Medea (30 page)

We passed the land of the Amazons and saw only a few shore-guards, who watched us from each prominence to make sure that we kept sailing. Phineas had warned us about them, so we went on, although short of water, passing the metal workers' island steaming with foul smoke, expecting landfall on the island of the Mossynoeci, who were reputed to be strange people who mated in the street and ate in strict privacy.

Then we heard a rush of wings.

'Look! The Stymphalian birds!' called Lynkeos, who had the keenest sight. 'There are thousands of them.' He pointed to a cloud of pale feathers, like a flight of arrows. They crossed the sea and their shadow followed them underneath. But we seemed to have lost much of our capacity for being afraid. The birds were swooping for us; after Herakles drove them off Lake Stymphalos, they had come here. Atalante and the other archers bent their bows, but a million arrows could not have brought that flock down.

'Shields,' screamed Akastos, struck by a sudden idea. 'They're just birds, though all moved with one purpose. Put on your helmets and raise your shields above your heads, quickly, lock each shield together, make a shell like a tortoise. When they dive, we will all smite spears on the shields and raise the shout - to Ares, the god of war, the battle shout of the men of Achaea.'

I locked shields with my oar-mate, and we sheltered under a bronze lid. When I heard the scrape of claws on the shining metal, I hammered with my spear, and all the crew screamed at the tops of our voices, 'Ares. Evoe! Ares. Evoe! Ares. Evoe!', the triple invocation. There was a massed, startled squawk and a scrabbling of talons, then the weight lifted and I peeped out to see the whole flock airborne and flying away.

Someone was still caring for us.

We picked up some more people that day. Three ragged men ran into our camp, skidding to a halt in the sand. The leader, with Oileus' spear at his breast, said in a cultured tone, 'I am Autolycus, this is Dileon and this Phlogius, lost from Herakles' expedition against the Amazons. Who are you?'

'Jason, son of Aison out of Iolkos, on quest for Colchis,' said Jason. Autolycus, ignoring the spear, took Jason's cup out of his hand and drank it in one draught.

'You may command us in anything,' he said. 'I swore that if anyone would give me real wine again, I would be his slave.'

'I do not need slaves,' said Jason, smiling at this lordly impudence, 'But I need three rowers, so sit down, comrades, and eat.'

So we had a full crew again and the rowing went a little easier the next day, as we passed river mouths, each producing its own strange currents. We avoided the territory of the Scyths, who were supposed to be very fierce. On an island which we thought to be uninhabited, I heard someone crying.

It was raining, a soft soaking rain which rendered vain every attempt to cook in the open and I was looking for an overhang among the sea-cliffs, because if I asked Argos to rig the spare sail as a shelter for my fire, I would have to listen to him grumbling, and I was tired of Argos' complaints. I was tired, too, of the company of my shipmates, and relished an excuse to get away from them for a little while.

I was carrying the firepot, our precious little pot of coals which we kept ever-burning, a cauldron and a bundle of kindling. Melas was with me, bearing the salt, herbs and a string of fish. We found a cave and laid and lit a fire, and we were gutting fish and laying them in broth when I heard a child crying.

Somewhere in that cave there were people. I had grown so suspicious that I drew my sword, but Melas, more innocent than I, had already walked into the gloom and called, 'Is anyone there? We mean you no harm.'

It was the kind of innocence that could have got him filled with arrows and I pulled him back angrily, but there was no need to fear. Crawling forth came four men; the eldest perhaps eighteen, down to the youngest who might have been the same age as me. They were soaking wet, miserable and hungry, and even if Melas had not spoken, they would have been drawn out of their cave by the smell of food.

'I am Nauplios and this is Melas, men of Iolkos in Achaea,' I said.

They had been long in the sea, I thought, and I bade Melas give them fresh water, for too long in the salt wave can dessicate a castaway until he pisses blood and so dies. The eldest drank quickly, then the water-flask passed speedily from the second to the third, who was supporting his little brother and dripping water into his mouth. The boy had stopped crying. His elder brother stroked his hair.

'We were shipwrecked,' he said. 'I am Cytisoros. These are my brothers, Argeos, Phrontis and Melanion. Two days we floated in the wreck of our boat, clinging to a great beam which had been the keel. We are suppliants and strangers, Nauplios, and belong to Zeus whom we beseech to inspire you to aid us. We have been unjustly exiled by King Aetes of Colchis. Chalkiope the princess is our mother, but our father was an Achaean. They called him Phrixos.'

'Then we are cousins,' I replied. 'We are on a quest to recover the Golden Fleece and the bones of your father, and Jason of the
Argo
will welcome you.'

They were handsome and learned, the sons of Phrixos, though totally unused to the sea. With the lost ones from Herakles' expedition, however, we had enough rowers. We passed the dark shores and the light, and thirteen days after we had found them shivering in their cave, Cytisoros stood up, holding onto a rope, and pointed.

'There, my lord,' he said. We looked. Another river mouth, but much wider than the previous ones. The tide was ebbing, and we could see the dark stain where the river water was flowing into the clean sea. A small wooden town stood at the river mouth, and there was a broad stone quay built on the shore.

'That is Poti,' said the son of Phrixos. 'Brothers, we have come home.'

The quest was not yet achieved, but we had come to the River Phasis, and Colchis lay just down that turbid flood.

 

We were sitting in
Argo
, waiting for Jason to speak. All around us reeds rustled. Flocks of mosquitoes had smelt blood and had hummed down to feast. The river gurgled. Other than these noises, the silence was only broken by the slap and curse of Argonauts being eaten alive by stinging hordes of insects.

'What are those bundles hanging from those willow trees, and what is that revolting smell?' asked Telamon.

'They are the corpses of all men who die in the realm of Aetes, and that smell is Colchians rotting,' replied Philammon equably.

'You know, I don't think I like Colchis,' said Telamon after a short pause for thought. 'But if Phrixos is up there, it is going to be easier to carry him home. Someone has already put the bones in a bag for us.' He laughed, and some of the others chuckled.

Jason asked the sons of Phrixos, 'What is our best approach to your grandfather?'

'He's not likely to be pleased to see us,' said Cytisoros. 'He exiled us. However, we have been saved by divine intervention and we should be able to return. Aetes has a strange temper. He is whimsical. But he is old in kingship and subtle. It would be useless to try and cheat him of the fleece.'

'Then we shall not try to defraud him,' decided Jason.

'Well, what shall we do then?' objected Akastos. 'If we can't use tricks, we certainly can't use war. There aren't enough of us to assail the city with arms - not even if Herakles was still with us. And we are tired with travelling and some of us have been injured.'

'Yes. So we shall not use tricks and we shall not use war,' declared Jason.

'What shall we do?' asked Telamon, slapping another mosquito to death. His chest was blotched with bloodspots. He never missed.

'We'll go and ask him to give it to us,' said Jason.

We stared at him. Philammon cleared his throat.

'While that is an approach which, I frankly confess, never occurred to me, Jason, have you a plan of what to do when it doesn't work?'

Atalante nodded. Clytios agreed. Even Idas and Lynkeos protested in one voice, 'That's insane.'

'Has anyone a better idea?' challenged Jason.

'You mean to walk into a king's palace and say, "Greetings, Lord, I am Jason son of Aison, and I want you to give me the greatest treasure of your kingdom because I need it to regain my own father's kingdom of Iolkos?"' asked Nestor, his honey-voice rendered a little acid by disbelief. Jason nodded.

'But he's likely to reply, "Greetings, Achaean, nice voyage, wonderful the way you managed to get through the Clashing Rocks, but why should I give you the Golden Fleece?"' protested Authalides.

'That is true,' said Jason. 'Tell me what else to do.'

'Can't we steal it?' asked Nestor. 'Where is it?'

'It's in a wood in the plain of Ares, and it's guarded by a giant serpent,' said Cytisoros.

Idas asked, 'How's giant?' and Cytisoros replied, 'Huge. And deadly. No thief had ever got out of there alive.'

'We have skilled warriors and brave men here,' said Ancaeas the Strong.

'No warrior, however strong and courageous, can get the better of the guardian. Except possibly Herakles. Did he really sail with you?'

'We lost him in Mysia,' said Atalante gloomily. We sat and watched Telamon kill mosquitoes for the time it takes to fill a water amphor from a well. Then Melanion whispered to his brothers, and the sons of Phrixos, for the first time, looked a little brighter.

'No one gets in and out of the grove alive,' repeated Cytisoros.

'You said that,' snapped Nestor.

'Except the priestesses of Hekate,' said Cytisoros, holding up a slim hand.

The well-chewed crew of Argo stared at this over-excited son of Phrixos without much interest.

'My mother's half-sister, Medea, is a priestess of Hekate and has twined with the serpent - or so I heard. She is a full priestess now. We were friends once. She might help us.'

'Your mother's half-sister? She's your aunt; and a dedicated priestess of the Dark Mother. She must be a virgin then, with no husband or children to hold her to ransom. Why should so venerable a maiden betray her father?' objected Atalante.

'She's the same age as Melanion here, and women have no sense of honour,' said Cytisoros.

Atalante hit back a retort. I thought this a pity. I did not like the sons of Phrixos much - they were lordly and insolent and did no work on board ship, expecting to be waited upon. I would have liked to hear what Artemis' maiden would have replied to this slander of her sex.

'So this aunt of yours might help us?' asked Jason.

'She might - she's fond of our mother, or she was. We haven't seen much of her, even before we were exiled. There we have another brother, you see, Aegialeus. He wants to marry Medea, because he wants the throne. But we used to go fishing together and I thought she liked me then,' said Melanion, doubtfully.

'If you come back to the city with us, then you can speak to your mother, and she can speak to this Medea,' said Jason. 'If she will help us, we might succeed. Or, of course, Aetes might just give me the fleece,' he added.

We all nodded. It was, of course, possible.

In the morning, blanketed in a thick, evil-smelling rivermist, we walked into the city of Colchis, a stone-built city with paved streets. I walked beside Nestor. Authalides and Jason walked ahead. Behind us came Telamon, scratching his chest.

I did not think for one moment that this was going to work.

 

I was in Colchis and I did not want to be there.

After the broad plains and forests I had roamed with the Scyths, it seemed narrow and claustrophobic. It was, however, cleaner. The populace were washed and wearing white tunics and the streets did not smell like a Scythian encampment, of smoke, oils, dung, animals, sour milk and dressed leather.

But I had got used to the smells, and I missed them.

I was proud of myself for having returned driving a Scythian wagon with some skill.

But Trioda seized me by the arm, and hissed 'Medea! Cover yourself!' and dragged me away before I could say farewell to Anemone and Iole. I had long forgotten that I was wearing breeches.

And after that I could not please her. Nothing I did was correct. My account of meeting Tyche in the shrine of Hekate Oldest was not well received.

'Tyche! It has been many years since she left us. Always was a wanderer, an unreliable priestess.'

'But she serves the oldest temple,' I protested.

'And the most remote. There is something wrong with a priestess who lives all alone and enjoys the company of Scyths. They are barbarians. And I am told that you met the Achaean they call Herakles,' she accused.

'Yes, he saved all our lives. He came into the ring of attackers like a lightning bolt and killed them all.'

'And they say that you tended him.' She came closer to me.

 

I smelled her; sour black dye and unwashed hair. Her eyes were boring into mine.

'Yes,' I said, leaning back, away from her vehemence. 'He was terribly injured.'

'Where was he laid?'

'In the queen's wagon. By her order,' I said, hoping that she would not ask where I slept. I had lain on the skins next to the hero most nights, to keep him warm and attend to his needs. Wounded men get very thirsty; they need fluids to replace the lost blood.

I remembered Herakles with affection, and Trioda must have seen something in my face, for she grabbed my upper arm, digging in her fingers, and hissed, 'Are you still a virgin?'

'Yes, Lady, of course,' I replied, shocked.

'That hero has legendary ability,' she snarled. 'Did he please you, once-maiden of Hekate? Was his phallus huge? Did he hurt you? Even after all that riding with the barbarian Scyths, he must have made you bleed. Tell me, Medea. Tell me how you lay down under Herakles the hero. Tell me how you opened your thighs and your virgin mantle broke around the phallus of the Achaean.'

'Mistress, you are hurting me,' I protested. She wasn't just hurting me, she was frightening me. 'I never lay with any man, I swear by the Dark Mother, may she strike me dead this moment if I even looked at a man with lust. Test me as you like, I am virgin. And you might trust me, Mistress. Have I ever shown signs of such blasphemy?'