Jason and Medeia (35 page)

in pain.

Then, lying still, she was aware of the softness of her

breasts. She whispered

the stranger's name, and at the magic word—more

powerful spell

than any she'd learned from Hekate—her tears came

flooding.

“Presently one of the servants, her own young maid,

came in

and, seeing Medeia in tears, ran swiftly to Khalkiope, who was sitting with Melas, considering how they might

best win Medeia's

aid. When Khalkiope heard the girl's story, she jumped

up, terrified,

and hurried to her sister. ‘Medeia!' she cried, ‘what's the

meaning of these tears?

Has Father told you some awful fate he's decided on for my sons?'

“Medeia blushed. How hungry she was to give answer! But her heart was chained by shame. Ah, time and

again the truth

was there on the tip of her tongue, and time and

again she swallowed it.

Her lips moved; but no words came. Then her mind's

eye

saw Jason gazing at the floor before Aietes, slyly

preparing

some answer to stall his wrath. Inspired by the image,

Medeia

brought out: ‘Oh, sister, I'm terrified for your sons. It

seems

our father will certainly kill them, and the strangers

with them. I had

a terrible vision just now, and I saw it all.'

“It was Khalkiope's turn to weep. The tears ran

rivers down her cheeks.

Medeia furtively watched, her heart like a fluttering

bird. ‘

I knew it!' Khalkiope gasped between sobs. ‘I've been

thinking the same.

That's what brought me to your room. Dear Medeia, I

beg you to help me.

First, swear by earth and heaven you won't tell a word

of what I say,

but will work with me to save them. By the blessed gods,

I implore you,

do not stand by while my precious children are

murdered! If you do,

may I be slain with them and afterward haunt you

from hell, an avenging fury!'

“With that she burst into tears once more, sank down,

and

throwing her arms round her sister's knees and burying

her head

in Medeia's lap, sobbed as if her heart would burst.

The younger sister, too,

wept long and hard. Throughout all the house you could hear their lamentations.

“Medeia was the first to speak: ‘

Sister, you leave me speechless with your talk of curses

and furies.

How can I ease your heartache? As God is my judge,

Khalkiope—

and by earth and heaven, and by all the powers of

land and sea—

I will help you to save your sons with whatever strength

or skill

I have.'

“Then Khalkiope said, ‘Could you not devise some

scheme,

some cunning ruse that will save the stranger, for my

children's sake?

He needs you as much as they do, Medeia. Oh, do not

be merciless!'

“The girl's heart leaped, her cheeks crimsoned; her

eyes grew misty

with joyful tears. ‘Khalkiope, dearest, I'll do anything

at all

to please my sister and her sons. May I never again see

morning

and no mortal see me in the world again if I place any

good

ahead of the lives of your sons, my beloved kinsmen.

Now go,

and bury my promise in silence. At dawn I will go to

the temple

with magic medicine for the bulls.' Khalkiope left,

carrying

her news of success to her son. But Medeia, alone once

more,

was sick with shame and fear at her daring to plot

such things

in defiance of her father's will.

“Night drew down darkness on the world;

on the ship the Argonauts looked toward the Bear and

the stars of Orion.

Wanderers and watchmen longed for sleep. The cloak of

oblivion

stilled both sorrow and laughter. At the edges of town,

dogs ceased

to bark, and men ceased calling one another. Silence

reigned

in the blackening gloom. But sleep did not come to

Medeia. More clear

than the bedroom walls, the stars beyond the window

frame,

she saw the great bulls, and Jason confronting them.

She saw him fall,

the great horns tearing at his bowels. And the maiden's

poor heart raced,

restless as a patch of moonlight dancing up and down

on a wall

as the swirling water poured into a pail reflects it.

Bright tears

ran down her cheeks, and anguish tortured her, a

golden fire

in her veins. One moment she thought she would give

him the magic drug;

the next she thought, no, she would sooner die; and the

next she'd do neither,

but patiently endure. And so, as Jason had done before

Aietes,

she debated in painful indecision, her eyes clenched

shut. She whispers:

“ ‘Evil on this side, evil on that; and I have no choice but to choose between them. Would I'd been slain by

Artemis' arrows

before I had ever laid eyes on that man! Some god,

some fury

must have brought him here with his cargo of grief and

shame. Let him

be killed, if that is his fate. And how can I get him

the drug

without my father's knowledge of it? What story can

I tell

that his dragon's eye won't pierce?' Then, suddenly

panicky, she thought:

‘Do I meet him alone? And speak with him? And even

if he dies,

what hope have I of happiness? Far blacker evils than any I toy with now will strike my heart if Jason dies! Enough! No more shame, no more glory! Saved

from harm,

let Jason sail where he pleases, and let me die. On the

day

of his triumph may my neck crack in a noose from

the rooftree, or may

I fall to the sly bite of poison.' She saw it in her mind

and wept:

and saw that even in death she'd be taunted like mad

Jokasta,

who bucked in bed with her royal son, and every city, far or near, would ring with her doom—the wily little

whore

who threw away life for a stranger! Then better to

die,' she thought,

this very night, in my room, slip out of the world

unnoticed,

still innocent.'

“She ran out quickly for the casket that held

her potions—some for healing, others for destruction—

and placing

the casket on her knees, she bent above it and wept.

Tears ran

unchecked down her cheeks, and she saw her corpse

stretched out in state,

beautiful and tragic. The city howled, and fierce Aietes tore out his hair in tufts and cursed his wickedness, he who'd brought his daughter to this sad pass. She

was now

determined to snatch some poison from the box and

swallow it,

and in a moment she was fumbling with the lid in her

sorrowing eagerness …

but suddenly paused. Clear as a vision, she had seen

death,

at the corner of her eye. An empty room, a curtain

blowing,

some dim memory or snatch from a dream … There

was icy wind

whistling in the walls of her skull, collapsing her chest

like the roof

of an abandoned palace. And now the pale child's lip

trembled.

She thought of her playmates—more girl than woman—

and the scent of fire

in the temple, and of caracolling birds and of newly

hatched birds in their nests

in the plane trees, cheeping to heaven. And all at once

it seemed

she had no choice but to live, because life was love—

every field

and hillside shouted the same—and love was Jason.

“She rose,

put the box in its place. Irresolute no longer, she waited for dawn, when she could meet him, deliver the drug to

him

as promised. Time after time she would suddenly open

her eyes

believing it must be morning, but the room was black.

“At length

dawn came. Now the tops of the mountains were alight,

and now the spring-

green stath where the flamebright river flowed past

long-shadowed trees,

and now there were sounds in the peasant huts, the

stone and wattle

barns. Medeia was filled with joy, as if risen from the

dead,

and her mind went hungrily to meet the light, the smell

of new blossoms,

and newploughed ground and the sweat of horses. And

she whispered, ‘Yes,'

and was ready.

“She gathered the flamebright locks that swirled past

her shoulders,

washed the stains from her tear-puffed cheeks and

cleansed her skin

with an ointment clear as nectar. She put on a beautiful

robe

with cunning broaches, and draped a silvery veil across her forehead and hair, all quickly, deftly, moving about oblivious to imminent evils, and worse to come.

“She called

her maidens, the twelve who slept in the ante-chamber

of Medeia's

room, and told them to yoke white mules to her chariot

at once,

as she wished to drive to the splendid temple of

Hekate.

And while they were making the chariot ready, she

took out a drug

from her casket. He who smoothed it on his skin, after

offering prayer

to Hekate, would become for that one day invulnerable. She had taken the drug from flowers that grew on twin

stalks

a cubit high, of saffron color. The root was like flesh that has just been cut, and the juice was like sap from a

mountain oak.

The dark earth shook and rumbled underneath her

when Medeia cut

that root, for the root was beloved of the queen of the

dead.

“She placed

the salve in the fragrant band that girdled her, beneath

her bosom,

and stepped out quickly and mounted the chariot, with

two of her maidens,

one at each side. Then she herself took the reins and,

seizing

the well-made whip in her right hand, she drove down

through

the city, and the rest of her handmaids laid their fingers

over

the chariot wicker and, holding up their skirts above their white knees, came running behind. She fancies

herself,

her hair flying, like Artemis driving her swiftly racing deer over mountains' combs to the scent-rich sacrifice. Attendant nymphs have gathered from the forests to

follow her,

and fawning grove-beasts whimper in homage and

tremble as she passes.

So Aietes' daughter sped through the city, and on either

side,

beggars, tradesmen, carters, old women with bundles of

sticks

made way for her, avoiding the princess' eye.

“Meanwhile,

Jason was crossing the dew-white plain with Melas and

the old

seer Mopsos, skillful at omen reading. And thanks to

Hera,

never yet had there been such a man as was Jason that

day,

clear-eyed, radiant, his mind more swift, more sweet

in flight

than an eagle riding on the sky-blue robes of gods. In

fact,

his companions, walking beside him, were awed. As

they reached the shrine

they came to a poplar by the side of the path, whose

crown of countless

leaves was a favorite roost for crows. One flapped his

wings

as they passed and, cawing from the treetop, delivered

a message from Hera.

‘Who is this looney old seer who hasn't got dawkins'

sense,

nor makes out even what children know, that a girl

does not

permit herself one word about love when the man she

meets

brings strangers with him? Away with you, you crackpot

prophet,

incompetent boob! It's certainly not Aphrodite that

sends

your visions!'

“Mopsos listened to the bird with a smile, despite

the scolding. He turned to Jason and stretched out his

arms and said,

‘Carry on, Jason. Proceed to the temple where Medeia

awaits you.

Praise Aphrodite! Now Melas and I must go on with you no further. We'll wait right here till your safe return.

Good luck!'

“Meanwhile the poor love-sick Medeia was singing

and dancing

with her maids—or rather, pretending to. For time and

again

her voice would falter and come to a halt. To keep her

eyes fixed

on the choir was more than she could do. She was

always turning them aside

to search the distant paths, and more than once she

was close

to fainting at a sound of wind she mistook for a footfall.

But at last

he appeared to her yearning eyes, striding like Sirius

rising

from the ocean—Sirius, hound of heaven, brilliant and beautiful but filled with menace for the

flocks. Medeia's

heart stood still; her sight blurred. A flush spread across her cheeks. She could neither move toward him nor

retreat, but, as in

a frightening dream, her feet were rooted to the

ground. As songbirds

suddenly hush at an eagle's approach, silent, titanic, scarcely moving a wing as it rings on invisible winds, so Medeia's maidens fell silent and quickly disappeared.

Then Jason