Book II

Medusa slept soundly

and woke the following

morning; rising from bed,

the nest of beaded braids

coiled before her face,

checking her reflection

in wise Athena’s gift.

Her own unparalleled

beauty was her visage.

The young noble woman

was a descendant of

King Erichthonious,

the half-serpent founder

of glorious Athens,

was raised by Athena

as if he were her son.

As she gazed at herself,

Phobos son of Ares,

did run a cold finger

down her spine. Medusa

shrieked from the chilling touch.

In her reflection she

did witness some scales

upon her forehead’s skin.

She retracted from her

own sight, pawing at the

cursed patch of scaly skin

only to discover

mere flecks of confetti.

The young woman chuckled

at her own foolishness,

paying no regard to

her flawless reflection.

She set to her duties

without hesitation.

Yet as young Medusa

travelled she was followed

by crowd of clamorers.

Their numbers grew with each

passing day, and their chants

echoed adulations

in her dreams every night.

Young men voiced affections,

then she dreamt of heroes.

Brave heroes of Hellas

professed adoration,

then she dreamt of princes.

Princes came to court her,

then she dreamed of kings.

The greater the station

of Medusa’s suitors,

the more she attended

to mirrored reflection.

All the while, unbeknownst,

Phobos whispered to her

of her ancestor:

the old serpentine king.

Increasingly she saw

him in her reflection.

She buried her visage

beneath layers of paint,

adorning herself in

elaborate jewels.

The more she attended

to her own elegance,

she diminishingly

oversaw her duties.

A white owl called Bubo

watched Medusa from the

old olive tree outside

temple chamber’s window.

Athena’s watchful beast

fluttered above the clouds

to report his findings.

On way to Olympus,

a trio of gods held

their tongues till he had passed.

Apollo god of sun,

Poseidon god of seas,

and Zeus god of the sky

had gathered to confide

mutual affections

for Athena’s priestess.

A woman whose beauty

enraptures the world

does not evade the eyes

of masculine divine.

All three of them known for

many mortal affairs,

looked upon Medusa

as does a hungry dog

at a fresh slab of meat.

Yet, quite aberrantly,

had not acted upon

their most primal passions.

Insouciant Apollo

muttered most cautiously,

“How my heart sings for her!

Yet Athena’s ire

gives pause to my lyre.

On this matter, I know

that my eldest sister

frowns when I do conspire

with such thoughts in my head.

Kinsmen, I dare not cross

goddess of victory

even for this maiden.”

God king of Olympus,

Zeus held his first daughter

in a higher regard

than all the other gods.

Brave, wondrous Athena

was apple of his eye.

Zeus, solemn with his words,

declared, “I need not fear

her as does Apollo.

Though true my loins ache for

this mortal Medusa,

I shan’t ever injure

Athena’s heart by such

a heinous transgression

against her property.

Where marriage could not slake

my rakish behavior,

the adoration of

my favorite child can.”

A wounded Apollo

looked toward his father

with a quivering eye

and a trembling lip.

Yet he held fast his tongue.

Poseidon, the brother

of Zeus and a god king

of seas by his own right,

held no reservations.

“What a sad, sorry sight

that I must bear witness to.

Zeus and Apollo made

humble by a woman.”

“Tread carefully, brother,”

Zeus snarled. Apollo said,

“Come now uncle, say not

such petty vengeful words.

Athena won Athens

over you in fair contest.”

“That was only because

of her insidious

design: democracy,”

Poseidon snapped in reply,

“Yet why am I surprised

Zeus is silenced by his

peerless, perfect princess?

Let it be known that I,

Poseidon, ocean king

will not shirk nor cower

from impertinent niece.

I would love nothing more

than make a proper whore

of a virgin priestess.

Grovel to a woman

as you see fit; but I,

as god and king, shall take

what I please of mortals.”

“You will do no such thing!”

Zeus commanded, his voice boomed

with the sound of thunder,

“Medusa, high priestess

of Athens is sacred

property of her god.

Violating purity

of one with her station

would be occasion for

war among the divine.”

“Exactly what I want,”

Poseidon snickered back,

“Should contest come to blows,

precious goddess of war

shall be crushed under my waves!”

“Should it come to violence

my daughter shall not stand

alone,” Zeus growled in return.

“Should it come to such state

Ares and Aphrodite

shall happily reply

in my favor, brother,”

Poseidon did reply.

“And in turn: Hephaestus,

Hermes, and Artemis

shall answer my favor.”

“Uncle,” Apollo said,

“I have no hatred for

my sister Athena,

and much love for my twin.

Artemis shall fight for

Athena. So shall I.”

“Now, tell me my brother,”

Zeus sneered, “whom shall Hades

raise his banner for, hmmm?”

Poseidon knew the truth.

It would be Athena.

A battle against her

would beget a great war

he knew he could not win.

Regardless, he hungered

for vengeance in response

to her long-ago slight.

Though it shamed and pained him,

he knew to acquiesce.

“Very well,” Poseidon

lamented, “I shan’t use

force on the high priestess,

but seduction, willful

forfeit of purity,

is not a cause for war.

I shall have my vengeance

when Medusa’s body

is willfully intwined

in the throes of passion

of regal, divine lust.

The high-whore-priestess of

sacred virgin goddess.

That fair enough brother?”

Zeus couldn’t help but smiling

as he considered it.

This could prove a useful

precedent later on.

“Very well my brother,

now begins your trial:

Medusa’s seduction.”