Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two (14 page)

Ceto laid two more eggs. The larger one was colored the usual leaden green to make it almost invisible underwater and more likely to escape the attention of a hungry neighbor. But the other egg, the smaller one, was a wonderful greenish gold, the color of the sea when the day dawns fair.

Now, Ceto and Phorcys had produced one ghastly offspring after the other and had no high expectations this time. But when the larger egg hatched, Ceto gasped in horror. Out crawled two scaly creatures with the bodies of infant girls. But they had brass wings and claws and were covered with brass scales. And their faces! Squashed noses, jutting fangs, and bulging red eyes. Their hair was seaweed.

“They're uglier than the Gray Ones,” muttered their mother. “I'll take them to the ends of the earth and leave them there—and hope they don't fly back.”

Finally, the smaller egg cracked. Out crawled the third sister. Again Ceto gasped, but in wonder. For this daughter was beautiful.

Monsters have no childhood. They grow up as soon as they leave the egg. So Ceto sat coiled in her undersea cavern, gazing upon her three tall daughters. “I can't exile these ugly ones,” she muttered. The ancient Greek word for ugly one is
Gorgon.
“They must stay here and guard their sister. For anyone who sees her will want to abduct her immediately. Her name shall be
Medusa,
the lovely creature.”

“Medusa?” grunted Phorcys, who spoke only once every hundred years; the rest of the time he was busy eating. “Why Medusa? The word means ‘wise,' not ‘beautiful.'”

“Quiet, Hog,” said Ceto. “Or I'll squeeze you to a pulp. What is beauty but the body's intelligence?”

Indeed, the lovely girl who had been sent by fate to live among this monster brood lit up the undersea cavern, startling the shadows. She didn't stay underwater, of course. She craved sunlight and demanded that her sisters fly her as high as they could. They cleaved the air, swinging Medusa between them. Wingless though she was, she wanted very much to fly and made them drop her from great heights. She would straighten into a dive, hair streaming, and knife the water, then swim so swiftly that her sisters could not outrace her, no matter how fast they flew.

2

The Necklace

Arumor arose that Poseidon was about to choose a bride. For some reason gossip spreads just as fast underwater as it does above. Immediately, every Nereid in the Ocean Stream, every river nymph, and every naiad of fountain and lake swam into the Middle Sea. There they hovered in shoals about his great sunken palace of coral and pearl. Wherever Poseidon went he found them swarming, darting in and out of his path, brushing against him, tweaking his beard, and calling to him in the curious bubble language of the submerged.

“I'd better do something drastic,” he muttered. “Or they'll wear me down by sheer weight of numbers. I have a great deal of endurance, but I can't handle them all.”

Poseidon thought and thought and finally hit on a plan. He summoned his chief helper, a watery demigod named Proteus, who was gifted with the ability to change his shape. He could become jellyfish, octopus, shark, abalone—whatever the occasion required, and all in the wink of an eye. But his favorite guise was that of a blue-eyed white seal, and it was in this form that he now appeared to Poseidon.

“You called me, oh master, and I am here.”

“Yes, faithful Proteus. I have need of your services.”

“Command, and I perform.”

“As you know, I am about to take a bride,” said Poseidon. “Every nymph and naiad and Nereid from every waterway of the world seems to be competing for the honor. And they are all so bewilderingly beautiful that I simply cannot choose among them.”

“A pleasant dilemma, my lord.”

“What I want you to do is organize a swimming race.”

“They all swim superbly, your majesty.”

“Some have to be better than others, and among those, one has to be the best. It is the nature of things; there is always one who's best.”

“Shall I announce that you will marry the winner?”

“No, no … we must still leave ourselves some options. Announce that they will be racing for a prize, a jewel most sumptuous, the exact nature of which we shall not disclose until after the race.”

“Yes, sire. They swim. One of them wins. Then what?”

“I shall have been closely observing the swimmers, judging them on strength, speed, endurance, and so on—qualities any wife of mine will need in full measure. Among the ten or so who come in first will undoubtedly be some magnificent creatures. I shall choose among the finalists.”

“All will be done according to your pleasure, my lord.”

The white seal who was Proteus swam away, changing himself into a shark as he went—for that is the species best suited for organizing contests.

Thereupon, Poseidon sent for Brontes, a Cyclops, who had won the sea god's admiration by hammering out a set of enormous silver horse troughs for his herd of surf-stallions.

“I have a task worthy of your skill, Brontes. I want you to make me a gem that I will be proud to offer my bride. It must be a necklace, the most magnificent ever seen or imagined in heaven, on earth, or under the sea. You shall have an entire harvest of pearls—black ones and white ones, brimming with watery lights and filtered moon fire. You shall also have a sunken galleon whose hold is loaded with treasure. From its heaviest ingots you shall forge a golden chain to hang the pearls on. And of the diamonds from the galleon, you shall select the largest, the most brilliant and artfully cut, to stud the boundaries between white pearls and black.”

“How splendid!” cried Brontes. “How generous! All the goddesses will go mad with jealousy.”

“Yes,” said Poseidon. “And my bride, lucky creature, noting their envy, will go mad with joy, which is as it should be. Hasten your labors, good Brontes. I give you ten days.”

“On a task like this, sire, I shall work both day and night.”

Before Brontes could finish his assignment, however, he was visited by Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, the warrior maiden whose tactical skills rivaled those of her half brother, Ares, Lord of Battle. She had come to order weapons—a new-moon sword, a dagger, and a set of spearheads. Brontes was working on the necklace as she entered. Athena moaned with pleasure when she saw what lay on the basalt slab that was his workbench. It seemed as though the forge fire had burst, scattering varicolored coals upon the slab.

“What are you making?” she whispered.

“A necklace, my lady.”

“May I know for whom?”

“For whomever Poseidon chooses.”

Athena was silent. She kept staring at the necklace, naked desire in her gray eyes. She coveted this gorgeous jewel with a craving that scorched her inside, and she was resolved to have it for herself, come what might.

3

Family Council

The Middle Sea was boiling with excitement as the day of the great race approached. The most excited of all, perhaps, was Ceto. Beyond anything else in the world she wanted her beautiful daughter to become Poseidon's bride. She called the Gorgon sisters to her and said:

“Which of you is which?”

“Why the sudden interest, mother?” said one. “Considering that you've never even bothered to name us.”

“Well, you've named yourselves, haven't you?” Ceto replied. “Don't be impudent, my lass, or I'll mangle you, brass scales and all. Which one are you?”

“I am Strong,” muttered one Gorgon.

“And I am Swift,” said the other.

“Strong and Swift,” said Ceto. “Well, you are, you are. Ugly as the hinges of hell, but strong and swift, no doubt about that. And I want you to use your strength and speed to help your sister.”

“Help her do what?” said Swift.

“We're always doing things for her,” said Strong. “She's been queening it over us since we were born. I suppose that's all right. We don't have anything better to do than fly her around and guard her against kidnappers and so forth. But I wouldn't say she needed anybody's help, not little sister Medusa. She takes excellent care of herself.”

“Shut your spiteful mouth!” shouted Ceto. “I must know this: Is she fast enough to win Poseidon's race?”

“She's fast enough,” said Swift. “She can swim circles around anything in the sea.”

“She can, but will she?” asked Strong.

“What do you mean?” said Ceto.

“Medusa forgets what she's doing. She starts dreaming. If she even remembers to enter the race, she'll take the lead easily—then she'll see a pretty piece of coral or fall into conversation with an octopus. Everyone will swim past her and she won't even notice.”

“Suppose I swim with her and keep nagging her back on course?” said Ceto.

“Well,” said Swift. “It might work for a while, but if she gets interested in something else, she'll simply swim away. You won't be able to catch her.”

“I can catch up with her while she's looking at the coral or chatting with the octopus.”

“In the meantime,” said Swift, “the race will be over.”

“All right,” said Ceto. “We have to do two things. I have to swim with her and keep her in the race. And, what you two must do is interfere with the other swimmers.”

“How?” said Strong.

“What happens when a gull swoops down on a school of fish?”

“They scatter. They go deep.”

“Well … you two will be my gulls. Or sea hawks is more like it. You will fly over the course, and when you see naiads, Nereids, and other nymphs beneath you, you will plunge through the air, claws gleaming, screeching. Like frightened fish, the swimmers will scatter, dive, and hide in the depths. Then you two will circle above, clashing your brass wings, rattling your brass claws, screeching, and shrieking until I can get your sister on the move again.”

“It'll be a slow race,” said Swift.

“But she'll win, she'll win. She'll be Poseidon's bride, and Queen of the Sea.”

“Do you really want her to marry that brawling bully? He'll make a dreadful husband.”

“He'll also make her a queen,” Ceto said. “Afterward, she can ignore him through eternity.”

“Yes …,” said Strong. “She might not even notice she's married. She'll sit on a rock winding the necklace in her hair, admiring herself in the mirror of the sea, and won't give Poseidon a thought.”

“He'll be marrying better than his brothers did,” said Ceto. “Zeus has Hera, the shrew of the universe. Hades abducted Persephone and has been hated by her for a thousand years now. If my beautiful girl grants Poseidon one smile, he'll be doing better than his hag-ridden brothers. Off with you now! Go practice dropping out of the sky, shrieking as you go. Find a school of dolphins and practice on them. Who knows—you too may profit from your sister's success. She may be able to find husbands for you.”

“Will she be that powerful?” muttered Swift.

“I suppose anything's possible,” said Strong. “After all, mother, you found a husband, and you're no beauty. It was only
him,
of course.” She pointed a claw at Phorcys, who lay snoring within Ceto's coils. “But we'd settle for anything, wouldn't we, sister?”

“Even less,” said Swift.

They flew off, shrieking with laughter.

4

Bride of the Sea

Medusa sat on a rock, plaiting her hair and singing. Her voice harvested the sounds of the sea—gull cry, splash, and sigh; lilt of water and lament of wind; chuckles of the tide among pebbles; and the moon-drunk crooning of naiads catching fishermen. As she sang, she combed the mass of hair. Each strand was a tendril of light, a filament of fire. These rich tresses, trapping the sunshine all day, held it at night and became a false beacon to helmsmen, luring them out of darkness to break their ships upon the rocks. All this she made happen as innocently as a child whipping the heads off flowers. Shipwreck was her pastime; her voice called sailors to drown.

One night, riding in his dolphin chariot, Poseidon heard a voice singing. Although he was as tone-deaf as a mackerel, he knew that this voice could belong only to someone beautiful. Surfacing, he saw Medusa plaiting her hair; it was a net of moonlight, casting a fragrance of wild grasses upon the salty wind.

The night was cool, but the sea around him began to steam with his desire. He knew that he had found his bride, and tried to tell her so, but could not utter a word. His desperate craving had wiped his lips of speech. He roared wordlessly.

Medusa on her rock looked up to see a huge, green-robed, green-bearded figure balancing himself on the swell. Dolphins frisked about him. He held an enormous three-pronged staff and wore a crown of pearls. He bellowed again and brandished his trident. She smiled at him. And he found speech.

“Who are you?” he said.

“Medusa.”

“You shall be my queen.”

“Are you king of something?” she asked.

“I am Poseidon.”

“But Poseidon, I hear, has a wonderful gift for his bride.”

“Here …”

He spun a hoop of fire toward her. She caught it on her arm. It was the necklace.

“If you take it you are my wife,” he said.

“Yes, your majesty.”

And so it was that Poseidon called off the great race, putting an end to every tender expectation. He had chosen his bride.

News of Medusa's triumph spread through the Middle Sea, enraging its nymphs. It became unsafe to put out in a small boat for fear that a Nereid would swim under it, capsize it, snatch a sailor, and carry him off to an undersea cave. There, she presented him with a choice: marry her, or be fed to the sharks.

Meanwhile, Medusa sat on her rock playing with her necklace, making its mingled lights flash back at the stars. A small boat scudded by, running before the wind. A fisher-lad had bound the rudder and was standing in the bow, arm raised, ready to cast his spear at one of the big sail-finned fish, which were not the best eating but were the easiest to catch.