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“Thou sayest that thy father is one of the gods!” they said. “Where is thy godlike gift, O Perseus!”

And Polydectes, glad to humble the lad who was keeper of his mother’s honour, echoed their foolish taunt.

“Where is the gift of the gods that the noble son of the gods has brought me?” he asked, and his fat cheeks and loose mouth quivered with ugly merriment.

Then Perseus, his head thrown back, gazed in the bold eyes of Polydectes.

Son of Zeus he was indeed, as he looked with royal scorn at those whom he despised.

“A godlike gift thou shalt have, in truth, O king,” he said, and his voice rang out as a trumpet-call before the battle. “The gift of the gods shall be thine. The gods helping me, thou shalt have the head of Medusa.”

A laugh, half-born, died in the throats of Polydectes and of those who listened, and Perseus strode out of the palace, a glow in his heart, for he knew that Pallas Athene had lit the fire that burned in him now, and that though he should shed the last drop of his life’s blood to win what he sought, right would triumph, and wrong must be worsted.

Still quivering with anger, Perseus went down to the blue sea that gently whispered its secrets to the shore on which he stood.

“If Pallas Athene would but come,” he thought–“if only my dreams might come true.”

For, like many a boy before and since, Perseus had dreamed of gallant, fearless deeds. Like many a boy before and since, he had been the hero of a great adventure.

So he prayed, “Come to me! I pray you, Pallas Athene, come! and let me dream true.”

His prayer was answered.

Into the sky there came a little silver cloud that grew and grew, and ever it grew nearer, and then, as in his dream, Pallas Athene came to him and smiled on him as the sun smiles on the water in spring. Nor was she alone. Beside her stood Hermes of the winged shoes, and Perseus knelt before the two in worship. Then, very gently, Pallas Athene gave him counsel, and more than counsel she gave.

In his hand she placed a polished shield, than which no mirror shone more brightly.

“Do not look at Medusa herself; look only on her image here reflected–then strike home hard and swiftly. And when her head is severed, wrap it in the goatskin on which the shield hangs. So wilt thou return in safety and in honour.”

“But how, then, shall I cross the wet grey fields of this watery way?” asked Perseus. “Would that I were a white-winged bird that skims across the waves.”

And, with the smile of a loving comrade, Hermes laid his hand on the shoulder of Perseus.

“My winged shoes shall be thine,” he said, “and the white-winged sea-birds shalt thou leave far, far behind.”

“Yet another gift is thine,” said Athene. “Gird on, as gift from the gods, this sword that is immortal.”

For a moment Perseus lingered. “May I not bid farewell to my mother?” he asked. “May I not offer burnt-offerings to thee and to Hermes, and to my father Zeus himself?”

But Athene said Nay, at his mother’s weeping his heart might relent, and the offering that the Olympians desired was the head of Medusa.

Then, like a fearless young golden eagle, Perseus spread out his arms, and the winged shoes carried him across the seas to the cold northern lands whither Athene had directed him.

Each day his shoes took him a seven days’ journey, and ever the air through which he passed grew more chill, till at length he reached the land of everlasting snow, where the black ice never knows the conquering warmth of spring, and where the white surf of the moaning waves freezes solid even as it touches the shore.

It was a dark grim place to which he came, and in a gloomy cavern by the sea lived the Graeae, the three grey sisters that Athene had told him he must seek. Old and grey and horrible they were, with but one tooth amongst them, and but one eye. From hand to hand they passed the eye, and muttered and shivered in the blackness and the cold.