“Hold still Medusa,” Deino snapped. She gave my long braid a sharp pull to bring my mind back into the room and my head back into position.
I had not had anyone do my hair since I was a small girl; I couldn’t help it that my head drooped, and my mind wandered.
Deino continued to struggle with three large, unruly handfuls of hair into a smooth, long braid. Finally, satisfied that the three had created balance and the union was smooth, she wrapped a golden rope at the base counterclockwise three times, tied it tightly, and sighed. Deino wrung her hands anxiously, stepped back to inspect her handiwork, and smoothed her long, knotted fingers against her chin with a deep scowl.
Deino garbled something that I could not understand as she turned to approach the darkness and the shadowy figure of our sister Pemphredo. Pemphredo had been quite unnoticeable until Deino approached; she sat silently weaving at her loom. It did not matter if my sister sat in the darkness as she blindly wove the wispy strands into a gray cloth that, like my sisters, looked old even before it was fully formed in the loom. The cloth was for Enyo, who was always in need of a new wardrobe and did not have Pemphredo’s patience and precision without the eye. Enyo was loud, intense, and messy, but Pemphredo was smooth. And so, Pemphredo soundlessly sat, skillfully stroking the smooth strands; softly styling strings and simply sewing. Awareness of Deino’s attention broke her spell of invisibility and silence.
“Here, you tell me what you think – I dread it’s not right somehow.” Deino snatched the large, bloodshot eyeball from the now empty space in her face and handed it to Pemphredo. Pemphredo set aside her work so she could hold the squishy mass in her hand. Slowly, she squeezed the eye into the sunken socket and then she also began to inspect my appearance. This attention made me uncomfortable, and I shifted in my seat as Pemphredo slowly circled me with a slight scowl upon her old and tired face.
“Hmmmm, you’re right, it needs something to really catch the eye,” Pemphredo said while squinting to inspect my golden tresses. Sadly, their eyesight was not as clear as their insight, and I could hear Pemphredo’s shallow breaths as she approached for better judgement; inhale – rasp, exhale – hiss, rasp hiss, rasp hiss – closer she seemed to slide and suddenly stopped as the third and final Graeae sister, Enyo the horrible, entered the conversation.
“Maybe Medusa needs a crown,” came a cruel and haunting voice from the corner where Enyo stopped from gnawing her piece of fruit long enough to mock me. Of course, her opinion was baseless as she was unable to see without the eye, but she had the tooth and so returned greedily to the mauled peach in her slimy hand. Her comment was most certainly meant to wound me, especially since she pointedly used my name. Enyo thought I had too much ambition and was always reminding me of my place in the family.
My name has two meanings, to be a guardian or a queen. Names are important, all our names explain who we are – our place in the world. There are things that matter, they matter to those who know – like names and dreams. There are forces older than even Gaia and these forces have ways of creating meaning. Deino means dread and look at her, she was always causing us to worry about something, and so my name means queen and guardian.
All of us knew I was born to be a guardian; to live in my enemy’s temple and serve her for the rest of my mortal life, but wouldn’t it be amazing to be a queen? To have my own temple and to guard myself; not my goddess, not my family, but to guard what is my own – to be on my own and to live forever, as queen. Ah, but Enyo is right, I am a guardian and that is all I will ever be, not immortal, not a goddess, and not even a queen and so I brought my head back into focus and prepared myself for the crowd.
The priestesses were to be the embodiment of the goddesses to the public. We did not represent Athena, were to be Athena. We each wore delicate golden sandals that were laced and tied beneath a crisp white robe that was tightly cinched with a golden rope at the waist. Everything was tight, controlled, and our braids were no exception, they were to be wrapped close to our scalps. We were to be maiden warriors and everything about us was to be controlled and without a trace of our sex. Like our goddess, we represented wisdom, justice, and chastity.
The few writers that look beyond the warrior’s scowl to see the loveliness of Athena have noticed her eyes and her crowning jewel – beautiful, long, and shining hair. However, just like every other sensual quality, the goddess hides her glory tightly about her head or beneath her winged helmet. She could be an object of beauty like Aphrodite, but she prefers to look maidenly and pure or thoughtful and ready for war. She was never interested in beauty until Eris, with her stupid golden apple stunt embarrassed her and brought her mind to the idea that being beautiful mattered because lacking beauty had caused her to lose. And of all the goddesses to lose to, Aphrodite, the foamy brained child of lust and sexuality, Athena was livid. Athena did not lose, Athena won.
Let me give you a little background on what happened because this is what started Athena’s militant obsession for chasteness and the campaign to hurt the goddess of love and beauty. Eris was brilliant, she played her part perfectly, I wonder if she even knew she was doing her mother’s bidding. None of the mortal writers knew but Hera was behind the whole thing, otherwise she would have had her revenge on Aphrodite and Paris, but instead she accepted Aphrodite as the fairest without any backlash. That’s how I know she was behind it, she lost and no one died, were cursed, or banned from Olympus. Hera often only let us in on only what was necessary for us to know – by limiting our access to knowledge, she limited our power, but I am getting ahead off track – back to the apple.
GallaMarrs 