Where had the stallion taken himself? If he'd lost interest in his, recently acquired human companion and had flown off, it would be a long journey indeed back to far Joppa.
"Come, Pegasus!"
A frog sprang alertly out of his path, landing with a splash in the dark water. Perseus made his way around a massive dead stump whose exposed roots were thicker around than a man.
He examined the broken top. Perhaps his voice would carry better from higher up, and he might be able to gain some idea of his immediate surroundings. He did not recall passing the stump, but surely he'd left the flying horse lightly tethered somewhere nearby.
The roots of the ancient stump were twisted like brown wire. Perseus moved to the base, seeking a suitable route upward. He was an excellent climber and the stump was not that high.
Several roots were too small, others too rotted to support his weight. Since his attention was directed upward, he failed to notice the slight movement of two of the smaller roots. One of them displayed a pair of shining blobs near its end. Closer inspection would have revealed what might be unusually large pearls.
"Pegas-u-u-us! To me, friend!"
He paused a moment to ready himself for the short climb. Behind him, roots that were not roots moved with astonishing speed, wrapping hard around his neck. At the youth's imprisoned throat the pearls gleamed sickly in the wan moonlight.
Instinctively, Perseus jabbed backward with an elbow. He hit something as solid as the logs he'd passed. The figure holding him laughed—a taunting, inhuman sound. He jabbed again and met unyielding flesh.
Around his neck the single hirsute arm was contracting like a snake. It tightened slowly, as if to prolong the motion, to hurt as well as kill.
Perseus struck lower. There was a grunt of surprise and the arm around his burning throat relaxed. Perseus spun free, but as he did so the helmet tumbled from his grasp. He had no time to hunt for it, Calibos had recovered and was reaching to renew the fatal embrace.
The monster was surprisingly agile, but few were as supple and quick as Perseus. Avoiding the powerful fingers that sought his throat, he struck repeatedly at the broad body confronting him, searching for a weak point within the half-reptilian flesh.
While they fought, the helmet of invisibility rolled down the slight embankment to disappear forever, claimed like so many artifacts and men by the clinging muck of the swamp.
Only Perseus's speed kept him from being overpowered. But the terrain worked to his disadvantage, slowing him down and finally allowing the more ponderous Calibos to gain a second grip on him. Down they went into the mud, with the grinning Calibos on top, forcing the youth back and down toward the waiting water.
Somehow Perseus got his sword free. But for all his inhuman appearance, Calibos was no blind, raging animal. Seeing the danger immediately, he slapped one hand on Perseus's wrist, pinning it and the sword harmlessly against the earth while the other hand continued to force the youth's head back toward the mud.
VII
Of all the structures financed by the commerce of Phoenicia, none was more elaborate or beautiful than the great temple of the city of Joppa. Though smaller, it boasted more columns of rich marble and finer tapestries than the Parthenon in distant Athens. Its ceiling was higher, its appointments more luxurious. There was even a second-floor balcony which gave it an intimacy many smaller buildings might have envied.
At the far north end of the temple rose a great marble statue of Thetis, patron goddess of the city. Gold and ivory decorated the goddess's likeness. She sat on a marble throne of seashells and creatures of the sea, her back supported by the graceful, arching shape of a seahorse. Silken canopies of the richest purple shielded her from above. Her immovable form frozenly gazed down at those who might come to worship, to beg favors or forgiveness.
This morning the temple was crowded. The usual ceremonies had been performed to assuage the privileged, the priests had done obeisance and executed their sacrifices, had delivered their sermons and ran through their genuflections.
A smattering of ordinary citizens pushed and shoved among the wealthy—those fortunate enough to have some pull with this or that official or merchant or soldier of the guard. They anxiously awaited the next act of the continuing drama which kept the city beneath a permanent cloud of doom.
There was a brassy, flat blare of trumpets and a stampeding roll of drums. Queen Cassiopeia appeared, followed by the slow-moving, completely veiled form of the princess.
They halted next to the foot of the statue. The fanfare died. Cassiopeia surveyed the crowd from where she stood, ringed by the lanky shapes of the temple priests. Separating them from the crowd was a line of soldiers, alert now that some important duty was demanded of them.
Even old Thallo's armor was polished to a high shine, his leather oiled and supple. He and his companions were all business now.
The milling throng hushed as all turned expectantly toward the dais fronting the statue.
"Once again," a silvery, strong voice announced to them, "I, Cassiopeia, Queen of Joppa, present to you my daughter Andromeda. If there be any man here worthy to seek her hand in marriage, then let him now make himself known to us." Her lips closed tight, completing her grim expression.
"All know the conditions which must be met before such a proposal may meet with acceptance," she continued. "Let a worthy suitor step forth!"
There followed the usual uncomfortable shuffling by the citizenry, and an embarrassing silence.
"Come, come," the queen finally urged, "is there no one? No man worthy in all the wide Kingdom of Phoenicia? No man of courage in all the world?" The silence was total, save for sandals scuffing marble.
The queen's gaze roved over the crowd. "You there—charioteer near the back. I mark you by your color and countenance as a man of Aegypt. Would not a son of the Nile like to be King of Phoenicia?"
"Not, I, good Queen!" the man replied, his speech marked by the accent of his southerly homeland.
Her eyes moved to the right. "Numidian," she said, speaking to a tall dark mercenary leaning against a column, "they say the fighting men of Africa are the bravest in the world, that they feast regularly on lions and crocodiles to keep their strength up and do battle with the lightning of Zeus himself. Would you not take the Princess of Joppa to wife?"
"Forgive me, great Queen," replied the ebony warrior in a clear voice, his leopard's skull shifting on his head, "but far rather would I battle the lightning. I have not been so short a time in Joppa that I am ignorant of the 'conditions' of which you speak."
There was a rustle of uncomfortable laughter from the crowd. A sharp glance from Cassiopeia silenced it as if by a sword.
"Where is another man of courage?" she demanded loudly, almost desperately. "Where is he who will rescue my daughter from this curse?" Again the empty response.
"Cowards!" she shouted. "I am the ruler of a city of cowards!"
"But not of fools," said a soft voice somewhere in the bowels of the crowd.
"Where is the man who spoke just then?" Cassiopeia's eyes narrowed as she hunted for the jester. "Let him come up here and joke about this to my face." The crowd became as still as the Pillars of Hercules.
In that absence of sound and movement, the creaking as the temple doors were moved aside startled everyone. Those near the back of the temple turned first and the movement flowed through the crowd like a wave, the tactless jester instantly forgotten.
The tall doors had been parted just enough to admit a man. He stumbled a little; his body was bruised, his face bloody. His clothing, where intact, was thick with mud and grime. From both shoulders hung a royal cloak trimmed with gold. Experienced merchants in the crowd immediately noted that the gold was fake. The bruises and cuts on his body were real, however, and not the product of clever makeup.
Trotting in behind him with immense dignity was the stubby form of a playwright and poet recognized by only a few startled members of the crowd.
There was something
in the young man's appearance and manner which made the crowd part instinctively to let him through. Or perhaps it was the ferocity of his gaze.
As he marched unchallenged toward the base of the statue of Thetis, he struggled to straighten, to cure himself through sheer willpower of the injury which was causing him to limp.
At the first steps he stopped, looking hard at those waiting there, and then lifted an arm in salute to the queen. The soldiers regarded him uncertainly. They eyed their officers and awaited instructions, while the officers in turn waited for a command from the queen.
Cassiopeia was alternately amused and impressed by the young stranger. Anyone with the audacity to interrupt such an important ceremony was worthy of attention. She took note of his fresh wounds, his overall appearance, the ragtag attire that was half beggar and half king.
"Who might you be, my cocky young visitor?"
"I am Perseus. Prince Perseus, if you please, lady." He drew himself up.
"Prince Perseus indeed." She did not smile. "Prince of mud and delusion, it would seem."
"Prince and heir to the Kingdom of Argos, such as it may be."
Mention of that ill-fated city across the sea raised a curious murmur from the assembly.
Cassiopeia was not impressed. "Really? And what do you wish of us, Prince Perseus of Argos-such-as-it-may-be?"
He turned to face the princess, who did not react to his presence. She began to show signs of curiosity, however, if not recognition.
"I know the penalty and the rewards."
"Penalty and . . ." Cassiopeia's attitude toward the bedraggled figure changed radically. She tempered her delight with caution. "Know what you are about, young man. This is no puppet show here, put on to amuse bored children. Think on what you are about to do."
He looked back up at her. "Death by burning if I fail; marriage to Andromeda if I succeed."
"I see that you have thought on it. Then it shall be as you wish, young man." She looked to one side and raised an arm commandingly.
The drums and gongs of the temple musicians commenced a steady drone, above which rose the excited buzzing of the crowd. The story of Argos and its destruction was known to most, and was quickly shared with the ignorant. Many believed the tale, but the ancestry of this stranger who claimed to be its long-lost prince was clearly open to question.
Not that it mattered. Gallant he surely was; prince he might or might not be; but he would most certainly smoke and scream as readily as the others when the fire licked at his ankles. That was the consensus of the crowd. There was not even any betting, as had sometimes happened on such occasions. The odds had long since proven themselves too onesided.
Gently, the queen raised the veil from Andromeda's face. She lifted her eyes uncertainly, and when her gaze found that of her latest suitor, her confusion was magnified. She blinked and shook her head as if to clear it, then stared harder at the young man. He returned her stare with equal fervor.
"I . . . I am still asleep," she finally muttered dazedly. "You . . .? You are not real."
Cassiopeia had thought the day's surprises at an end. Now her gaze bounced back and forth between her daughter and this self-annointed prince.
"You know him?"
Andromeda swayed, tried to keep her balance. Her reply came as if from a distance: "Only from a dream."
She looked down into Perseus's eyes, fighting to remember . . . what? Surely they had been staring deeply into her own not long ago. Was she then to be haunted by day now as well as by night?
"I . . . whoever you are, sir, you seem a kindly man," she told him. "I would not see you perish like the others. I beg you; for your own safety, abandon any thoughts you may have about me." But she spoke without conviction and continued to stare bewilderedly down at him.
Perseus answered with all the confidence she lacked. "Do not fear for me, Princess. I know well the conditions. Ask your riddle."
"I would rather—" She stopped in mid-sentence and sighed deeply. No matter how she tried she could not break the compulsion imposed upon her. She closed her eyes and her voice took on the ethereal quality of her astral double. Her words came like a distant incantation:
"This then is the riddle, bold stranger. In my mind's eye I see three circles joined in priceless, graceful harmony. Two full as the moon, one hollow as a crown. Two from the sea, five fathoms down. One from the Earth deep under the ground.
"The whole a mark of high renown. Tell me, what can it possibly be?"
The temple had become utterly quiet. Even the insects outside seemed frightened into silence. Andromeda opened her eyes and stared with forlorn hopelessness at the handsome young stranger.
"Have courage, Princess." He tapped one cheek with a finger and appeared almost to be mocking the question. "Now, what can it be? Three circles joined, two moons and a crown?"
"Tell me," she pleaded, almost daring to hope again, as she had hoped so many futile times before.
"Have a care, stranger," Cassiopeia advised him. "You toy with your very life."
Perseus did not turn his gaze from the princess. "The answer is . . . a ring. A ring formed of two joined pearls on a circle of gold!"
He threw open a flap of his cloak and held something aloft. It was a hand, the severed end cut cleanly at the wrist and dark with dried blood. Light flashed from the index finger.
"The ring of the Lord of the Marsh—the pearl ring of Calibos, here on the claw hand of Calibos himself."
He threw the grisly trophy to the floor. It slid across the smooth marble to stop abruptly at the foot of the statue of Thetis.
"The ring. A present from his mother, the goddess Thetis. Is that not truly the right answer to the question?"
Andromeda did not reply. Her head was in her hands and she was sobbing uncontrollably. Nearby stood the dumbfounded Cassiopeia, her eyes moving from the ghastly disembodied hand to her daughter.
"Tell me, is it?" Perseus pressed her.
Finally the princess regained just enough control of her emotions to gasp out, "Yes, yes!" over her weeping.
The silence in the temple lingered a moment longer before it was shattered like crystal by a mighty roar from the crowd.
Ah, the feelings that overcame the assembly at that moment! Such a scene had not occurred in Joppa since its founding. All the tension, all the fears that had enveloped the city during the past months evaporated. Enemies hugged one another, and husbands and wives fell into each other's arms in ecstasy. Even the soldiers momentarily forgot themselves, breaking position to congratulate their comrades.
After all, 'tis not everyday that a curse is lifted from a whole city.
As the noise began to fade, Perseus lifted his own voice to make himself heard above it. "We fought in the swamp," he shouted to the enthralled crowd. "Battled on his own ground. I spared his life on one condition: that he renounce his curse, which he did. There will be no more bonfires in the city square, no more nightmares. No more young men need volunteer their lives.
"You are freed. Joppa is free." He turned back to the princess, who was staring at him with a mixture of wonder and delight, and said more softly, "And you are free, Andromeda. Only I am not, for I am captured by your beauty and bound by your love." His eyes dropped.
"I know that I have won you, by the terms of the curse and by the binding your mother the queen placed upon it. But I have won only a title." He looked into her face, smiled awkwardly.
"I ask—not demand—that you give me a chance to win also your heart."
She might not have fallen, but it was natural enough that he should be there to catch her as she slumped toward him. She clung to his willing support and gazed up into his eyes with an expression as hopeful as his own.
"I will gladly give that which you could take, Perseus. You have already won more than I thought I had left to give."
The cheers and shouts of the crowd had grown deafening. Cassiopeia beamed at the couple while nearby Ammon looked on approvingly. A fitting climax to the tale, he
told himself, though perhaps a bit overly dramatic in its resolution. He would have added some comedy. But then, fate was a notoriously somber director.
Cassiopeia was equally pleased with the picture the two young lovers presented. Prince or not, this Perseus was as brave as any king. Comely and clever, and apparently truly in love with her daughter. A better match could not have made itself.
She was as happy as any of the common citizens currently dancing in the temple. With the weight of the accursed Calibos off her shoulders, she could again devote her energies and talents to expanding the commerce and power of her city. Someday this Perseus would rule alongside her daughter, and she would leave to them not a kingdom but an empire, if the gods were willing.
Possibly some of them might be. But in that moment of unrestrained triumph, the priests failed to notice how the stone face of Thetis changed from one of a benign smile to a perceptible frown . . .
The queen's personal apartments were spacious and decorated in a manner befitting the ruler of so wealthy and important a state. The chambers were overflowing with riches brought back from distant lands: amber from the Baltic, silver from the Balkan tribes, ivory from Africa.
The entertainment was sparse but sophisticated. Cassiopeia was not one to open the royal coffers recklessly. A lone flute player and another man with a lyre alternately whistled and plucked a delicate tune to which a single dancer spun for the delectation of the assembly. But the musicians and the dancer were the best in all Joppa, and the audience watched them admiringly.
Ammon sat near the queen. Thallo stood behind them, a position of considerable honor. Ordinarily he would have been nervous at being assigned so critical a post, but this night even the royal guard was relaxed. This time it was the curse and not another brave young suitor that had perished.
Off to one side sat Perseus, holding hands with Andromeda. They whispered and laughed quietly and might as well have been in a boat out at sea for all the attention they paid to the entertainment. They had discovered far finer pleasures in each other's eyes.