was to be a great vengeance, and the vengeance was delayed.
The king gave a feast, and on that day every one in the land brought offerings of their best and most costly to do him honour. Perseus alone came empty-handed, and as he stood in the king's court as though he were a beggar, the other youths mocked at him of whom they had ever been jealous.
"Thou sayest that thy father is one of the gods!" they said. "Where is thy godlike gift, O Perseus!"
And Polydectes, glad to humble the lad who was keeper of his mother's honour, echoed their foolish taunt.
"Where is the gift of the gods that the noble son of the gods has brought me?" he asked, and his fat cheeks and loose mouth quivered with ugly merriment.
Then Perseus, his head thrown back, gazed in the bold eyes of Polydectes.
Son of Zeus he was indeed, as he looked with royal scorn at those whom he despised.
"A godlike gift thou shalt have, in truth, O king," he said, and his voice rang out as a trumpet-call before the battle. "The gift of the gods shall be thine. The gods helping me, thou shalt have the head of Medusa."
A laugh, half-born, died in the throats of Polydectes and of those who listened, and Perseus strode out of the palace, a glow in his heart, for he knew that Pallas Athené had lit the fire that burned in him now, and that though he should shed the last drop of his life's blood
