Medea (15 page)

The trench was complete. The sea washed in and encircled the little ship, and her keel lifted as she felt the touch of the ocean. We lined up on either side of her, my cheek against the smoky side. She felt like an animal, ribbed and fleshed, not a construction of soulless wood. I felt her rise and gasp as the water moved her, and as she began to slide forward, we heard her sing.

A high, breathy, delicate note. A woman's voice. A goddess' voice.

Then she was in the sea, and we backed her off with lines, or she would have run for Colchis on her own.

We fitted the oars, drew lots for the benches - though there was no doubt that amidships we would have Herakles and Ancaeas - and Tiphys was helmsman, Authalides herald, and Jason captain.

Leaving
Argo
rocking at her anchorage, we waded ashore and built an altar to Apollo out of driftwood and rocks. A slave brought a black and a white steer down from Pelias' stables. I wondered where everyone was. Did no one intend to farewell us? Were we to leave like robbers or pirates, unnoticed, in the dawn?

Hylas brought spring water for sprinkling, and Melas brought grains of barley - they were the youngest of our crew. Herakles and Ancaeas held the beasts on either side of the fire while Jason spoke.

'Hear me, Lord Apollo, who gave me this task: I look to you to guide us safe to Colchis and home. Accept this sacrifice, Archer-God, and give us success, accept these bulls as payment for our voyage out and our voyage home. Lord, bring us fair weather and gentle breezes to carry us across the sea.'

The beasts were sprinkled with water and barley grains. Herakles and Ancaeas struck, axe and club. The sacrifices dropped to their knees without a sound. Then the carcasses were quickly butchered, and the choice parts wrapped in fat and laid on the coals. Idmon eyed the smoke narrowly.

'Good,' he said in his low, clear voice. 'The smoke goes spiralling up to heaven. That is as it should be. You will return,

Jason, decreed by Heaven to succeed, though countless trials await you on the voyage.'

There was a cheer. The sacrifices having been made, Oileus and Telamon cut up the rest of the beasts and set haunches to roast in the unsanctified fire. Several slaves brought down bread and wine from Pelias' palace. We settled down in the sand to feast and wait out the night. I ate hungrily of bull's flesh roasted on a skewer. Philammon, sitting near me, was drinking water and eating bread, as usual.

'Your pardon, Master,' I said, realising what a carnal spectacle I must appear, with blood and grease running down my face. 'I'll eat elsewhere.'

'No need,' he said affably. 'I've no objection to you eating flesh, Nauplios. I just don't do it myself.'

I took a gulp of unmixed wine, made a face, and reached for a water-ewer to dilute it.

'Heroes drinking neat wine are prone to trouble,' said the bard. I did not catch the hint, but he pointedly stopped speaking and stared across the fire at Idas, who was drunk. He was calling to my lord, who was sitting on the other side of the fire.

I knew what Jason was doing. He was worrying. He always did, after he was committed to some enterprise. The night of the centaurs' boar-hunt he had sat staring into the fire in just the same way. He was afraid of failing, my lord Jason. At such times I left him alone. He would gain resolution by morning, and make us a fine captain, I was sure. But Idas didn't know Jason like I did. He mistook this contemplation for fear.

'Jason!' he bellowed, 'What are these deep thoughts, eh? What's the matter? Scared already?' Idas staggered up, red-faced. I saw his brother Lynkeos wince and turn his face away. 'Hear me swear an oath, then. By my spear, I swear that no disaster can befall you, not with Idas at your back. Not even a god can defeat you with a man like me at your side!'

'Idas, sit down, you're drunk,' yelled Lynkeos in an agony of embarrassment. Idas spun uncertainly round to abuse him, and came face to face with Idmon.

'It is unsafe to challenge the gods, Idas,' said the seer quietly.

'I don't care about gods!' blurted Idas.

'Your words are deadly, and you will suffer from them,' said Idmon. 'Haven't you heard what happens to the blasphemous?'

I thought that lecturing a drunken man on blasphemy was unwise, but could not see what I could do. Beside me, Philammon was unwrapping his lyre.

'No, what happens?' challenged Idas.

'They are struck down,' said Idmon.

'Beware, then, that you are not with me when my doom arrives,' sneered Idas. 'Or don't you believe in your own prophecies? We're going to live, Idmon, and according to your own words, you're going to die. Take care it isn't at my hands.'

'Enough,' said Philammon. He struck a chord on the lyre, and Idas sank down into the sand. Idmon returned to his place. The note was deep, thrilling, seeming to penetrate mere flesh into the bones. I could just see the bard, sitting up straight, the lyre on his knee, his red hair arrayed around his shoulders, so that in the firelight he was crowned with flame. And he sang of the beginning of the world while we sat, astounded and enthralled, on the sand on Iolkos beach, with
Arg
riding beside us like a tethered swan.

In the unlight undark,

In the void in the aeons,

Before the Gods, Destiny and

Unaging Time met where

There was no world. No Sun

No Moon, no day, no night.

Forms they took: winged horse,

Winged serpent. In the nothing,

In non-being they conjured

A shape that fell in love with

A shape. White-browed Destiny

Flung her arms around Unaging Time

And pressed him to her breast.

Not the hasty, fleeting, incomplete

Mating of humans and beasts,

But a melting, a fiery loving

Which melded the forms and shapes

Into one creature. In the music,

Male blended with female

And swelled with child.

Fruitful the body of Destiny

And Unaging Time: fruitful

The darkness before days. Out

Of the primeval waste, out of this mating

Came Light, came the World Egg,

Came Chaos, Order and Night.

As the Four Gods surveyed

This universe, the golden egg

Hatched: the shining shell split

And the Four hailed Phanes,

That which is revealed,

A glowing sphere, sky blue

And cloud white, balanced in space.

And Phanes cast his net

Over all that was made

Or will be made: and the

Earth Mother, spilling from her lap

Lizards and hyacinths,

Rivers, trees and horses, laughed

For joy at her creation:

The green earth her covering,

Woven with lions and bees.

And Themis, Order, to her children

Gave steadfastness, righteousness

Knowledge and peace. Her brother

Chaos gave chance, disorder,

Strange happenings and war. Day

Dawned and Ammon, who is the sun,

Ascended the sky in glory

Like a hawk in the horizon. While

Selene sailed silver in the night.

Lord of the Dance, Erikepaios,

Of flowering woods, Lord of Harvest,

Gather us with thy fruit; include

Us in thy vintage. Three hundred

Years, Lord of Light and Darkness

We will persist in many forms -

We will learn grasshopper lessons

In grasshopper body. As wolf we

Will prey on herds of our brother

Goats. As woman we will bear,

As man engender. In Phanes' net

And all the Gods, we will never die.

This is a song of beginnings,

Made by Philammon, bard of Orpheus,

At the shrine of Apollo Embarkios

On Jason's voyage to far Colchis

To reclaim the Golden Fleece

And bring burial in earth and a new life

To Phrixos, child of Minyas.

 

After the last notes of the lyre had faded, we slept around the fire as though we had been dreaming of paradise. The images of the song persisted in my sleep, the winged bodies melting together, the Earth Mother laughing for joy.

The next morning, amid the weeping and wailing of women from the shore, we stepped the mast, shipped the oars, and
Argo
sailed out of Iolkos on the quest for the Golden Fleece.

 

I woke in a rocking cradle, my hounds like islands of heat on either side of me, deliciously comfortable and warm. For a moment, I did not know where I was, and I didn't care. For the first time since I became a woman, I wasn't shivering. Scylla opened her mouth and yawned, a huge yarn ending in a small absurd yelp, which she only did when she felt entirely full and safe. I put an arm around her and buried my face in her smooth black back and drowsed.

The basket-hut smelled of femaleness, of dogs and grease and incense and some dark, smoky flavour which I did not recognise. When I opened my eyes again, a cold nose was in my ear and someone was laughing.

I sat up, shoving Kore aside. Anemone sat cross-legged next to me, rubbing her hands down the side of her breeches.

'No need to rouse, little Scyth,' she said. 'Iole is driving the horses, it's a chill day with a cold wind, and our next stop is half a day away. If you're hungry, here's some Colchis bread and Scythian cheese. If you want to piss, there's a hole in the wagon over there. Otherwise, we've nothing to do but tell tales or sleep.'

I shed the dogs, gathered up my robes, and availed myself of the hole in the wagon. I had never spent a day without duties before and I was at a loss. I knew many tales, but they were sacred - not to be told to an outsider, much less this Scythian queen.

The rocking of the wagon was seductive. I could hear the noises of the travelling Scyths, and I was inside the racket, not listening to it in the chill temple of Hekate as they went past. I heard dogs barking, men yelling abuse at recalcitrant beasts, women calling from wagon to wagon and someone singing to a hand drum. Further down, fainter, someone else was playing a most discordant trumpet, accompanied with a series of partially tuned bells. This was setting off a donkey, clearly a creature of delicate musical taste, who was braying in protest.

And together they formed a symphony with the sound of hoofs, cloven ox-feet and solid horse-feet, and the soft pad of the camels. The wagon chinked, groaned and chimed as it moved and the hanging tapestry swished. Scylla and Kore curled up again, making a warm rest for my back. Anemone smiled at me.

'Take some food.' She offered me bread and cheese. Scythian cheese is chalk-white, soft and salty. It is made of mare's milk. I spread some on a lump of bread and bit into the crust. I was hungry.

'Lady, how came the Scythians to have such different customs from we of Colchis?' I asked. She unplaited her long hair, dropping little bells into her lap, and began to comb it out with a bone comb, teasing out each tress gently as she spoke.

'We are called the Sauromatae,' she said. Her voice was clear but not quick, and her accent was occasionally strange to me, so that I had to listen hard to puzzle out her meaning. I had learned Scythian and Achaean, of course, in order to read the scrolls and to speak to all who sought the goddess' help, but the Sauromatae dialect contained words I did not know.

'We are different from the ordinary Scyths because we were strangers here. Once a certain Achaean attacked the country of the Amazons, and took some of us captive. They loaded us on their ship and set sail, but we, of course, could not allow this to continue. Amazons do not live as captives. Once we had recovered a little, we attacked and killed all the sailors, but then we realised that this had been an error. We should have kept a couple of them, because we knew nothing of sailing. The ship was driven before the wind for two days, and we commended our souls to Ares, consoling ourselves with the knowledge that at least we would not die prisoners.'

The black hair bobbed as the comb ran freely through. There were streaks of white in it and I wondered how old she was.

'Then my ancestors saw land, managed to gain some control of the vessel, and ran it ashore in the territory of the Scyths. Ashore and safe, we found a mob of horses. Amazons and horses are sisters. We made friends with these mounts and, still having some of our weapons, which our captors had kept as prizes, we rode off to find food, for we were hungry. How puzzled the Scyths were as their herds were diminished, and how they hunted us over the hills! They found where we were camped, realised that we were women, and wanted us, but not as slaves. The Scyths value courage, and skill, and warlike valour. They wanted children of us - and we had no idea how to get home. Even now I do not know where the land of the Amazons lies.'

She drew her hair into a bunch then let it fall over her brightly clad shoulders. She beckoned me to turn my back and applied the comb to my hair. No one had tended me in that way since I was a child. The priestesses of Hekate are not encouraged to care for their own appearance. Anemone applied some sort of oil to my head - the dark smoky scent intensified - and began to comb. The movement was so soothing that I found myself leaning back into her shoulder. She was all muscle, sinewy and strong.

'So an equal number of young Scythian men camped within easy range of the Amazons, and offered us no insult. They moved when we moved, always at a distance, until we got used to them being there. It was a clever plan, whoever thought of it. Then a young woman came on a young Scyth alone in the bushes, and took her pleasure of him. The next day she returned with another woman, and two Scyths were waiting for them. The Amazons were pleased, the Scyths were pleased, and the two camps moved closer together until they were united. But we could not stay with them unless they agreed that we should not change our ways - we would not live in captivity. The Scythian women stay in their wagons and do not ride or fight. Our Scyths agreed that we should form another tribe and not give up our customs, so we collected as much of the stock as we could find and came here, to the shores and forests of Sauromata. We travel, as all