Clash of the Titans (14 page)

"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.

"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."