And Hermes, the messenger of the gods, provided him with the winged sandals and a cap of invisibility. It was a pity he didn’t give him a flying lesson too while he was about it.
The main problem was that Perseus did not know where on earth to find the Gorgon ladies and Medusa. First off he flew to the lands of the snowy north, where days are short and the skies are dirty. There, in a damp and chilly cave, he found the three grey sisters who share one eye between them. They were relatives of Medusa, and surely knew where she lurked, but they were loath to betray their kith and kin. Perseus was quick and cunning, and as they passed the eye between them, sister to sister, he slipped in his hand and took it off them. Now the grey sisters were beside themselves:
“Return our eye you Greek thief!” they raged.
“Ah-ah, not until you tell me what I want to know.” he declared. Eventually the grey ones had no choice but to give him directions to the land of the Gorgons, way to the south, where Medusa could be found.
So armed with this knowledge, Perseus took flight once again. He flew down south to the lands that are hot and sandy, and discovered the temple of the serpent-headed Gorgon. He could hear the hissing of her snakes as her head lay on a grassy knoll. Stepping backwards, guided only by the reflection of his shield, he crept up on tiptoe holding his divine sword. It was with one swift swish that he cut off her head and bagged it in the goatskin knapsack that was on loan from Hermes, and through which snakes could not bite.
So that was how Perseus collected the snaky head of Medusa. He flew off for home, his wings beating the gentle air. As he passed over Libya, the Gorgon’s blood dripped from his bag and landed on the desert sand. Ever since then it has been a place beset by snakes. As he reached the coast the winds began to blow – he was at their mercy – carried this way and that – just as he had been as a baby on the waves of the sea. A current of air lifted him high into the sky and tossed him down onto the edge of the world – the place where the giant Atlas lives. Now Atlas' jealously guarded his orchard, the garden of the Hesperides, where golden apples grew on the trees. The suspicious strong man suspected that the son of Zeus had come to steal his precious fruit. Giant as he was, he thought that no puny man could defeat him – how could he? And he came to thump Perseus and drive him down into the Underworld. But he did not reckon on the hero’s secret weapon. Perseus pulled the beastly snakehead out of his goatskin knapsack. Medusa’s face petrified Atlas. His hair and beard became trees. His hulking body turned into the rock and earth of a mountain. His head was its summit. He grew into an immense height and the whole sky with its many stars rested on him. Now, and forevermore, it is the body that was once Atlas that holds up the top of the world.
The storm had settled, and Perseus could resume his journey, but he was so blown off course that he did not know where he was. That is how he found himself drifting over the rock to which I was chained. It was chance that brought him to me. But no, nothing is chance. The gods meant it to be. It was fate.
The day after the fight with the pirates, I was married to Perseus. I must say I was content. We were, after all, a handsome couple, matched in beauty, but not in brains. I, of course, was ten times as smart as he was. A few weeks of near perfection passed and then, one morning, he said to me:
“My darling Andromeda. It is high time you met my mother.”
Now girls, just so you know, this is something that all men get round to saying sooner or later. It’s just something you have to go through.
“But she lives far across the sea,” I protested, “How are we going to get to her place?”
“Fly,” he said.
"Fly? If you think I’m hitching a lift on your back while you flutter around on those winged sandals, you’ve got another thing coming. No thank you. I’m a ground-loving girl."
Perseus was quite naturally put out by this speech – but I mean, did he really think I was going to entrust myself to what he called 'the winds of fate?' No way! But a few days later he came back with a more acceptable idea. When he killed Medusa, apparently a winged horse called Pegasus had hopped out of her neck. He had done a bit of private praying to his half-sister Athena, and she told Pegasus to hop over the seas, and to pick us up and carry us back to his home. Yes, that was the way to fly! What a journey! The two of us on that magnificent, brilliant white horse with a proper wing span that could beat the air and carry us smoothly above all the turbulence. The sea below us, the sky above – all stretched out and curved at the edges – just like it was there for us and only us. I could see ships and dolphins and shimmering waves feathered with white surf. Golden sunset. Silvery moon. Rosy dawn – it was just like we were Gods!
When we reached the Island of Seriphos, we went straight to the palace to meet the king.
“Welcome back Percy” he said patronisingly. I for one don’t like that nickname and always call him Perseus
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