Poseidon Blessed
by E. Catherine ToblerIt is not every day a girl washes ashore in a casket, and we should give thanks that it is so.
The chest bearing Danaë and her infant son came to my shore on Seriphus during one of the most beautiful mornings I can remember. Though the wind blew fierce and angry for three days prior and made casting my nets impossible, this fourth morning was calm, clear, and already warm enough to make me sweat. The tide rolled in as gentle as I had ever seen and it did not disturb my nets. Poseidon guided his bounty into them time and again.
The sand farted like a man after a meal of beans, clams burrowing deep to escape my digging. I grasped one clam before it could scoot away and tossed it into the reed basket made by my wife's hands. "You will bring me many clams," she said, "so many that we both get fat from their meat." I did not bring her this many clams, but every morning I strove to make it so.
Though my brother was king of this small and pleasant island, I took great pleasure in keeping a simple life. I wanted nothing of politics. It amused him, I think, to watch me come in, sandy and sunburned from the beach, while he stayed clean in his white himation. He did not laugh the first time I touched his shoulder, leaving fish scales and sea slime behind. I will confess, it amused me a little.
Polydectes told me I would amount to nothing, but who captured a beautiful and kind wife, and who makes enough money to keep her happy? We have no children, it is true, but we find happiness elsewhere.
In the stories you have likely heard, they say Danaë came out of the casket in a shower of jewels, fair gold hair cascading over bare shoulders. They say her shell-pink infant son lay curled against an ivory breast tipped with pearl. This is not so.
There is no telling how long the two were confined in the chest, but the stench that rolled over me as I cracked the lid and slid it back was enough to convince me it had been a good long while.
The chest was unmarked, save for the damage the sea had done to it. Some creature looked to have nibbled on one edge, while the water and salt did its own harm to the wood. It was unpainted, lid secured with bronze fixings. I could have polished and sold them in the city, but this I did not do. Danaë, she wanted to keep them, so I made a toy for her son. I strung them together and we hung them over the bed they shared.
I could barely lift the lid, so heavy it was. I had only a jagged clam shell to loosen the bronze, and this took most of the morning. The sun stood high in the clear sky by the time I finished, and I cursed, for I should have been home hours ago. The clams had begun to open; my lunch, and that of my wife, was ruined. My fingers ran with blood, the shell a poor tool.
The lid was thick and I shoved it across the top of the casket. I had no idea what might be inside, but growing up on stories of treasure washed onto shores, I could picture many things. I thought that best of all might be new fishing nets, those that would not ravel and wear under the salt water.
The lid tipped and fell to the beach. The stench hit me like a fist--urine, feces, unwashed flesh. I pressed a hand over mouth and nose, for the smell of old clam was better by far.
I peered down at the girl, her body bent around a small bundle. In my youth I might have wished for such a thing, but this young girl, though beautiful, did not stir any longing but that for a child to call my own.
She looked up at me with her clear eyes and began to scream. The sound pierced the quiet morning, scattering gulls to the sky. I muffled her with my hand and shook my head.
"I will not hurt you," I said. "I have found you washed upon my shore. How did you come to this?"
She quieted and I removed my hand. She did not answer me and so I helped her out of the chest. Casket is a better word, I think, for someone placed her within it, sealed it tight, and cast her into the sea. What other end could they have intended, but for her to die?
Her hair fell down her back in dirty strings, naked flesh damp from sea and piss. The bundle she carried revealed itself to be a child; infant son peered at me with surprisingly clever eyes. I felt like he knew the heart of me right then.
Her legs were weak, and she crumpled to the wet sand. She looked around, seeking something I couldn't understand, pressed a hand into the ground, and then stared again at me.
"Wh- What do you mean to do with me?"
I had never heard such fear in a voice before, not even from the people who went before Polydectes in the palace. Once, two summers ago I think, my neighbor went to speak with Polydectes about his lands (for the water had begun to encroach where it should not and he wanted to know how the king meant to keep his citizen safe, if you understand) and his legs shook like there was an earthquake below. This was not the case. (And the king did not care for his plight, but that is another story entirely.)
This girl, sitting on the beach with her babe in her arms, shook like that. When I gave no answer, she began to cry. The tears striped her cheeks in familiar paths.
Did she believe I meant her harm? An old fisherman, in ragged clothing, who had cut his hands on a clam shell to free her from her prison? I reached a hand toward her and she shied away.
"Has my father sent you?" Her Greek was flawless, high and noble, and I wondered what dire circumstances had seen her locked in a casket and set out to sea.
"It is only Poseidon who has sent me," I said. "He allows me to fish these waters, but for the last few days. I come today and here you are upon my beach." She seemed to calm at these words. "Let me take you back to my house--" At those words she withdrew. I shook my head.
"You misunderstand, child. My lady wife will tend you and your child. Are you not hungry?"
The child let out a monstrous cry then, the howl of a kraken, and I couldn't help but laugh. There was a stomach begging to be filled if ever I had heard one.
"I have a cart if you cannot walk," I added and gestured toward the small conveyance.
"The ground moves like the sea." She shook her head, more tears came, and she looked at me helplessly.
This girl had been through a terrible ordeal, but I didn't know how terrible until I'd carried her across the beach, set her in my cart, and wheeled her home.
My lady wife, kind and gentle as I have said, was in a sore mood. She awaited me outside and surely meant to lash into me about the lateness of the hour and the lack of clams, but when her eyes came to the girl, any words she might have spoken were stilled.
"Dictys, what have you brought?" she whispered and touched a trembling hand to the girl's brow. When the girl did not vanish or turn sharp teeth and forked tongue upon her, my lady wife smiled and the clams were forgiven.
Danaë gave her name and that of her son, Perseus, both noble names to be sure. When she spoke of Acrisius, the room seemed to cool. I felt chill wind and icy fingers against my temple. Perseus gurgled in the bath my wife had drawn for him, splashed his mother, and seemed untroubled by the water. It would take many more days before Danaë willingly walked back into water. This night, she only bathed by sponge and basin.
Acrisius, it seemed, had placed daughter and grandson into the casket and set them adrift. Danaë was reluctant to tell me why. I did not press. I could see my lady wife growing attached to them already, and pushing for information might send Danaë and child running. I wanted my home to be a haven for them, and so it became.
"You would not believe me," Danaë said when I asked her about the child and his father. When she eventually named Zeus, I did believe, for there was nothing to prove otherwise. If this girl wished to name the king of all gods as the child's father, so be it.
As Perseus grew into adulthood, he was strong, proud, and rich-haired. He eased the burdens of my day, cared for his beautiful mother, and spent long hours with my lady wife, not minding if she set him to household tasks. He kissed my cheek one day and called me grand-father. Danaë did not hear, and I pressed the kiss against my cheek to hold the memory close, for it never happened again. Something similar, years later, would bring tears to my eyes--but you are overeager, and I skip ahead.
Danaë loved to walk the rocky cliffs of our little island, and it was here she encountered Polydectes for the first time. The sun shone down upon her loose hair, dark spun gold against her brown shoulders. She looked a vision there, barefoot and at ease among the sparse reeds that poked among the rocks.
He wanted her. I know my brother, and there is little he does not covet. He wanted Danaë the way fish want the water. Polydectes took Danaë by the wrist and she jerked away from his touch. I with my basket of fish, lumbering to the house, called out to him.
"Brother!" I said and Polydectes turned his head to me. Perhaps someone believed him handsome, but I cannot say even our mother thought such. I broke his nose when we were children, and he later broke his jaw in a fight with other boys. Everything about him was drawn in crooked lines.
He dropped Danaë's wrist and came to me. He gestured angrily toward her.
"Who is this woman, brother, and why do you hide her from my eyes?"
"I do no such thing."
"Do not touch my mother again." Perseus came from the house, taller than Polydectes, looking every inch the son of Zeus Danaë claimed him.
It is understandable that Polydectes, the king of Seriphus, did not take well to Perseus telling him what to do. But my brother hid it well. He chuckled and greeted the youth as though he welcomed Perseus on the island.
Soon after, Polydectes announced that he was to be wed. This surprised everyone, most notably me, for he was my own brother and I had no evidence that he had taken any woman to his hearth. Polydectes prepared a great celebration to honor the engagement, inviting his closest friends. Danaë remained home the day, however, having taken ill.
I did not wish to leave her, but she bid me go. I went and was witness to a prideful Perseus that day. He brought no gift (indeed, neither did I, for my brother asked me not to, and now I see why), and stood in shame because of it. While everyone heaped gifts upon the soon-to-wed Polydectes, Perseus had nothing to give.
This is when the youth boasted that he would bring the king a gift to rival any given that day. He swore he would bring a Gorgon's head back as a gift. The crowd murmured, then cheered at Perseus's confidence. Polydectes grinned and bid Perseus go.
"It shall be known that Seriphus grows only strong, brave men!" Polydectes lifted his hands and the crowd roared even louder.
Perseus was buoyed like the long-ago casket upon the waves; he floated, the center of all attention. A braggart. I was pleased his mother remained home, unable to see. She would learn of his folly soon enough, for it wasn't a mere Gorgon Perseus sought, but the horrible Medusa. Only her head would make a proper gift for the king.
It is easy to see, as I look backward, that Polydectes meant to wed Danaë. With Perseus away, there would be no one blocking his way to the woman. Surely Perseus would be turned to stone under Medusa's gaze.
He was gone so long, Danaë began to wither without him. I tried to engage her in the things she loved best--needlework, walking on the cliffs, digging clams with me--but she withdrew. When my lady wife sickened and died, part of Danaë died with her, for truly she had been a mother to the young girl.
Danaë refused Polydectes's attentions; she said she feared her son dead, and would know no happiness until he returned. This did not please the king, and I knew it for a lie. Danaë confided to me that the gods helped Perseus in his struggle. He lived, though she believed she would never see him again.
We left the small cottage, hiding ourselves in the hills, in a small temple. Polydectes did not find us here, for it was abandoned and forgotten. How Danaë knew of it, I will never know. Its columns were crumbling, but we found good shelter there, the hills abundant with food. It was there we stayed until Perseus made his triumphant return and slayed Polydectes with the Gorgon gift.
If you are a student of such matters, and I see you are, you will know the adventure that came upon them next.
I did not want to be king of the island, but Perseus made me so. The people needed a kind ruler, and he thought me such. Danaë and Perseus soon left me, hoping to find Acrisius changed. Perhaps the years had softened his heart--Danaë had to believe--but it was not so.
Before Perseus's birth, Apollo's Oracle, who is wise in all ways, knew Perseus would kill Acrisius, and so it came to pass. Acrisius had done his best to prevent it, locking Danaë first in a bronze chamber below ground, and then setting her to sea, but none of us can outrun what the Fates mean to do with us.
Danaë returned to me in the autumn, and she said perhaps it was right that Acrisius died by the hand of someone he sought to kill.
"Wasn't it right?" she asked, and lay her hands upon mine. Though her father had meant to kill her and her child, she could not help but mourn.
"I do not know." I looked into her clear eyes and remembered that day so very long ago when I opened the casket to find her and Perseus. The king of Argos was dead, his daughter more mine than his in the end. I brushed my fingers over her cheek. "But you are well and Perseus is with a woman he loves. That is good enough for me."
She smiled and kissed my cheek. "Thank you, my father," she whispered in my ear, and sought out the pleasures of the palace for the rest of the day.
Danaë remains with me, and she has found the gentle love so denied her in her youth. I see her with him, walking the rocky cliffs, and together they frolic amid the waves, Danaë having set her fear of them behind.
I am the king, but I still fish these waters and gather clams, for myself and the memory of my lady wife. Every day at the ocean's edge, I pray to never find another casket floating upon the blue waters. So far, Poseidon blesses me.
©E. Catherine Tobler
Nanny and Girl Friday by day, writer by night, E. Catherine Tobler still dreams of being a pirate. Among others, her fiction has appeared in Scifiction, Realms of Fantasy, and Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet. For more, visit ecatherine.com.