Author’s Note: This short story is a fictionalized prologue of the Greek myth, Perseus and Andromeda, retold from the point of view of Andromeda, fully contextualized in the world of Ancient Ethiopia, where the story originally takes place. I wrote it as an ode to Andromeda's lost monologue in Euripides’ drama Andromeda, now surviving in only fragments. If you are not completely familiar with the myth, or need a refresher, I recommend reading Tufts University’s translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses (Perseus and Andromeda goes from Book 4 line 633 to Book 5 line 249) linked here, or checking out a more general summary linked here.
They call me Andromeda. You may know my name, heralded by the gods, flung far amongst the most distant stars, suspended in a fabric of space and time. You may know my name passed down from your great artists. Your poets, Euripides and Ovid. Your painters, Ruben and Titian. Perhaps, you might know the portrait — a woman afflicted by the unforgiving jagged rocks, lashed by the rough waves. She, chained there, by the hubris spilling from mother’s bold tongue.
But you do not know my name. You do not know my story.
I am Andromeda, the only daughter of King Cepheus of Aethiopia and Queen Cassiopeia of Joppa. Once, I too, walked a mortal on this Earth, where my name carried the meaning “ruler of men.” Where my name meant more than just the face of a pretty girl.
Ἀνδρομέδα: A name, whispered both in prayer and prophecy, endowing me with a destiny I was doomed to fulfill.
It was late in the dry season that year, the sun continuing to beat ceaselessly overhead. The soil, parched and brittle, was crying for relief provided by the promise of impending rain. The wind blew east — a storm would follow us soon.
The quiet, measured breaths of my dozing mother filled the empty space between us in the covered chariot. Her scrolls, long forgotten, lay perched on her lap, amongst the folds of linen fabric, intricately woven along the hem with gold thread. I reached over, prying them from her loose grip, and placed them beside her on the cushioned seat so they wouldn’t fall to the chariot’s floor, littered with dust and dirt that lingered from the bottoms of our sandals. We were on the second leg of our journey, the final stretch of the court’s annual pilgrimage to my Father’s summer palace.
Glancing over to the rolls of papyrus, I made out the beginning of a list of tasks from my mother’s neat swirling script. The bolded, emphasized title peeking out from above the furled sheets caught my eye. Betrothal.
First catching whispers of this proposed marriage from behind my parents’ closed doors, hushed under cover of night, my stomach lurched at the sight of the words there, enshrined in the liquid ink dried on papyrus, binding me to him. Marriage, tossed up as a mere political pawn, for my mother’s unending, unrelenting game.
Beneath us, the wheels of the chariot thundered on, grinding the arid, cracked earth in agreement. Every rotation of the axel was another step closer to my hallowed, yet hollow destiny.
Phineus. My father’s much younger, adopted brother — a leech on the throne, desperately hungry to take his seat by way of me. I saw him, lurking in the shadows striking his bribes with the royal councilors. His affairs, taking one woman to his bed after another, like he was discarding void playing cards. Would he ever see me?
I shifted in my seat. One way, then the other, writhing in discomfort and itching to escape what lay ahead, as if my future were little grains of sand wedged in the cracks and caverns of my body, in places that I can’t touch if I tried. Beneath us, the wheels of the chariot thundered on, grinding the arid, cracked earth in agreement. Every rotation of the axel was another step closer to my hallowed, yet hollow destiny.
I sat up, back straight, neck high, eyes forward. I would not play their game anymore. There was no need for pawns now, but a Queen.
Suddenly, the chariot came to an abrupt halt. Mama jolted awake, reflexively grabbing my hand in surprise.
“We can’t be there already,” she said in disbelief, blinking the last remnants of sleep away. “I only just closed my eyes.”
The rock of the chariot is comforting, I must admit. But I couldn’t sleep.
“It’s been hours, Mama,” I said, smiling, as she took my hand and brought it to her lips for a quick kiss. We locked eyes, and I continued to gaze into the iris that uniquely matched my own. A deep, rich brown, transformed golden whenever the sun peers through our chariot’s side windows. The same eyes, yes, but each pair gazing past the other in diverging, different directions.
“I know you didn’t sleep at all,” raising her eyebrows sagely.
It was almost tradition, the way I eagerly awaited summer days, unable to sleep during our annual trek. This time, however, my anticipation was laced and layered with anxiety and dread. I’d looked out the window for hours, not able to work on the Greek translations my languages tutor had assigned the week previously. Instead, they were strewn hurriedly to the depths of my traveling bag. Certain pressing domestic matters had taken precedence over any thoughts of conversing with the diplomats from Troy.
The strong ocean breeze tickled my nose, resurfacing all my cherished memories of sea, salt, and sand. The corners of my lips turned up faintly, ruefully holding tight to any remnants of childhood I had left.
Moving to look over her scrolls, she unfurled them completely, the list becoming longer, longer, and longer. I looked away, not trying to remind myself of what I’d face in the next few days. Pulling back the curtain that partially blocked my view of the open window, I stuck my head out, inhaling contentedly. The strong ocean breeze tickled my nose, resurfacing all my cherished memories of sea, salt, and sand. The corners of my lips turned up faintly, ruefully holding tight to any remnants of childhood I had left.
We had arrived. The palace’s gleaming spires heralded the flag, signaling that the King was in residence.
“Andromeda, get away from there at once,” my mother said, looking up from the papyrus as she pulled on my shoulder to guide me back to the seat. “It’s unseemly. You’re not a child anymore, are you? Then try to start acting more like the Princess you are.” she scolded.
Her sharp, critical tongue never failed to sting. My mother could switch without warning. Jovial one minute, and prickly the next. The stress of being Queen, I had always figured.
I reluctantly sat back down. Rounding my shoulders, I couldn’t look her in the eye, starting to pick at the skin around my cuticles — an old habit that never seemed to go away no matter how hard I tried.
“And by the gods, sit up straight and stop fidgeting, we will soon be inside,” came Mama’s resounding reply.
Hearing chattering outside of the chariot, I impulsively leapt to open the door, and stepped down, greeted by the shadows of our guard, sitting tall on horseback. Ignoring my mother’s instructions to stay inside, calling after me in vain, I ran up to join Father at the head of the train. I could forgo the rules, if at least for today.
Her lilting tones were quickly carried away by the gusting winds, splintered into silence. Far on the horizon, faint gray wisps of cloud beckoned.
Each year, the summer palace had always been my treasured escape from the bustle and hurry of the kingdom’s capital. Built in the age of my forefathers, this was constructed as a fortress, an outpost to ward against invasion by our neighbors across the sea, those vast empires spanning the East. Now, it’s the court’s favorite summer home, finding precious moments of serenity in its ancient halls, or dancing till dawn in celebration for the commencement of the rainy season each summer. I would have never guessed it could be here, where I found both suffering and salvation.
An unfamiliar reflection stared back at me from the copper casted mirror sitting on the table. I didn’t resemble myself, adorned with gold and pearl, which gleamed against the burnished bronze of my skin.
I looked up, past the mirror and across to the window in my chamber at the Summer Palace. It was cracked open just slightly, and the sounds of the ocean washed over me as the wave’s white foam crashed along the finely packed sand. The crest of the wave pulled back as I drew breath. It roared, rushing towards the coastline. I exhaled.
I remained alone in my room, but only for a moment, as the swish of skirts and click of pointed shoes sounded on the cold stone floor. I didn’t have to look in order to see my mother cross the entryway, with attendants following close behind.
“Mama,” I pleaded, turning around in my chair to face her, the ocean all but forgotten.
Why wouldn’t she listen! After I’ve explained so many times before? But, a defiant daughter was not what she needed. It would not bode well for the intricate politics of this marriage.
“Please, I can’t do this. I won’t ever wed Phineus. You don’t know what he’s like, what he’s done.” I declared, using all my strength to keep my voice even, without an inkling of desperation.
“Andromeda, there is nothing to be afraid of. He will treat you with nothing less than the respect you deserve. You know your duty,” she said with a huff of impatience.
Why wouldn’t she listen! After I’ve explained so many times before? But, a defiant daughter was not what she needed. It would not bode well for the intricate politics of this marriage.
Gliding elegantly across the length of the room, she pushed the window wide open, the soft breeze filling the room and ruffling the white muslin fabric that was carefully and tightly draped over my body, specially crafted for the betrothal ceremony tonight.
“No, Mother. I’ve kept telling you and Father that I didn’t consent to this. Did you ever wish to marry a stranger at my age? I have my own life, my own dreams, my own destiny! And I can still serve and protect Aethiopia without a husband! I could even do more without him holding me back, without Phineus using me to usurp Father’s throne.” I exclaimed, letting my voice waver, but my conviction was stronger and clearer still.
Despite the balmy weather, gray clouds had gathered together. They were closer to us now. My mother’s expression darkened, as she furrowed her brows together.
“You are the Crown Princess of Aethiopia. You were born for this. Do not doubt yourself, Andromeda. I don’t know how many times I and your Father need to repeat this to you. You will wed Phineus, who has no intention of taking the throne. Where are you getting these ideas in your head, child? Now, I don’t want to hear any more of this kind of talk,” the Queen commanded.
Resisting the impulse to bolt from the room, I remained. I bowed my head, resigned to defeat. As I took note of the few audible gasps from the line of servants stationed by the back wall, an apology sprung softly from my lips.
“Yes, my Lady Mother. Forgive my accusation. It was rather childish.”
Mama sighed. “You will learn, Andromeda. You will learn in time.” She motioned to the servants.
The young woman walked slowly, handling her precious cargo with care. Not meeting my eyes in deference, she offered me the final part of my betrothal preparation — a delicate necklace, fashioned out of gold.
One of the handmaidens stepped out of line. “You mustn't worry Your Highness, the entire court will be joyous to hear of the union,” she said shyly.
The young woman walked slowly, handling her precious cargo with care. Not meeting my eyes in deference, she offered me the final part of my betrothal preparation — a delicate necklace, fashioned out of gold. Gifted by Phineus, he had brought it all the way from the northern city across the sea: Joppa, my Mother’s homeland.
I nodded, assenting for her to place the necklace, resting it delicately on my exposed collarbones. It glinted in the light, and hung heavy around my neck. The slight click of the clasp sounded in my ears, cementing the reality of the marriage ahead of me.
“There,” the handmaiden breathed, satisfied with her work. “And if I may say, Your Highness, you make quite the stunning bride, and by far, the beauty of this kingdom.”
“Yes, indeed,” My mother said, smiling with pride at those Joppa jewels. “Why, Andromeda is perhaps even more beautiful than those nereids swimming in Poseidon's sea.”
Did my Mother know then, the weight of her words? The burden I was thus condemned to bear? Did she know then, how the sea started to spiral violently, how the waves rose with more force, how they crashed on the shore with more fury than usual?
Poseidon, Master of the Sea, you afflicted me with the punishment meant for my Mother’s tongue. Was I not innocent? Should I not have begged for clemency when the waves nipped and pricked at my feet?
Or maybe, were you the only one listening to the cries of a young woman desperate to prove her worth beyond her beauty, and desperate to escape the confines of a royal marriage. A girl, who had never meant to be a bride, but a Queen. Cetus, your monster ravaged my kingdom, and it ravaged me. Until salvation fell from the skies in the form of a boy, who had just tasted for the first time, what it truly meant to be both man and god.
Look at the stars, reader, and gaze upon my story. The constellations never lie.
