Clash of the Titans (15 page)

"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.

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.

"Hear me, vain and foolish mortal woman! You
dare
to compare your daughter's beauty to mine, to one of the immortals?
In my own sanctuary!
You will regret your boast . . . and all will sorrow for the delight they feel over the cruel misfortune of my mortal son Calibos."

"Forgive me, Thetis! I did not mean—"

"In thirty days," the head continued relentlessly, "on the eve of the longest day of the year, your daughter Andromeda must be taken to the old sacrificial rock, where the first Canaanites paid homage to the gods of the sea who were so generous to them and their ungrateful offspring. There she must be bound and chained to the stone, a sacrifice to appease the anger of the sea goddess and to atone for your blasphemy—a sacrifice fit for the Kraken."

Few names could have rendered the crowd more terrified than they already were. That of the last of the Titans was one of them. Perseus held Andromeda protectively close, but there was no one to comfort the distraught Cassiopeia. She ruled alone. Now she agonized alone.

"And if we refuse?" asked Perseus, unintimidated by a voice from a stone head.

"Proud child, you are the cause of much of this. She must be delivered to the Kraken at the setting of the sun on the day indicated, or else the Kraken will be free to destroy Joppa and everyone within the city. For the insult that has been done to me, for the cruel injury you inflicted on my son, I demand the life of Andromeda."

"If I am the cause," Perseus replied firmly, approaching the stone head, "then I should make the restitution. Let the Kraken have me instead."

"It is too late. I have spoken. Andromeda is to be the sacrifice. In thirty days."

There was a rumbling and the headless statue split in two. Screams filled the temple and the priests bowed low in fear. His brave offer rebuffed, Perseus was once again the willing but perplexed youngster, uncertain what to do next.

As the people streamed out of the temple, the remnant of the once magnificent sculpture toppled forward, scattering queen, soldiers and priests. It shattered with a thunderous roar against the marble flooring, and with it, the dreams of the queen who'd ordered it raised.

No flute or lyre music filled Cassiopeia's private chambers that night. No dancer spun lithely above the mosaic tiles, no exotic dishes were proudly brought forth from the royal kitchens by the queen's chefs.

No entertainers plied their raucous trade in the taverns bordering the market stalls. Even the usually hysteric waterfront was quiet, the only movement coming from traders and merchants of other lands. They had learned quickly of the events which had taken place that afternoon in the temple and were anxious to finish their business well before another thirty days passed in Joppa. When that period ended, harbor as well as city would be deserted.

The mood in the royal chamber was even more somber than that afflicting the city at large. Though the cause was immortal and beyond human reach, and the danger older than recorded time, the assembly sitting in that chamber still had the air of a council of war.

Perseus and Ammon attended. They were joined by five of the most experienced and respected officers of the queen's household guard. Old Thallo was one of them. His four comrades differed in size and attitude, but they represented the best military minds of Joppa.

Loyalty and experience would not be enough this time, however. They needed a miracle, and miracles were not to be bought in the city's subdued marketplace.

One brilliant tactician was absent from that council, however. Queen Cassiopeia had fainted in the temple. Now she lay feverish and moaning in her bedchamber, begging forgiveness from a goddess who would not listen, more vulnerable in her delirium than ever she'd been on the throne.

But Andromeda was present. It was not her proper place to attend such a council, but it was her fate that would be decided there. If it was the will of the majority that she perish on the rocks beyond the harbor, she wanted to learn of it firsthand. So she stood quietly in the shadows and listened to the men.

Perseus could not sit still. He had already paced the floor for an hour, wishing for the unthinkable: an immortal throat under his fingers. In an hour he'd wasted more energy than most men use in a week.

"Is there any chance the goddess might relent and forgive Cassiopeia?"

"I think not, my boy." Ammon would not be falsely encouraging, for all that it troubled him to see the youth so tormented.

"She has announced her demand. To withdraw it would be to admit she was wrong in pronouncing it in the first place. Gods and goddesses must give the impression they are always right. If they were to change their minds like ordinary mortals, men might start to question them and begin to ignore their decisions."

"What about this Kraken, then? There must be some way to kill it."

Ammon laughed, not condescendingly. "My boy, I'm damned if I don't think you'd give it a try. But when the blood runs hot, memory runs short. You forget what happened to Argos."

Nervous words were passed between the soldiers.

"The Kraken is the last of the Titans," Ammon continued, "the last of those great immortal beings who fought alongside Cronos against Zeus. It would take a god to kill it, and they say only Poseidon and Zeus among all the gods can control it. As for killing it, there is no way it can be done—no way known to man."

"And you claim to be an optimist," Perseus said bitterly.

"So I am, yes. I believe strongly in the ability of man to eventually overcome most obstacles. But I am also a realist, young Perseus." He shook a cautioning finger at the frustrated youth.

"I believe in struggle, but not in needless sacrifice. If the entire city of Argos could not halt the actions of the Kraken, much less injure it, what can we hope to do?" He shook his head sadly. "Why must men become involved with the gods, when men are capable of confusing things sufficiently all by themselves?"

"Old friend, I've had just about enough of your philosophy. Words will not save Andromeda. If there is nothing else proposed, I will try to disable this monster by myself."

A soldier named Menas grinned ruefully at him. "Brave stranger, would you stab it in a toe? And you will have to swim to join battle with it, for the tale says much of Argos was destroyed by huge waves rised by the Kraken before it ever came close to the city."

"I'm a strong swimmer."

"And a brave fighter," Ammon agreed, "but bravery will not be enough to dissuade the Kraken. It has wrestled with Zeus. Would you do that too?"

"I would do anything if I thought I had a chance of saving Andromeda," he shot back. "Hades, but we must do
something!
I will not surrender the princess to appease the injured pride of a fickle goddess!"

A silence greeted his words, that voiced the feelings of his companions more clearly than any response could have.