Medea (16 page)

 

Scyths do, in a great circle, following the seasons. We camp for the winter in Colchis on the Phasis, then set forth as soon as the king has ploughed the furrow. So here we are, little Scyth. Have you no sisters, Medea, to tend your hair? It is beautiful, such length and as black as ebony, but ill cared for.'

'I am Hekate's priestess,' I murmured, half-asleep under the strokes of the comb. Anemone laughed gently.

'The Dark Mother does not order you to be unkempt. That is Trioda, I guess, and her eternal maidenhood. A black and bitter woman, that priestess. I wonder that they gave you to her. Her last acolyte died of neglect. You are a strong maiden, Medea. So. Sit up, and I'll make you three plaits like the Scyth you are.'

She arranged my hair swiftly, pulling my head this way and that. It felt odd. Usually my hair hung in a mass across my back. Now it was tied up, my neck felt bare. I felt the plaits. The hair was smooth, not tangled, and smelt smoky.

'Good. Iole!' yelled Anemone.

A shout answered her from the outside of the wagon.

'Come in,' called Anemone. 'I'll teach our Scythian here how to drive the horses.'

Iole came in through the double curtain, saw me, and grinned. 'Sister Scyth!' she exclaimed, and hugged me. 'It's freezing out there,' she said to Anemone. 'She can't go out in those black rags.'

'Lend her your spare pair of breeches, then, and send her out when she's dressed,' said Anemone, and climbed through both curtains, letting in a scour of icy wind.

I was not used to being hugged, especially by a beautiful young woman in trousers. I was not used to being tended. I was not used to being considered. That probably explains why I sat down and burst into surprising and shameful tears.

Iole hugged me closer, wiped my face with a piece of my robe, and then rummaged in the basket, throwing out various garments until she found what she was looking for. She tugged at my black robe and I took it off. She offered me breeches, which I pulled on - a strange feeling, like wearing another skin. They fitted snugly over the cloth pads which caught my blood and hugged my belly and warmed my back. I replaced my own well-made leather boots, which came up to my shin. Then Iole gave me a linen tunic with sleeves, most odd, and laced over it a red and blue felt jerkin, figured with blocky women on horseback with spears.

'This doesn't fit me any more,' she commented. 'I've grown breasts. There, now put on my cloak.' She threw over my shoulders a fleecy sheepskin garment with the fur side inwards. She tied the ties and arrayed my plaits and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

'Go, little Scyth,' she said, sinking down into the blankets with Scylla and Kore. I stepped through the first curtain, allowed it to drop, and then pushed aside the horsehide cover and emerged into a fine stinging rain. Anemone was lounging on the bench at the front of the wagon. Two large horses were plodding patiently, twitching their ears occasionally at the flying sleet.

'There is nothing to driving horses, at least, not our horses, who are Amazon-trained,' commented Anemone, widening her eyes as she saw me in all my Scythian finery. 'Medea, I would not have known you. Sit down, child, and take the reins.'

I did as I was bid. The reins were thick straps of leather, connectd in some way to the yoke over the patient beasts' shoulders. I could feel each tug and pull as the horses walked, and Anemone nodded in approval.

'They are your touchstone for the horses. You will be able to feel what they are doing, and after a while, what they are feeling, through the reins. Now, we are here only in case something happens. If a snake strikes one, if one shies, if the wagon wheel drops into a hole. Otherwise we leave them alone - they know their business best.'

'And what if a wheel does drop off? What do I do?'

'If one horse falls, it will take the other - they are bound by the yoke, so you must release it - I will show you how when we stop for the night. If the wheel is caught, you must halt them by pulling both reins as hard as you can. If you wish to turn them, pull the rein on the side you wish to turn. But these wagons are slow to respond to an order, and cannot manoeuvre easily. In any case, if anything happens, you can call me. I will send your dogs, little Scyth, to keep you company.'

She went back behind the horse-hide curtain, and presently both Scylla and Kore nosed through and sat down, either side of me. I wondered how the Scythian woman had managed to order them, when she did not speak the language of Hekate and they were my hounds. I wondered if she had enchanted them, but they looked exactly as usual - Scylla leaning harder than Kore, noses up, drinking in the smells.

I was in charge of the wagon. The horses clopped at an even pace. I could feel their movements pulsing through the leather straps which bound them to servitude. I was warm in my shameless, primitive garb, which the cold wind could not penetrate. For the first time, I felt the icy tentacles of the wind flow around me, foiled by leather and felt and sheep's skin. I believe that I grinned.

A woman on the wagon next to me shouted, 'Welcome, little Scyth!' and I waved and laughed.

Looking back, I could see the trail of wagons and riders stretching back over
stadia
. We were following a flat road, made perhaps by these Scyths before the Amazons came. 'Well, maidens,' I said to my hounds, 'are you pleased with this change in our fortunes? This is better than Colchis and mud and plots and cold,' I said. Kore panted affably, and Scylla leaned painfully up onto my lap, digging her sharp elbows into my thigh, to kiss my ear with her warm wet tongue.

I had nothing to do but sit up high, not riding or walking but sitting at my ease, and watch the landscape fleeting past. I had never travelled in such luxury before. Priestesses of Hekate walk, or at the most, ride, though I had only rarely been allowed to mount Trioda's rickety horse. I would never, of course, be carried in a litter like a fine lady or a queen, but in a litter one is at the mercy of the carriers. That is like, I imagine, being a parcel, sent for and delivered by a panting slave.

Here I was in control of the wagon and the horses - as far as I could be - and if I chose I could direct them anywhere, and those huge patient beasts must do my bidding. It was utterly intoxicating. I did not care about the cold, because my garments and my delight kept me warm. I was not tired. I did not have to drag my heavy feet through mud, but sat dry-shod above the ground and watched the world go past.

I drove all day, until I observed that the lead wagons were turning off the path into a forest. It had lain on my left for the whole journey, thick, tall trees marching away from the lakeshore, of a type foreign to me. I shouted to Iole and she poked a sleepy head out through the curtains.

'Just follow the others,' she said, yawning. 'We'll be out to tend the beasts when we arrive.'

The wagon rocked as my two steeds turned without orders, carefully and slowly, and followed the king's wagon down a slope, picking up their heels as the wagon rumbled down a slope, picking up their heels as the wagon rumbled after, and across a small stream at the bottom. Then we paced through churned-up mud to what was obviously a well-known tree, and halted. I knotted the reins and jumped down. Iole and the Scythian queen joined me.

'Good time,' said Anemone, squinting at the sky and scratching her chest. 'Storm coming, I believe. Now, Iole, instruct our new Scyth as to the wagon, and I'll go and see the king.'

'The yoke lies here, across their shoulders,' said Iole, demonstrating how to lift it so that the horses could walk out from under, once the restraining straps were unbuckled. We lowered the yoke and the horses stood patiently, waiting for our attention. 'Then we rub down the beasts, and take them to water. Would you like to do that?'

'Oh, yes,' I said, as a nose snuffled me almost off my feet.

Iole handed me one brush and took another and we worked hard at the horses' coats, rubbing out the sweaty tidemarks and the dust. When they were shining, Iole bent and cupped her hands and I looked at her.

'Don't you want to ride?' she asked in surprise.

I allowed her to boost me up onto the black horse's back. He immediately began to walk towards a lake visible through the trees. I was high up, somewhat insecure, but pleased. The grey horse followed his stablemate as we came to the lake in the midst of a herd of other Scythian hoses. I was almost jostled off until an old woman grabbed my arm and dragged me upright.

'If you think you are going to fall, grip closer with your knees and sit up straighter,' she scolded. 'Didn't your mother tell you that, Scythling? You'll never get a husband if you ride like a sack!' I turned my head and she gaped. 'Goddess, have mercy, you're the priestess of Hekate! Pardon, Lady,' she said, deferentially. 'I took you for one of our own young women.'

'Never mind,' I said impatiently. 'Tell me again. Sit up straighter and…'

'Grip with your knees,' said the old woman, recovering her poise. 'As you see me doing, Hekate's maiden.'

Her old legs were withered but strong, and her knees pressed close into her horse's sides. I tried it. The movement was odd. My knees gripped all right but a flower of pain burst in my belly. I ignored it. The black horse, as I nudged him, moved obediently to the right and allowed the old woman's mount to reach the water.

'Good,' she approved. 'You have the beginnings of the skill. Now, Priestess, try and pull him up from the water and turn him. He's drunk his fill and is blocking the way for the thirsty ones behind.'

I wriggled a little, clenched some muscles which I had not used before, and the black's head came up. He gave me a mournful look over his shoulder, then backed a little, turned, and took the slope, followed by the grey.

I grinned at the old woman as I took my mounts away, back to the wagon. I had begun to master a new skill.

 

Five days later, I noticed Scylla licking at her hindquarters. There was an issue of a little blood. She was coming into season. While I was wondering what to do, Anemone woke from a drowse and asked, 'Did you bring some ointment for her?'

'No, Lady, I have not been allowed to compound ointments yet, not the sacred ones which control the bulls.'

Anemone grinned. 'They are not sacred, little Scyth. Unless all knowledge is sacred - which it is, of course. Have you ever thought how the world appears if you are a hound?'

'No,' I said, puzzled. 'How can I know what the world is like? I am a human.'

'Imagination, little Scyth, and reason. What sense do you most depend upon?'

I knew that one, having had to learn to do without it. 'Sight,' I replied.

'It is not the same with your hounds,' she said. 'How do they hunt?'

'By scent,' I replied. I had seen Kore trace a rabbit through all its twists and turns until she ran it down into the marshes and caught it.

'And if the world is a scent-map - if all important information is conveyed by scent - then finding a mate is a matter of the right smell, is that not so?'

'Indeed, I suppose so,' I agreed.

'So to fool the lustful dogs who will even now be massing, all eager to mate with Hekate's maiden hound - we will change her scent.'

She reached into a basket and drew forth a stoppered terracotta flask. In it was a dark oil. It smelled faintly medicinal to my nose, but Kore pricked up her ears immediately. Anemone dropped one drop onto Scylla's belly, and she immediately sneezed.

'What is it?' I asked, fascinated.

'Essence of male dog. It is made from semen and various other ingredients. The male smell will cancel out the female smell, and although the other dogs may be confused by Scylla for a few days, they will not mate with anyone who smells so strange. We live close to our animals, we Scyths. We have to know how important scent is to our sister horses and hounds, donkeys and camels. We apply the scent of various beasts to meet their need and ours. You shall learn more of this, Medea, if you wish. Iole's mare is to give birth soon. The mysteries of horses are much deeper than those of hounds. They need your full mind. So today we travel on, and tonight we shall see.'

I watched the other dog's reactions to Scylla during our journey. She was trotting in the wake of the wagon. Occasionally a dog would get a waft of her delicious perfume, rush up bristling, then retreat, foiled by his own scent. Some retreated so fast that they tumbled head over heels. It was very comic.

And instructive. The power of scent was not to be underestimated.

Iole's mare went into labour two nights later, as we camped by a marsh. The little lights which we call 'Hekate's eyes' were dancing over the chill surface, but it was not as cold as it would have been in Colchis Phasinos. The mare was tethered inside a shelter made of cloth, and only Iole was in attendance on her. Anemone and I stood outside.

'There must only be one person with the beast as she labours,' said Anemone. 'When the foal is born, watch Iole's hands. She has to be quick, or it will be lost.'

The nights deepened. I drew my sheepskin cloak around me and sat down on my heels. Anemone perched on a tree-stump, continuing her instruction.

'There - see? There come the hoofs and the nose.' The mare groaned, shivered, and panted. Then she made an effort, and a foal was born in a flash of silver. I watched Iole. She parted the newborns' teeth and hooked something out of its mouth with one finger, which she shoved down the front of her bodice. Then she and the mare began to lick and massage the foal to its feet.

'Did you see it?' asked Anemone.

'She took something out of its mouth,' I said.

'Hippocampos
,' said Anemone. 'The essence of infant horse. With that as her scent, Iole could approach the most ferocious stallion untouched. One has to be fast because ordinarily the foal just swallows it. Now, Iole will stay with the mare, gentling her and the new foal, and she will add three drops of first milk to the
hippocampos
, and then wrap it in oiled kidskin so that it will retain its scent. And that is the charm,' said the queen of the Scythians. 'Come along, priestess. There are secrets which Hekate does not know, even if she is Protector of the Newborn.'