pale white and something dark sat on its back.
Perseus clung to the makeshift harness and kept his attention on the distant but still clearly defined silhouette of the vulture. The helmet and sword were secured to his belt. Ammon had urged him to take the shield also, but Perseus had declined, reasoning that its additional weight might reduce Pegasus's mobility.
"Besides," he'd told the poet, "if a sword that can slice through marble, and a helmet that renders its wearer invisible are not sufficient protection for one man, then I am unworthy to be husband to Andromeda."
Ammon had shaken a rueful finger at him in parting. "May your success match your gallantry, young Perseus, and not mark you an overconfident fool."
But the shield was heavy. Maybe the boy was right. Anyway, who was he to argue with him? He was a tired old writer, not a retired general. Marshal your words, Ammon, and let younger men marshal their weapons.
But damn, he'd thought as he'd watched man and horse soar upward into the night: I wish I were going with him.
The vulture continued to gain altitude, rising with mighty beats of its enormous wings. Perseus urged the stallion higher, hoping to remain far from the great bird's notice. It seemed intent only on carrying out its task of conveying the princess to some unknown destination, however, and paid no attention to the flocks of terrified birds it occasionally scattered.
A glance downward showed the towers and compounds of Joppa, lines of limestone and marble marring the earth. Behind him was the gleam of moonlight on the Mediterranean.
Perseus returned his attention forward, squinting into the wind and grateful that the night was not stormy. He'd spent too much time in too many small boats out on the ocean for the dips and rises of the flying horse to make him sick. But his mind was filled with too many other thoughts and worries for him to enjoy the spectacular ride.
Finally the vulture began descending toward a layer of low clouds. Perseus urged the horse to a faster pace, not wanting to lose sight of his quarry.
I've been asleep, he thought with amazement. Thank the gods I did not fall!
He roused himself to full alertness, watching the huge carrion-eater sink into a shifting, cloying mist. They were far from the cool shore breezes of Joppa now. The air rising from below was humid and hot. Where moisture met desert in the lowlands and where there was ample ground water, one sometimes found the foulest of swamps. It was a fitting home for the vulture.
And for its master, Perseus thought darkly. He dug his thighs into Pegasus's flanks, murmuring "Down." Soon they too were swallowed up by the mists.
As they dropped, the temperature began to rise. Soon it was uncomfortably humid, despite the fact that it had been a pleasant night in Joppa. Sweat rolled from both man and horse. Perseus peered downward but could see nothing, and had to hope his mount had a better sense of its surroundings than did its poor, blinded rider.
Then the mist seemed to lighten, letting the moonlight through, and he could see they were not far from the surface.
The trees of the benighted land were twisted as if in pain, their leaves hungry for the sunlight that rarely penetrated here. Bushes crouched low to the earth, as though ashamed of what this land had made them. There were no flowers. Even the reeds and rushes looked unhealthy, marked as they were by gray, scabrous growths that clung persistently to their stems.
Water moved like oil, sluggish and tired. In places noisome smells rose from bubbling pits of sludge. From time to time something hiding deep in this foul landscape would emit a challenging, lingering cry, a sound as devoid of beauty or grace as its surroundings.
Somewhere in that mist was a huge disturbance where something large moved. Feet followed cage as the vulture descended to the rheumy earth. It hovered carefully and let the golden prison settle easily onto a sandbar flanking what passed in that
Perseus clung to the makeshift harness and kept his attention on the distant but still clearly defined silhouette of the vulture. The helmet and sword were secured to his belt. Ammon had urged him to take the shield also, but Perseus had declined, reasoning that its additional weight might reduce Pegasus's mobility.
"Besides," he'd told the poet, "if a sword that can slice through marble, and a helmet that renders its wearer invisible are not sufficient protection for one man, then I am unworthy to be husband to Andromeda."
Ammon had shaken a rueful finger at him in parting. "May your success match your gallantry, young Perseus, and not mark you an overconfident fool."
But the shield was heavy. Maybe the boy was right. Anyway, who was he to argue with him? He was a tired old writer, not a retired general. Marshal your words, Ammon, and let younger men marshal their weapons.
But damn, he'd thought as he'd watched man and horse soar upward into the night: I wish I were going with him.
The vulture continued to gain altitude, rising with mighty beats of its enormous wings. Perseus urged the stallion higher, hoping to remain far from the great bird's notice. It seemed intent only on carrying out its task of conveying the princess to some unknown destination, however, and paid no attention to the flocks of terrified birds it occasionally scattered.
A glance downward showed the towers and compounds of Joppa, lines of limestone and marble marring the earth. Behind him was the gleam of moonlight on the Mediterranean.
Perseus returned his attention forward, squinting into the wind and grateful that the night was not stormy. He'd spent too much time in too many small boats out on the ocean for the dips and rises of the flying horse to make him sick. But his mind was filled with too many other thoughts and worries for him to enjoy the spectacular ride.
Finally the vulture began descending toward a layer of low clouds. Perseus urged the horse to a faster pace, not wanting to lose sight of his quarry.
I've been asleep, he thought with amazement. Thank the gods I did not fall!
He roused himself to full alertness, watching the huge carrion-eater sink into a shifting, cloying mist. They were far from the cool shore breezes of Joppa now. The air rising from below was humid and hot. Where moisture met desert in the lowlands and where there was ample ground water, one sometimes found the foulest of swamps. It was a fitting home for the vulture.
And for its master, Perseus thought darkly. He dug his thighs into Pegasus's flanks, murmuring "Down." Soon they too were swallowed up by the mists.
As they dropped, the temperature began to rise. Soon it was uncomfortably humid, despite the fact that it had been a pleasant night in Joppa. Sweat rolled from both man and horse. Perseus peered downward but could see nothing, and had to hope his mount had a better sense of its surroundings than did its poor, blinded rider.
Then the mist seemed to lighten, letting the moonlight through, and he could see they were not far from the surface.
The trees of the benighted land were twisted as if in pain, their leaves hungry for the sunlight that rarely penetrated here. Bushes crouched low to the earth, as though ashamed of what this land had made them. There were no flowers. Even the reeds and rushes looked unhealthy, marked as they were by gray, scabrous growths that clung persistently to their stems.
Water moved like oil, sluggish and tired. In places noisome smells rose from bubbling pits of sludge. From time to time something hiding deep in this foul landscape would emit a challenging, lingering cry, a sound as devoid of beauty or grace as its surroundings.
Somewhere in that mist was a huge disturbance where something large moved. Feet followed cage as the vulture descended to the rheumy earth. It hovered carefully and let the golden prison settle easily onto a sandbar flanking what passed in that
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