The Medusa Deception

Chapter 11

MANDY CAME-TO ON her knees in a torch lit, palatial room of marble, surrounded by lances, spears, swords, shields and other implements of war.

Oh my God, look at all this stuff! She approached a breastplate garment made of the finest leather she'd ever seen. Reaching out, she felt the rich aegis, soft as butter.

She continued, examining each item mounted on the wall — magnificent swords and spears, stained dark with blood, battered helmets and body armor. She was awed by the history in front of her; each piece painstakingly forged, carved or tailored in a time when everything had to have been handmade.

At the far end of the room, she came upon a cabinet of fine wood, adorned with ornate brass handles and hardware. She reached for the handle and pulled it open. Inside, wrapped in an exquisitely woven tarp, hung a large roundish item. A chill went up her spine as she uncovered it.

From the dark confines of the cabinet, a bloody, severed head stared back at her, contorted in the most painful and shocking expression she had ever seen.

Mandy lurched back. Recognition hit her.

"Medusa's head," she whispered, "on Athena's shield!"

Medusa's face was pure agony. Snakes crowned her sorrowful head. Her eyes were open but shriveled into hollows from which tracks of dried blood tears striped her cheeks. Even in death, the poor creature endured endless servitude to the gods.

Mandy turned away. Her chest ached; her eyes filled with tears. To her, the fate of Medusa symbolized how the strong preyed on the weak — bullies and victims. Would it always be so?

Glancing back the way she came, her gaze stopped at the aegis, the breastplate garment of fine leather. "That's not leather," she recalled from Greek mythology, "that's Medusa's skin!"

Mandy shuddered at the brutality of a time where slain victims of war were skinned and worn into the next battle.

Turning, she approached the last collection in the room. Sitting atop a sturdy gilt table were two distinct sets of ceramic crocks, sealed with cork stoppers. Crusted blood at their mouths belied their contents.

More spoils of war. Mandy frowned, recalling Gorgon blood was deadly from the left side of their body, curative from the right. She inched closer. Sure enough, the crocks were marked with two different symbols.

Suddenly, male voices and footsteps broke the silence, approaching fast. Her hand jerked away. The clank of crockery echoed through the chamber.

Panicked, she dove beneath the golden table. But it was too late. She'd been seen.

"Seize her!" the guard commanded.

Mandy pressed herself against the back wall under the table. Strong arms grabbed her by the ankles. She struggled and squirmed. The table jostled.

One of the crocks trembled across the surface and perched precariously on the edge. Mandy rolled and twisted, freeing herself from the strong hands, then scrambled back under the table as the crock lost its footing.

The guard didn't know what hit him, his face awash with sticky, malodorous blood. He looked at the ruptured crock, then at Mandy, with terror and confusion in his eyes. His body wracked with spasms; his eyes rolled back in his head. He contorted and stiffened, lifeless on the floor.

A different set of hands pulled Mandy out by her legs. As much from shock as fear, she didn't resist, not wanting to suffer the same fate, with more of the deadly blood looming overhead.

Before lifting her off the ground, the guard stared, frowning, as if momentarily stunned. He restrained her while two other guards entered the room. Passing her to their custody, he asked, "What fool would trespass in Athena's armory?"