the sacrilege that she punished Medusa.’
‘She didn’t punish Poseidon?’
‘The gods don’t punish each other, at least not very often. They punish us.’
‘And how did Athena punish Medusa?’
‘She transformed her into a Gorgon.’
‘Blimey,’ said Perseus, ‘and what’s a “Gorgon”?’
‘A Gorgon is … Well, a Gorgon is a dreadful creature with boar’s tusks instead of teeth, razor-sharp claws of brass and venomous snakes for hair.’
‘Get away!’
‘That’s the story.’
‘And what does “ravished” mean, exactly?’
‘Behave yourself,’ said Danaë, slapping his arm. ‘There are only two others like her in the world, Stheno and Euryale, but they were born as Gorgons. They are immortal daughters of the ancient divinities of the sea, Phorcys and Ceto.’
‘Is this Medusa immortal as well?’
‘I don’t think so. She was once human, you see …’
‘Right … and if … say, for example … someone was to go hunting for her?’
Danaë laughed. ‘They’d be a fool. The three of them live together on an island somewhere. Medusa has one special weapon worse even than her serpent hair, her tusks and her talons.’
‘What would that be?’
‘One glance from her will turn you to stone.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that if you were to meet her eyes for just one second you would be petrified.’
‘Scared?’
‘No, petrified means turned into stone. You’d be frozen for all eternity. Like a statue.’
Perseus scratched his chin. ‘Oh. So that’s Medusa? I’d rather hoped she might turn out to be some sort of giant chicken, or a pig, maybe.’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Well, I sort of promised Polydectes that I’d bring him her head.’
‘You what?’
‘He wanted a horse, you see, and somehow this Medusa came up and I found myself saying I’d bring him her head …’
‘You will go round to the palace first thing tomorrow morning and tell him that you will do no such thing.’
‘But …’
‘No buts. I absolutely forbid it. What was he thinking of? I’ve never heard of such a thing. Now, you go and sleep off that wine. In future you’ll have no more than two cups in an evening, is that understood?’
‘Yes, mum.’
Perseus sloped off to bed as commanded, but he awoke in a mutinous mood.
‘I will leave the island and I will search for this Medusa,’ he declared over breakfast and nothing Danaë said to him would make him change his mind. ‘I made a promise in front of others. It’s a matter of honour. I am of an age to travel. To have adventures. You know how swift and strong I am. How cunning and resourceful. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
‘You speak to him, Dictys,’ said Danaë, despairing.
Dictys and Perseus walked along the beach for most of the morning. Danaë was not pleased when they returned.
‘It’s like he says, Danaë. He’s old enough to make his own decisions. He’ll never find Medusa, of course. If she even exists. Let him go to the mainland and try out life for a while. He’ll be back before long. He’s well able to look after himself.’
The farewell between mother and son was all tears and distress on the one side and hand-patting and reassurance on the other.
‘I’ll be fine, mother. Ever seen anyone who can run faster? What harm can come to me?’
‘I’ll never forgive Polydectes, never.’
That at least, thought Dictys, was something.
He took Perseus by boat to the mainland. ‘Don’t trust anyone who offers you anything for free,’ he warned. ‘There’ll be plenty who’ll want to befriend you. They might be trustworthy, they might not. Don’t gaze around you as if it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a busy port or a city. Look bored and confident. As if you know your way around. And don’t be afraid to seek guidance from the oracles.’
How much of this excellent advice Perseus was likely to heed, Dictys could not tell. He was fond of the boy, and even fonder of his mother, and it grieved him to be complicit in so foolhardy an adventure. But, as he had told Danaë, Perseus was set on it and if they parted with hot words his absence would be all the harder to bear.
When they arrived on the mainland Perseus thought that Dictys’ fishing boat looked very small and shabby beside the great ships moored at the harbour. The man he had called father since he had been able to speak suddenly looked very small and shabby, too. Perseus embraced him with fierce affection and accepted the silver coins slipped into his palm. He promised to try and send word to the island as soon as he had any news worth imparting and was patient enough to stand on the quayside and wave Dictys and his little boat goodbye, even though he was desperate to get going and explore the strange new world of mainland Greece.
THE TWO STRANGERS IN THE OAK GROVE
Perseus was confounded and confused by the cosmopolitan clamour of the mainland. No one seemed to care who he was, unless it was to try and con him out of his few pieces of silver. It did not take him very long to see that Dictys was right: if he was going to return to Polydectes with the head of Medusa he would need guidance. The oracle of Apollo at Delphi was a long way to walk, but at least it was free to all.fn8
He joined the long queue of petitioners and after two long days found himself at last standing before the priestess.fn9
‘What does Perseus wish to know?’
Perseus gave a little gasp. She knew who he was!
&
nbsp; ‘I, well, I … I want to know how I can find and kill Medusa, the Gorgon.’
‘Perseus must travel to a land where people subsist not on Demeter’s golden corn but on the fruit of the oak tree.’
He stayed there hoping for further information, but not a word more was forthcoming. A priest pulled him away.
‘Come along, come along, the Pythia has spoken. You’re holding up the others.’
‘I don’t suppose you know what she meant?’
‘I’ve got better things to do than listen to every pronouncement that comes from her mouth. You can be sure that it was wise and truthful.’
‘But where do people subsist on the fruit of the oak?’
‘Fruit of the oak? There’s no such thing. Now please, move along.’
‘I know what she meant,’ said an old lady, who was one of the many regulars who came daily to sit on the grass and watch the line of supplicants shuffling along to hear their fortune. ‘It was her way of telling you to visit the oracle at Dodona.’
‘Another oracle?’ Perseus’s heart sank.
‘The people there make flour from acorns that drop from oaks sacred to Zeus. I’ve heard tell the trees can speak. Dodona is a long way north, my love,’ she wheezed. ‘A very long way!’
A long way it was. His small supply of coins had gone and Perseus slept under hedgerows and subsisted on little more than wild figs and nuts as he travelled north. He must have presented a forlorn figure by the time he arrived, for the women of Dodona were kind. They ruffled his hair and served him delicious acorn-flour bread spread thick with sharp goats’ curd and sweetened with honey.
‘Go early in the morning,’ they advised. ‘The oaks are more talkative in the cool hours before the noontide sun.’
A mist hung over the countryside like a veil when Perseus set out for the grove at dawn the next day.
‘Er, hello?’ he called out to the trees, feeling remarkably stupid. The oaks were tall, stately and impressive enough, but they did not have mouths or faces with recognisable expressions.
