Yet Circe knew,
shrewd on the habits of devils and men. And yet in part she forgave me, for pity. She touched my hair, watching the flicker of the fire in it, remembering things.
âThen Circe said: Poor wretch, you have
contrived, it seems, the unhappiest of home-comings. You cannot escape for long your father's wrath, I think. The wrongs you have done him are intolerable, and
surely he'll soon
reach Hellas to have his revenge for your brother's
murder. However,
since you are my suppliant and niece, I'll not increase
your sorrows
by opposing your wishes through any active enmity. But leave my halls. Companion the stranger, whoever
he is,
this foreign prince you've chosen in your father's
despite. And do not
kneel to me at my hearth in the hope of my own
forgiveness,
though I've granted you, as I must, the ritual of Zeus.
If your peace
depends upon Circe's love, you will find no peace.'
With that,
smiling past us, solemn eyes unfathomable, she left us to find our way out however we might.
I wept,
my anguish and terror measureless. Then Jason touched my hand, raised me to my feet, and led me from the
hall. And so
in part the demands of Zeus were satisfied. The gods had forgiven, though Circe had not. Yet soon came
reason for hope
that the curse was at least much weakened. If Circe's
heart was stone,
not all our kind was so cruel. Or so it seemed to me, weighing the curse in my mind, on the watch for
omens.
“In the gray
Karaunian sea, fronting the Ionian Straits, there lies a rich and spacious island, border of the kingdom of
the living
and the deadâthe isle of the Phaiakians, whose oarless
barques
transport men, silent and swift as dreams, from the
flicker of shadows
to the sweaty labor of day. There, after months and
sorrows,
the
Argo
touched. The king, with all his people, received
us
with open arms. They sent up splendid thank-offerings, and all the island feted us. The joyful Argonauts mingled with the crowds and enjoyed themselves like
heroes come home
to their own island. But the Joy was brief, for the fleet
of Kolchians
who'd passed from the Black Sea through the Kyanean
Rocks arrived
at the wide Phaiakian harbor and sent stern word to the
king
demanding that I be returned to my father's house at
once,
without any plea or parley. Should the king refuse, they
promised
reprisals bitter enough, and more when Aietes came. Wise and gentle Alkinoös, king of the Phaiakians, restrained their furious bloodlust and dealt for terms.
“Thus even
at the front door of Hellas, my hopes were dashed again, for a prospect even more dread than capture by my
brother had arisen:
capture by Kolchians hostile to meâhostile to all mankind after endless scavenging months on the sea.
I appealed
to Jason's friends repeatedly, and to Alkinoös' wife Arete, touching her knees with my hands. âO Queen, be gracious to your suppliant,' I begged; âprevent these
Kolchians
from bearing me back to my father. If you're of the
race of mortals,
you know how the noblest of emotions can lead to ruin.
Such was
my case. My wits forsook meâthough I do not repent
it. I was
not wanton. I swear by the sun's pure light, I never
intended
to run from my beautiful home with a race of foreigners, much less commit crimes worse. For those I have paid,
my lady,
startled awake in the dead of night by memory-
shrinking
from my new lord's touch, unjustly suspecting disgust in
him.
I was a princess, lady, in a kingdom that stretched out
half the width
of the worldâthe colony of the sun. I was initiate to the mysteries of fire, could speak with the moon,
knew life and death,
sterility, conception; I was served by nuns sufficient to
throng
this whole wide isle of the Phaiakians. And now am
nothing,
a hunted criminal, exiled, condemned to death. Have
mercy!
Soften the heart of your lord, and may the high gods
grant you
honor, children, and the joy of life in a city untouched by dissension or war forever.' Such was my tearful
appeal
to Arete.
“But I spoke less timorously to the Argonauts,
besieging each of them in turn: âYou, O illustrious dare-devil lordsâyou and the help I gave you in your
troublesâ
you alone are the cause of my affliction. Through me
the bulls
were yoked, and the harvest of earthmen reaped.
Thanks to me alone
you're homeward bound, and with the golden fleece you
sought. Oh, you
can smile, looking forward to joyful reunions. But for
me, your warprize,
nothing remains. I'm a thing despised, a wanderer in the hands of strangers. Remember your oaths!â
and beware the fury
of the suppliant betrayed. I seek no asylum in temples
of the gods,
no sanctuary in forts. I have trusted in you alone. I look up in terror for help, but your hearts are flint.
Do you feel
no shame when you see me kneeling to a foreign queen?
You were ready
to face all Kolchis' armies and snatch that fleece by
force,
before you had
seen
those armies. Where's all your
daring now?
“The Argonauts tried to calm me, reassure me. But
their eyes
were evasive, I saw. I shook with fear. A deadly despair had come over them, it seemed to meâa wasting
disease
of the will. They had heard the insinuations of the
sirens, had seen
friends die, and they knew still more must die. They
had sailed through the channel
of Skylla and Kharybdis and had begun to grasp the
meaning of adventures
pastâor the absence of meaning in them. No fire was
left
but the wild furnace of my own heart.
“Night came at last
and sleep descended on our company. But I did not
sleep.
My heart sang pain and rage, and tears flooded from
my eyes
and my Heliot mind hurled fire at the ships of the
Kolchians,
and fire at the Argonauts' heads and the heads of the
Phaiakians,
and fire at the sing-song moon. But the queen of
goddesses
blocked my magic. They slumbered on.
âThat night in the palace
King Alkinoös and Arete his queen had retired to bed as usual. As they lay in the dark, in the hearing of
ravens,
they spoke of the Kolchian demand. Arete, from the
fullness of her heart,
said this to the king: âMy lord, I beg you for my sake
to side
with the Argonauts, and save this poor unhappy girl from Aietes' wrath. The isle of Argos lies near at hand; the people are neighbors. Aietes lives far away; we
know only
his name. And this: Medeia is a woman who has
suffered much.
When she told me her troubles she broke my heart. She
was out of her mind
when she gave that man the magic for the bulls. And
then, as we sinners
so often do, she tried to save the mistake by another. But I hear this Jason has solemnly sworn in the sight
of Zeus
that he'll marry her. My love, let no decision of yours force Aison's son to abandon his promise to heaven.
What right
have fathers to claim their daughters' love as the gods
claim man's?
Behold how Nykteus brought the lovely Antiope to
sorrowâ
Nykteus of Thebes, that midnight monarch whose
daughter's beauty
outshone the moon's, so that Helios himself was in love
with her.
Behold how Danaë suffered perpetual darkness in a
dungeon
because of her father, though Zeus himself was in love
with her
and sought her deep in the earth, in the shape of a
driving rain.
Behold how Ekhetos drove great brazen spikes in his
daughters'
eyes. Old men are mad, my lord. It is hardly love that moves them, whatever their howls. Love sends out
ships to search
new mysteries, not haul back miscreant hearts, bind
love
in chains.'
“Alkinoös was touched by his wife's appeal.
He said:
âI could, I think, repel the Kolchians by force of arms, siding with the
Argo
for Medeia's sake. But I'd think
twice
before I dared to defy just sentence from Zeus. Nor
would
I hurry to scoff at Aietes, as it seems you'd have me do. There lives no king more mighty. Far away as he is,
he could bring
his armies and crack us like nuts. I must therefore
reach a decision
the whole world and the gods above will acknowledge
as wise.
I'll tell you my whole intent. If Medeia is still a virgin, I'll direct the Akhaians to return her to her father. But
if she and Jason
have married, I'll refuse to separate them. Neither
will I give,
if she carries a child in her womb, that child to an
enemy.'
Thus spoke the king of the Phaiakians, and at once
fell asleep.
But Arete, pondering the wisdom of his words, rose
silently
and hurried through the halls of the palace to find her
herald. She said:
âGo swiftly to Jason, and advise him as I shall say.'
And she told
the king's decision. And swift as a shadow the
Phaiakian went.
He found the Argonauts keeping armed watch in the
harbor near town,
and he gave them the message in full.
“At once, and with no debate,
the Argonauts set about the marriage rites. They mixed
new wine
for the immortal gods, led sheep to the altar that Argus
builtâ
so curiously fashioned that it seemed to be sculpted
from a single stone,
though its gem-bright parts were innumerable, and the
removal of any
would bring all its glory to ruinâand with their swords
they slew
the sheep. And before it was dawn, they made the
marriage bed
in a sacred grove. The swift-winged sons of the wind
brought flowers
from the rims of the world, and Euphemos, racing on
the sea, called nymphs
who came bringing gifts of coral and priceless pearl.
The heroes
famous for strengthâKoronos, Telamon and Peleus, and mighty Leodokos, and Phlias, son of Dionysos,
and lean
Akastos, whose heart was like a bull'sâsurrounded
the altar in a ring,
guarding the bride and groom and the old seer Mopsos,
in white,
from the attack of the Kolchians or demons from under
the earth, dark friends
of Helios. And behold, in the sky, snow white in the rays of the yet-horizoned sun, there appeared an eagle, sign of Zeus, so that none might carp in future days that the
marriage
was false, being made by necessity. They spread on the
bed
the golden fleece as a bridal sheet, and to Orpheus' lyre, the Argonauts sang the hymeneal at the door of the
chamber,
and the nymphs of the tide sang with them. And thus
the son of Aison
and I, Medeia, were married.
âThen dawn's eyes lit the land,
old Helios red as a coal; and lightly, his hand on my
arm,
Lord Jason slept, at peace. Not I.
âThe streets now rang,
the whole Phaiakian city astir. On the far side of the island, the Kolchians were also awake. And
Alkinoös
went to them now, as promised, to give his decision
in the case.
He carried in his hand the staff of Judgment, the golden staff with which he gave out, impartially, justice among the Phaiakians. And with him throng on throng of Phaiakian noblemen came in procession,
armed.
Crowds of women meanwhile poured from the city to
view
the wide-famed Argonauts; and when they learned our
joyful news
they spread it far and wide, and all Phaiakia came to celebrate. One man led in the finest ram of his flock; another brought a heifer that had never
toiled; still others
brought bright, two-headed jars of wine. And far and
wide
the smoke of offerings coiled up blinding the sun.
There were golden
trinkets, embroidered robes, small animals in cagesâ
and still
the Phaiakians kept coming. There were casques of
chalcedony
and mottled jade, and figures of ebony, and ikons of gold with emerald eyes. There were baskets, carpets, bowls,
weapons,
there were songs not heard since the First Ageâmute
Phlias dancedâ
and for seven days more they came, those gentle
Phaiakians.
“And as for Alkinoös, from the moment he gave his
judgment
and learned soon after of the marriage, he stood
intransigent.
He couldn't be shaken by threats or oaths, and he
refused to dread,
beyond the displeasure of Zeus, Aietes' enmity. When the Kolchians saw that their case was hopeless,
they remembered the vow
of Aietes, and feared to return to him. More humble
now,
they craved the king's asylum. Alkinoös granted it. I wept for joy, all danger past. I was sure I would soon be home. I looked at Jasonâthat beautiful, gentle