It was Argentus and Orado who started it for us; our canine Cupids. My dog caught the scent of the boy’s dog on the breeze, and before I could stop him, Argentus had rushed from our cave, making a long-legged skitter down the hairpin bends of the rock face towards the shore.
Orado, for his part, jumped off the promontory and loped towards my looming wolfhound like an emperor greeting his island ambassador. I hardly dared to breathe as our animals circled each other. The boy rose to his feet with a puzzled expression, looking up again at the sheer rock as if trying to work out how on earth Argentus had appeared. He turned back towards the deck of his boat, to where the sword lay partially exposed. To my relief, he left the weapon where it was.
‘Hello, you,’ I heard the boy say to Argentus.
At the sound of his voice, even up on the cliff edge, my snakes recoiled, curling into themselves so that my head was a nest of snail shells. Argentus began to growl. Hush, I told my snakes. Watch. The young man crouched to pat Argentus on the head, but Argentus backed away.
‘Who are you?’ I called down. I spoke in panic, worried that Argentus’s suspicion of this new arrival would drive him to his boat at any moment. And I spoke in hope: it felt of utmost importance that this boy should stay on my island – for a day, a week, a month. Maybe longer. A change in fortune was coming. I wasn’t going to let it slip.
Startled, the boy looked up, but I knew he couldn’t see me: I’d become an expert at hiding in plain sight.
‘My name is Perseus!’ he called back.
Perseus. Just like that, as if the clouds should know his name. No hiding.
Oh, gods. Perseus. Even now, his name sends a shiver snaking up my spine.
Maybe if Argentus hadn’t snarled?
Maybe if I wasn’t lonely?
Maybe if I hadn’t spoken?
Maybe, maybe, maybe; why do we mortals always look back and imagine there was a simpler path? We think none of this would have happened. We think, for example, that Perseus would have sailed on his way, with his sword and Zeus knows what else underneath that goatskin, and I wouldn’t be talking to you like this. I might still be waiting on that island, even today. I certainly wouldn’t be here.
But it didn’t happen like that. And the simpler path has never been for me.
Perseus began pacing back and forth beneath the scree that led directly to where I was hiding. ‘Who are you?’ he said.
Oh, nobody. Just a girl who took a one-way ticket to an island with her weird sisters and her dog. Nothing to look at here …
‘Stay where you are,’ I shouted, for he had begun to look for a space in the rocks to climb up.
Perseus stepped back and looked at the desolate promontory. ‘What – here?’
‘There a problem?’ I sounded cockier than I felt.
‘Who are you? I can’t see you.’ He made to move to where Argentus had emerged.
‘You can’t come up!’ I cried.
‘Do you have anything to eat?’ he shouted back. ‘I’m – I mean, my dog’s quite hungry.’
‘Sea’s behind you. You could catch a fish.’
‘Not my strong point.’
‘Can’t handle a rod?’
Perseus laughed, a sound to make cracks in my resolve, a sound even now to be found in my soul. So here was a boy who could laugh at himself. Rare.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘I promise I won’t bother you for long.’
‘Where’ve you got to be?’ I called down.
Perseus spun round, taking in the water’s endless blue. ‘Perhaps I’m here already,’ he said. He spread his arms wide, turning back to the red of the rocks that towered to the sun. I wondered what would happen if I jumped off, tumbling down; whether he would catch me.
‘All right,’ he went on. ‘I’ll admit it. I’m lost.’
‘He can’t fish, and he can’t read the stars,’ I said. ‘Anything he can do?’
Perseus ran a hand through his hair, and my heart weakened like yolk in a pan. Come here, a voice within me urged. Come close and let me see you.
And then, that other voice: Woe betide any man fool enough to look upon you now!
‘I was sent on a mission,’ Perseus said. ‘The wind’s blown me off course.’
‘A mission?’
‘I can’t really talk about it. I certainly don’t want to shout about it up a rock.’
‘Didn’t your mother teach you not to speak to strangers?’ I said.
‘You could be anyone,’ he replied.
‘Exactly. You shouldn’t be here, Mr Perseus.’
‘I agree entirely,’ he said. ‘But when a king decides to ruin your life, you don’t have much say in the matter.’ Perseus kicked a rock and stubbed his toe, but kept his wincing silent.
What king was he talking about? And why had he clammed up when I mentioned his mother? I wanted to know. I wanted stories, company, closeness. But I was in an agony of self-doubt. Perseus should be left down there; I knew that. Argentus knew it. My snakes knew it. It would be better to ignore him, to tell him to get on his boat and go back to wherever he came from.
But when put together, the ache of loneliness and the bitter soup of boredom are more dangerous than any snake venom. And by the sounds of it, Perseus had powerful men interfering in his happiness. So: already we had something in common.
I looked out to the horizon. Nearly dusk. Stheno and Euryale, my sisters, would be back soon. What would Perseus say when he saw them looming from the sky – and what would they make of him? We could have a dead boy on our hands. I was going to have to make a decision, fast.
‘I’ve just grilled a couple of fishes,’ I said. (Epic words.) ‘You can have some, if you like. There’s a cove round to the left, with a concealed entrance. You can moor your boat in there.’
This was the most I’d ever said to a boy in my entire life, and when Perseus grinned, my heart began to sting. A matter of minutes and my life was changed. And, briefly, I will say it: happy.
CHAPTER THREE
Of course, I didn’t give Perseus the fish myself. I didn’t want the snakes to scare him. Athena’s voice never left my head. I placed his dinner by an arch-shaped rock at the entrance to our cave compound, but when I heard him approach with the two dogs, my words came tumbling out.
‘You can’t come in!’ I cried. ‘Stay on that side of the arch.’
‘What?’
‘There’s the fish for you, and a cave about five minutes’ walk, behind the big red boulder. You can stay there. If you want to, that is. I mean—’
‘Don’t you want me to come in?’ said Perseus.
‘You can’t,’ I said, avoiding his question. His presence was like an extra heartbeat in my blood.
‘But why can’t I?’ he said.
I did not dare to speak: how to pluck a plausible explanation from the air?
‘I’m … dangerous,’ I said, holding Echo hard, for she was writhing like I’d dropped her in a pan of boiling water.
‘Dangerous?’ said Perseus, sounding doubtful. ‘You don’t sound dangerous.’
I looked up towards my snakes. Other than my sisters and Argentus, I’d never shown anyone my transformed head. The day Athena had transformed me, we’d run away forever from prying eyes.
‘I think it’s best you stay out there,’ I said. ‘My sisters are very … protective of me.’
‘Why – are you made of gold and rubies?’
I didn’t laugh. ‘Because sometimes I do foolish things.’
‘Don’t we all?’
I squeezed my eyes tight and my snakes fizzed. ‘I’m a liability.’
At this, Perseus laughed. ‘If you say so. You live here with your sisters?’
‘Yes.’
‘Anyone else on this island?’
‘Only us.’
‘Where are your parents?’
‘They’re far away.’
‘How far away?’
‘You like asking questions, Perseus. Why not eat your fish?’
Perseus laughed again. It seemed like nothing I said could bother him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m just trying to make your acquaintance.’