"A fine couple," the queen observed with satisfaction. "This Perseus has the bearing of a king if not yet the wisdom. Some day he will be a worthy ruler. As for my daughter, I have not seen her so content and happy since she was a child. I still tend to see her as that from time to time." She sighed. "Soon I must give that up forever."
"Yes, a splendid pair, Majesty," agreed Ammon. "But young and hot-blooded. I think this dancing,"—he gestured at the performers—"not much to their liking."
"They'll have to be patient." Cassiopeia remembered whom she was talking to and assumed a slightly more regal tone. "The amenities must be observed. This is a royal wedding. Surely tomorrow at midday is soon enough. I would send off my only child according to custom."
"You look more like sisters, Majesty." Ammon risked a quick wink.
"Flatterer. I would be more receptive to your compliments if I did not know that you were primarily an author of comedies and farces."
"There is no humor in my compliments to you, Majesty. Only truth."
"You're a clever old fox, Ammon. I can see why Perseus favors you."
"Nay, Majesty, it is I who favor him. He would not be here this moment, holding hands with your daughter and preparing to marry her on the morrow, if not for my advice and aid."
"Or so you would have us all believe." But she smiled as she spoke.
"I have been the ruler of a city founded on commerce far too long to believe in the innocence of men, especially one as sharp-tongued and ingratiating as yourself. Tell me, what are you hoping to gain from all this?"
"Me?" Ammon looked properly outraged. "Majesty, you do me an injustice. What more could I want than for the city of Joppa, the home which I so dearly love, to recover its vigor and its former position as the center of trade, of experimentation—and of the arts?"
"Our trade endures, master of a hundred verbal convolutions, and we continue to experiment with life. As for the last, no doubt they will also experience a revival of interest, now that the people's minds have been lightened.
"Doubtless we will see new craftsmen in the marketplace, new people plying old trades . . . and perhaps even the theater of comedy restored to its former elegance?"
Ammon shrugged, seemingly indifferent. "It would not be bad for the people's spirits to taste a new comedy or two. As you say, they should be more receptive now."
Cassiopeia laughed, taking a sip of wine from a golden goblet. "We shall see. I am inclined to be generous toward public works now, for I have been given back my daughter." She eyed him across the rim of the goblet.
"And you, my supple-tongued friend—could it be that you just happen to have a new play ready to be staged?"
"Nay, Majesty." and before her surprised expression was lost he added quickly, "A dozen! And all brilliant. The wittiest Athenian writing today could not create more amusing soliloquies for Athens than I have for Joppa."
"As near as I can remember, your former works were quite popular with the masses, but sometimes of improper content. Certain authorities do not consider themselves fit subjects for buffoonery."
"But it is they who insist on lending themselves to parody, Majesty. And such amusements alleviate the worries and woes of the average man." He hastened to add, "These new plays I've written wouldn't offend anyone. All very proper, I assure you, dignified and moral."
"A pity."
"What is, Majesty?"
She grinned at him. "I rather liked the improper ones."
It was deserted in the temple.
A few torches still flickered from brackets set high in the walls. Several sandals, a brightly colored sash, other debris remained undisturbed where they'd been dropped and forgotten during the celebration earlier. Not even a priest was present. They were busily readying for the rituals of a royal marriage and had much to prepare.
A faint creaking sounded from the main entranceway, and a thin sliver of moonlight entered the torchlit chamber through the parted doors.
No guards stood ready to challenge. On so joyous a day it was unthinkable that anyone would try to desecrate the temple. The priests had declared that the doors should remain unlocked so that any who might wish to give private thanks for the deliverance of the princess would have free access to the temple at any hour.
The single figure that now hobbled into the temple was not there to give thanks. He had traveled a long way in considerable pain, and his body was flooded with rage, not thankfulness. Even had guards been present, they would not have been able to keep him outside.
His feet dragged tiredly across the marble floor. One arm ended not in fingers but in a bundle of stained, dirty bandages. He shuffled onward until he was standing at the base of the great statue. A last look around revealed that he was still alone within the sanctuary.
His eyes lifted to the face of the sculpture.
"Thetis, divine goddess of the sea, hear the prayer of thy son Calibos! Show me the way to justice. Show me how to punish the blasphemer Perseus, for such I have since learned is the name of he who did this!" and he thrust the bandaged, bloody stump toward the statue.
There was no reply, so he continued. "In wounding me, he has insulted you. Surely he must be punished. Help me. Show me what to do, and I will carry out your will."
A peculiar glow emerged from the face of the statue. The marble softened and flowed as though it had turned to soft clay beneath the hands of a master sculptor. When all the hardness had finally left the polished stone, the face of Thetis looked down expressionlessly.
"Perseus is protected by Zeus himself. There is nothing I can do."
"What of this insult to you? And what of this?" Again he waved the handless arm.
Thetis's voice was not cold, but neither was it promising. "A sharper than mortal sword cut off your hand, Calibos, but it was a mortal hand that wielded it. It was a fair fight. More than fair, I should say, for you have the strength of any two men."
"Even Hercules would have trouble defeating an eel."
The goddess did not sound impressed. "And even though you would have slain him in an instant, and tried to do so, still he spared your life. I do not call such an action blasphemy.
"Be grateful this lesson has cost you only a hand. I cannot act against Zeus's orders. I cannot punish this Perseus. You must fight your own fight, Calibos. You would involve Olympus in a private quarrel."
"Then if you cannot punish him, punish those he loves: the queen, Andromeda, the people of Joppa." He smiled, but there was no humanity or humor in it.
"How ironic it would be if the same fate that befell Argos happened here because of Perseus. A second such manifestation in his wake would cause him to be shunned in every city in the world. No country would offer him sanctuary for fear of suffering a similar fate." He glared sharply at the statue.
"Persuade your devoted Poseidon to let loose the Kraken against this city too. The god of the waters is brother to Zeus and would stand against him if you asked it. Let the Kraken destroy Joppa as it once destroyed Argos. I demand this justice!"
"Justice?" The voice of Thetis was soft, though it emerged from a stone throat. "Or revenge? I will consider the matter, but you displease me, Calibos. What grace and dignity you received from me has vanished. Perhaps it was gone even before Zeus saw reason to punish you."
The glow from above faded, and with it, Calibos's hopes. No priest appeared to see the half-human shape pounding in rage with its one remaining hand against the unyielding marble of the statue.
The dancers had given their best turns and highest leaps to the royal audience and had retired, but the musicians played on. Lute and lyre and flute formed a gentle background to conversation.
Perseus rose and led Andromeda from the audience chamber. No one noticed their subtle departure save old Ammon, who merely smiled a little wider and endeavored to draw the queen into deeper conversation.
A palace grows like a nautilus, adding newer and larger chambers as it matures. Such a method of expansion leaves small forgotten places
here and there: hallways leading nowhere, rooms without ceilings, atriums that appear when least expected. Joppa's palace had a long way to go before it matched in extent and complexity such labyrinths as the Palace of Knossos in far-off Crete, but already there were places where lovers could conspire in peace.
In the half-light of the torches Perseus turned Andromeda toward him.
"I was getting tired of all the people, of all the questions. One more question about how Argos came to be destroyed and I thought I would throw wine in someone's face. They all forget I was an infant at the time."
"But you are no infant now," she said coyly.
"Not for some time." He leaned toward her. To his surprise she hesitated, turned her lips aside.
"Why shouldn't we kiss?" he asked her. "At noon tomorrow you will become my wife." When Andromeda neither replied nor turned back to him, he grew puzzled.
"Isn't that what you want? To be my wife? For, by all the gods, I wish more than anything else on this earth to become your husband."
"It is agreed. You fought and defeated Calibos. You answered his riddle rightly. You won me."
"To have won you is not enough, as I said only hours ago. To be your husband is not enough, and I care nothing to be ruler of Joppa and Phoenicia. I don't understand, Andromeda. Do you not realize I care only that you love me?"
She faced him and her expression was tormented. "Love? I want that too, more than anything, but how can I be sure?"
"You were sure this morning."
"It was all so fast, so overpowering. Consider, Perseus, that I saw you for the first time in my life a few hours ago, streaked in blood and grime and waving a severed hand over your head."
He grinned. "A rapid and unorthodox courtship, I agree." Then he grew serious once more. "But I meant everything I said in the temple. This is meant to be. Don't you feel that also, Andromeda?"
"I . . . I think I do, but I want to be certain. I was first promised to Calibos. I want to want you willingly, not because you fought him or solved a riddle."
"Did you love Calibos? Is that what troubles you now?"
"Before he was changed, you mean? No. I am certain of that. There was never love. He was handsome and fascinating, and as a girl I tried to love him because it was promised that someday we would marry. But I never could. The evil that now shows in his face was there in his actions and words even as a child. I was very young, but I could still see."
"And now?"
"Now I feel pity for him. When you fought together in the swamps, why didn't you kill him? It would have been better."
"For us?"
"For him. You see, even while he has been tormenting me these past many months, I know how I must have been tormenting him. But I can feel no love. Only pity." She looked away again.
"There is still much that I do not understand. Everything has happened so fast, so fast. We met today and yet you said you have loved me longer."
"I have. I've seen you before today. I saw you in your sleep." He smiled tenderly. "You see the power you have over me, Andromeda. You conquered me even while asleep."
"Asleep? There was a dream, but surely that cannot have been real."
He put a finger to her lips. "It is said by wise men that what we see in dreams is truer than anything we see during our waking lives. That is the promise of Morpheus.
"When first I saw you, I thought I had set eyes on a dream myself, for surely, I thought, such beauty cannot exist in the waking world."
Her confusion cleared a little. "You say you are but a simple fisherman though of royal ancestry, yet you speak of love like one of Aphrodite's own courtiers."
He laughed softly and it echoed down the quiet corridor. "I have been forced for hours to listen to my friend Ammon. They say the talk of poets is catching, like a disease."
She smiled hesitantly back at him. "I think I find it a most pleasant infection."
"All will be explained tomorrow night. Then we will have each other only to ourselves and none can come between us. Simply believe me for now. Believe in me. I saw you asleep and the sight went through me like an arrow. I will wear that arrow forever." He held her tightly.
"From that first instant I was prepared to do anything for you. From that moment I loved you. Even the gods cannot explain the ways of love. Do you wish more proof than my poor words?"
"You defeated Calibos, risking your life not knowing how I would receive you. They say you tamed Pegasus himself simply so you could follow my shade to Calibos's lair. What further proof could I demand?"
He held up his right arm, stared into her eyes. "Ask me to cut off my hand and I'd do it!"
"No, no." She took his hand in both of hers, held it between her breasts. "I believe you. I believe you not because I am forced to, or because it is promised, but because I want to." She kissed the back of his hand. "I believe in you, Perseus. And in us."
"Enough to love me? Without questions?"
"Enough, but never without questions. I am the daughter of Cassiopeia of Joppa, Perseus. I am my mother's child. But the questions that I still have, have nothing to do with what truly matters."
"Which is?"
"That I believe now that I love you as much as you say you love me."
"Then show me."
She let his hand go and slowly put both arms around his neck, savoring the movement, the first contact. She kissed him gently at first, intending it to be no more than a first experimental exchange.
But experiments in affection have a way of going astray, and when those who play are lovers, no control can restrain them. As Perseus said, even the gods cannot explain the ways of love. And if the gods cannot control themselves, then what can a man and a woman confronted with true passion do? One must feel a willingness, a desire to hold the other back, to fight it off.
Perseus and Andromeda did not wish to fight.
VIII
If the temple had been crowded the day before when the priests had been presiding over a possible sacrifice, it was jammed at the time set for the wedding. All of Joppa felt a part of the marriage. By answering the riddle Perseus had freed the princess. His marrying her assured the people their own freedom would be secured.
It had been a long time since the great temple had seen such lavish decoration. The atmosphere was as festive as on the days when returning ships unloaded the cargoes which made the city prosper.
The atmosphere in the temple was not that of royalty sharing with commoners but rather that of a single large family. Cassiopeia perceived this and was gratified beyond dreaming. Her people were happy, and therefore so was she.
She stood at the base of Thetis's statue, resplendent in one of her richest gowns. All eyes were on her and the young couple standing patiently before her.
She raised a hand and the hundreds of people gathered in the chamber immediately fell silent.
Let Perseus and Andromeda find their happiness in each other's arms, she thought. The ability to command is my passion.
"Let all bear witness," she said, her voice ringing through the quiet room. "I, Cassiopeia of Joppa, Queen of Phoenicia, descendant of Pyrlos of Sidon, treaty-maker with the Empire of Persia, freely give my daughter and heir Andromeda in marriage to the noble Prince Perseus of Argos!"
She bent down and unfastened the ribbon symbolically girdling Andromeda's waist, then held it up for the crowd to see.
"As I link their wrists with this ribbon of silk, bear witness that as she is my heiress so Perseus becomes my male heir. As she is my daughter, so Perseus of Argos becomes my own son."
The betrothed held out their hands. Cassiopeia placed the ribbon across their wrists and prepared to pronounce the final blessing before gently knotting the cord.
Too much happiness can have the same effect as too much power. Both are akin to the effect produced from too much liquor. A pleasant, rosy haze dampens normal cautions, and the mind is inflamed to a point where a casual feeling of invulnerability overcomes the individual. It had happened to greater
than Cassiopeia, and to lesser.
"I give her to the man who has rescued us all from despair," she continued, glorying in the joy of the moment, forgetful in the joy of the moment. "I give Andromeda, the most beautiful of all women, more beautiful than anything on Earth or in Heaven, more lovely even than . . ."
One of the priests, an attentive ascetic wedded to his duties, woke from a half sleep and started forward. There was a warning in his waving hands and an admonition forming on his lips, but both came too late to stop the queen.
". . . the goddess Thetis herself."
Perhaps only one thing is more terrible than the wrath of a god, and that is the jealousy of a beautiful woman. When the two are combined, even the laws and directives of Zeus himself are forgotten.
The entire temple—indeed, all of Joppa—quivered as though from an earthquake. It was accompanied, or perhaps initiated by, a cry of anger and outrage that came from no human throat.
The mood of the crowd changed swiftly from one of pleasant anticipation to one of terror. The elderly priest who might have rescued the moment froze in his tracks and knew without a doubt that he was too late.
Cassiopeia's thoughts screamed at her, overpowering her joy of a moment earlier and shaking her brutally back to reality. Fool, she thought in panic. Fool of fools, queen of fools are you now!
She turned as if in a dream to gaze up at the face of the great statue. Something within it cracked, and a darkness came over the city though the sun still shone brightly outside. It was an eclipse of the spirit.
Suddenly and yet slowly, the head of Thetis tumbled from the statue's neck. Cassiopeia, the priests, the soldiers of the guard and the two lovers scrambled aside as the four-foot head crashed to the dais. Splinters of marble spewed in all directions as the massive carving continued to bounce down to the floor of the temple.
Perseus grabbed the paralyzed Andromeda and tumbled with her to one side as another huge chunk of rock shattered down onto the spot where she'd been standing.
The marble head rolled slowly to a rest, and an instant of uncertain silence followed. Then the stone eyes flashed open and a more than mortal voice echoed through the room.