Heroes: The Greek Myths Reimagined (Stephen Fry's Great Mythology, #2)

by Stephen Fry

Prometheus himself—the Titan who made us, befriended us, and championed us—continues to endure his terrible punishment: shackled to the side of a mountain he is visited each day by a bird of prey that soars down out of the sun to tear open his side, pull out his liver, and eat it before his very eyes. Since he is immortal, the liver regenerates overnight, only for the torment to repeat the next day. And the next. Prometheus, whose name means Forethought, has prophesized that now that fire is in the world of man, the days of the gods are numbered. Zeus’s rage at his friend’s disobedience derives as much from a deep-buried but persistent fear that man will outgrow the gods as from his deep sense of hurt and betrayal. Prometheus has also seen that the time will come when he will be released. A mortal human hero will arrive at the mountain, shatter his manacles, and set the Titan free. Together they will save the Olympians. But why should the gods need saving?

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“Who dared break into your chamber? Tell me his name and I shall have him gelded, tortured, and strangled with his own intestines.”

Perseus rose unsteadily to his feet and said in a voice everyone in the hall could hear, “Tell me what you want brought to you my king and I will bring it. Name it.” “Well,” said Polydectes with a rueful shrug of defeat, as one forced into a corner. “Since our young hero insists, there is one thing I’ve always wanted. Could you bring me the head of Medusa, I wonder?” “No problem,” said Perseus. “The head of Medusa? It’s yours.” “Really? You mean that?”

“I swear it by the beard of Zeus.” A little while later Perseus stumbled home across the sands to find his mother waiting up for him. “You’re late, darling.” “Mum, what’s a ‘Medusa’?” “Perseus, have you been drinking?” “Maybe. Just a cup or two.” “A hiccup or two, by the sound of it.” “No, but seriously, what’s a Medusa?” “Why do you want to know?” “I heard the name and wondered, that’s all.” “If you’ll stop pacing around like a caged lion and sit down, I’ll tell you,” said Danaë. “Medusa, so they say, was a beautiful young woman who was taken and ravished by the sea god Poseidon.”7 “Ravished?” “Unfortunately for her this took place on the floor of a temple sacred to the goddess Athena. She was so angry at the sacrilege that she punished Medusa.” “She didn’t punish Poseidon?” “The gods don’t punish each other, at least not very often. They punish us.” “And how did Athena punish Medusa?”

“She transformed her into a Gorgon.” “Blimey,” said Perseus, “and what’s a ‘Gorgon’?” “A Gorgon is . . . Well, a Gorgon is a dreadful creature with boar’s tusks instead of teeth, razor sharp claws of brass, and venomous snakes for hair.” “Get away!” “That’s the story.” “And what does ...

Perseus scratched his chin. “Oh. So that’s Medusa? I’d rather hoped she might turn out to be some sort of giant chicken, or a pig maybe.”

she shrieked, stabbing a finger in the direction

Andromeda, Cassiopeia, Cepheus, and the wedding guests on the top table shrieked in astonishment as Phineus and his sixty men instantly froze. “Why aren’t they moving?” “Oh, my lord—they’re stone!” Perseus put the head back into the satchel and turned to his parents-in-law to be. “I hope you didn’t like him too much.” “My hero . . .” breathed Andromeda. The Head of Medusa. “How did you do that?” shrieked Cassiopeia. “They’re statues. Stone statues! How is this possible?” “Oh, you know,” said Perseus with a modest shrug. “I just happened to meet Medusa the Gorgon last night. Came away with her head. Thought it might come in useful.”

Cepheus put a hand on Perseus’s shoulder. “Always hated Phineus. Done me a great service. Don’t know how to thank you.”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t brave young Perseus. You told me you wouldn’t return without the head of the Medusa.” “You told me you were going to challenge Oenomaus to a chariot race for the hand of Hippodamia.” “I changed my mind.”

“What nonsense is this?” “You asked for the head of Medusa. Here she is!” “Surely you don’t expect me to—” Polydectes got no further. “You can turn and look at me now,” said Perseus, putting Medusa’s head back in the satchel. “It’s safe now.” The statue of Polydectes on his throne, flanked by stone men-at-arms, became a popular attraction on Seriphos. Visitors paid to see and touch them, and the money was spent on the construction of a temple to Athena and the installation of a hundred herms around the island.16

Now they made their way to Athens, and in the deepest recesses of the temple of Athena they hid the sickle, the shield, and the satchel that held the head of Medusa. Athena herself appeared before them and blessed them.

“You did well, Perseus. Our father is pleased with you.” She raised the shield and they saw that the face of Medusa, startled, dismayed, sad, and somehow beautiful, stared out, forever trapped within the shining surface of the bronze. From that time on the shield was the Aegis of Athena—her sign, her standard, and her warning to the world.

Through their son Perses, their bloodline founded the Persian nation and people.

After their long lives, Perseus and Andromeda were awarded the greatest prize that Zeus can bestow on mortals. Along with Cassiopeia and Cepheus, they were taken up into the heavens as constellations. Together Perseus and Andromeda look over their unruly shower of meteor children, the PERSEIDS, whom we can still watch showing off in the night sky once a year.