Medusa's Trophy

Who could blame them? Even now, the Helot's gaze wandered down her proud profile as she bathed, backlit now by a torch. Every languid motion was smooth, her curvaceous body moving in a sensuous dance as she scrubbed, stretched, and relaxed.

"Are you enjoying the view, Helot?" Her low laughter echoed off the cavern wall as she spoke with her back to him "I'm impressed -- and flattered. I've never had an audience before. What should I do with you? Close your eyes now, I'm turning around, and I want answers you can't provide as a statue."

The slave obliged. He heard little splashes as Medusa left the water. He bowed his head as the soft, wet smacks of her footsteps approached.

She sighed. "I can't let you go. You know where I live. You could lead others here, or tell them enough to find it. Who knows what the gods or their servants might try next? But that can wait."

Medusa was close now. Gentle fingers removed the gag. "First, I will have some answers. Why did you look?"

"I've been a slave to the Spartans all my life. I wanted to see one humbled, even if it cost me everything." It didn't even occurred to him to refuse her questions.

"Defiance. Good enough, but why keep watching? Why keep risking it?"

"How could I not watch? Justice for a Spartan? Getting him to submit and accept his own execution? To participate in it? Getting the gods' own hero to defy them? A man could live fifty lives without seeing such things. It was worth the risk."

"Bravery! Better, Helot, but that's not all. You watched me bathe. No-one has looked on me willingly, unbidden, since the gods cursed me."

"I -- I'm sorry. I couldn't stop. I've never seen such beauty. Even from behind, you're stunning."

A gasp. "Courtesy?" Medusa fell quiet for a long moment, then continued, quieter. "I haven't heard a kind word in centuries. Not one of my would-be murderers ever apologized, or ever complimented me."

A gentle caress traced the swollen lump where his master had struck him before they entered her cave. Her touch was cool, damp, and soothing. "He did this, didn't he? That Spartan was Aphrodite's kind of puppet: pretty, murderous, lustful, and cruel. My shrine has many statues of men just like him. But you're different, aren't you?"

He bowed his head, pressing his face into her caress. For a man accustomed to beatings and hard labor, the fine, smooth scales of her skin felt like silk. "I'm a slave."

Her hand cupped his chin and lifted softly as she pronounced his fate. "No longer, Helot. You'll die free, standing tall, with your former master forever prostrate at your feet. I'll not toy with you as I did the others." He could feel her breath warm on his cheek, her face just a few inches away as she reached around him. "I'll release those bonds. Just --"

-- His hands grasped hers. " -- Already done." The torn fabric fell free, and the slave pushed forward, kissing her. She recoiled, and he let her go. He heard the hiss of Medusa's hair-serpents and knew they were coiling to strike him down for his presumption. Yet they did not strike.

The Helot stood, felt the scabbarded sword next to his foot, and kicked it away. He held out the serpent's fang, then tossed it away as well. "I cut myself loose while you coupled with him." Reaching out as he stood, the Helot's hands found the smooth curve of her hip, the exquisite taper of her neck. He gave both a gentle, inviting pressure, and her serpent hair relaxed as she yielded. Medusa pressed her full length to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and returned his kiss in earnest.

No gods could have dreamed of such a moment. Medusa's immortal figure, its magnificence undimmed by the gods' curse, was as unlike the scarred, worn frame of the humble Helot as Olympus and Tartarus, and no love could overcome the inevitable divergence of their fates. Yet still they kissed, each of them enshrining this moment of happiness in a cursed and persecuted life.

At last, their lips parted, but Medusa embraced him still, as their brows rested against each other. "I -- I've never been kissed before. Thank you for that."

The slave smiled beneath his closed eyes. "I never thought I'd die free. Thank you for that."

"What is your name, mortal?"

"Asklepios."

"Open your eyes, Asklepios."

Asklepios opened his eyes.

And stared.