Jason and the Argonauts (12 page)

“Liar! Witch! You are no wife of mine!”

“I saved you from the bulls.”

“And sought to betray my friends.”

“All for love of you. They are your friends, and I am jealous. I am jealous of everyone you ever spoke to, smiled upon. I am jealous of the ground you walk on, the clothes you wear. I am nothing now but my ravenous love for you, and that love has turned into a pestilence in my veins.”

“This marriage of ours promises to be dangerous for my friends,” said Jason.

“You are a king. You need no friends.”

“I am a battle chief. I lead men. I love those I go into battle with. If I keep you as my wife, you must exempt my companions from your malice.”

“You are the master. I am your slave.”

She was unused to begging for anything; the strangeness of it made her look younger, vulnerable, very beautiful in her gown of black and gold with diamonds twined in her black mane. And Jason, gazing at her, felt a strange power rising within him. Again he had that sense of Medea’s excess, knew that she would be as extreme in surrender as she could be potent in conflict, and that she would lead him through corridors of feeling that few had walked before.

“Forgive me,” she whispered.

“Lead me to the Golden Fleece and help me bear it away.”

“Your quest is my quest, husband. My father’s goods are my dowry.”

O
N THE FIFTH DAY
after their wedding, he asked her to keep her promise and lead him to the Fleece.

“Lord husband,” she said, “I am mindful of my vow, but the time is not yet.”

“In matters perilous,” he said, “the time is always now. Hesitation breeds doubt, doubt breeds fear. Fear breeds failure.”

“Ah, my prince, I have seen you in action and know what you can do. No one is so ready for daring deed as you; no one more apt to pluck glory from the very jaws of terror. But the perils that surround the Golden Fleece lie beyond your experience. They belong to a different order of event. This relic is tainted by an ancient curse.”

“I don’t understand.”

“But I do. This matter belongs to the realm of dire enchantment—to which I, as priestess of Hecate, have learned certain clues. In an attempt to find the luckiest date for taking the Fleece, I have considered the flight of cranes and the entrails of doves. I have cast numbers, deciphered the path of certain falling stars, sifted salamander ash, and done other readings I am not permitted to divulge, even to you. And they all say the same thing: the months ahead are swollen with evil omen. Your voyage here and your adventures on the way, your successful combat with the Brass Bulls have used up your credit with the gods. You must abide here quietly with me and attempt no adventure until your luck ripens again.”

“How long will that be?”

“More than a year, say the portents. At least a year and a day. For another kind of fortune has begun to ripen. You have planted a child in me. It is written that you must see that child, and that child must learn to know you, before you risk your life again.”

He smiled and took her in his arms. “We shall prepare a mighty welcome for the little prince or princess,” he said. “But after a year and a day, you must lead me to the Fleece.”

“I will. I swear.”

For some months Jason and Medea lived peaceably as husband and wife, and he tried to love her. But Eros had pierced his heart with the leaden arrow of indifference, and he could not respond to her passion. He kept pretending but grew very restless. He hated living in the palace. He felt his sword rusting and his youth growing stale. He ached to be at sea again, being blown toward adventure.

Then, one night, Lethe came.

She swam, unseen, into an arm of the river that cut through the palace grounds. This was the night she meant to meet him. She couldn’t wait any longer. She climbed the bank and began to sing.

Jason was in his chamber, sleeping. He awoke suddenly. He heard a voice singing, very faint and far away. Faint as it was, it threaded its way through other sounds, and he knew he had to arise and follow it into the night. Medea was not there. This did not surprise him. She arose often to prowl the castle grounds.

So he thought he might meet her when he entered the park, but none of the shadows hardened into his wife. The voice was singing. He followed it through the garden and through an orchard, to the riverbank. He could hear the words now:

“Come to the river

Where love runs deep.

Do not give her

Your heart to keep.”

“Who’s there?” he called. The voice kept singing.

“Down, down,

Out of sight.

Drown, drown,

In green-gold light.”

“Who’s there?”

He heard laughter.

“Answer me!”

“My name is Lethe.”

Naked and dripping, she arose before him. Her hair was moon-brown, but he knew it would be yellow by day. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes because they were full of moonlight.

“Lethe … is that your name?”

“Yes. And you are Janus.”

“Jason.”

“Oh yes, Jason. I’m quite forgetful. Especially about names.”

“I suppose everybody tells you you’re beautiful.”

“Not quite everybody. But I don’t mind hearing it again. Not at all.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Want to go swimming?”

She grasped his hand and dived in, pulling him after her. He swam superbly for a mortal, but she was a dolphin in the water. He tried to harmonize his strokes with hers; she slowed for him, and they swam in a dreamy kind of ballet under the moon.

“You’re a pretty good swimmer,” she said.

“Not like you.”

“Oh well … I’m a naiad. Shall we go under?”

“Underwater?”

“You’ll like it down there.”

“I’ll drown.”

“I won’t let you. I can breathe underwater. It’s water that goes in but air that comes out; that’s why fish blow bubbles. When I have mortal guests, I breathe for them.”

“How?”

She flung her arms about him, put her lips to his, and blew into his mouth. “Like that.”

“Are you sure it works underwater?”

“Always has.”

“Let’s go, then.”

She held him around the waist as they sank. It was warmer than he had expected and not quite dark. Greenish moonlight sifted in. He was holding his breath as they slowly sank. His chest burned. She pressed his belly, and he felt the dead air leave his lungs. She immediately clasped him to her, put her mouth to his, and blew air into him.

It was better than air; it bubbled deep in his lungs. He felt his blood fizzing. The cares of the quest suddenly melted away. Weightless underwater, clasped in her smooth strong arms, drinking her breath, he felt this hour the flushing out of the foul memories of a marriage made for the wrong reasons.

He pulled his mouth from hers so he could kiss her shoulder, inhaled water, and began to choke. She pulled him to the surface half-drowned. He coughed and floundered. She dived and came up under him. He was riding her astride. She swam toward shore.

“Let me off.”

“Oh, why?”

“We’ll sink.”

“Nonsense. You feel light as a feather. I could carry you across the sea this way. Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Slide back a bit. Swing your legs up and rest your feet on my shoulders.”

He did. He felt her sleek and warm beneath him, and marveled at her strength. He was resting comfortably; he felt her shoulder muscles sliding under his feet. By the time they reached shore he knew that the world had changed for him. He was dismayed to see torchlight—to hear shouting and laughter—and to find the ship’s company on the bank, stripping to swim.

“Well met by moonlight!” called Daphnis. “Who’s this enchanting creature? How can I be mad for her so soon? Introduce us immediately.”

“I’m Lethe,” she said.

“I’m Daphnis. Never mind the others.”

“She’s too big for you,” said Castor. “She needs men of stature.”

“Lethe …” said Daphnis. “Did he find you in the river?”

“I found him, little one. I came looking.”

Jason introduced the crew to her, one by one. She kept laughing. “Never, never will I remember these names.” She slid between Castor and Pollux and took an arm of each.

“Twins,” she murmured. “Big beautiful ones. But we’d better not start anything. How would I ever remember which was which?”

Pollux held up his iron fists. “Only one of us has these. Me. My brother just has the old-fashioned kind.”

“You don’t want to get mixed up with those two,” said Daphnis. “Double trouble all the way through. But consider this carefully: there’s only one of me.”

“Yes, consider him,” said Ekion. “He’s not as childish as he seems. A bit befuddled, perhaps, but he can handle it. He’s a poet.”

Idas and Autolycus were silent. They stood there in the spangled light, lean as wolves, staring at her. This amused the nymph. Mirth gripped her entire body. Her hair shook, her eyes shone, her teeth flashed, her long legs quivered.

“I love you all,” she said. “Every one of you, large and small. But I’ve made my choice for now. So dive in, boys, and swim away.”

“Would you, perchance, have any sisters in this river?” said Ekion.

“Half a shoal, which is seven, one for each. They’re floating around in there, waiting for the party to start.”

Shouting joyously, the crew dove in and swam away. Jason and Lethe stared at each other. They stood close; he was wrapped in her fragrance; they did not touch. She laughed softly.

“You mind that I’m so tall? Your wife is, too, isn’t she?”

“That’s the only resemblance.”

“Good.”

“Every way you are is the way I want you to be. I’ve never loved anyone before.”

“Neither have I. And I’ve searched and searched. Tried this and that.”

“I don’t want to dance here. This is the royal garden. A blighted place. Let’s go underwater.”

“Shall you be able to stay under so long?”

“You’ll teach me to breathe there. And perhaps I’ll teach you to remember.”

N
OW, MEDEA HAD FOLLOWED
him to the river, and stood there wrapped in shadow, watching him dance with Lethe. She watched them for hours, then returned slowly to her empty bed.

She did not sleep. Her eyes smoldered and her talons twitched; she felt that she must tear his heart from his chest and roast it for her dinner. But no, it was too soaked in treachery; it might poison her. She would toss it to the carp who swarmed in the castle pond and would eat anything.

By morning her rage had frozen into hatred. “Murder is too swift,” she said to herself. “I need a slower, more painful vengeance.” So she smiled when he came to her, and imitated tenderness, saying, “I have good news for you, husband. The omens have changed. The gods have allowed your luck to ripen, and it is suitable now for you to take the Fleece, if that is what you want.”

“You know it is,” he said. “And I rejoice that the time has come.”

“I have not forgotten my promise,” she said. “We were granted some months to love each other without fret, but now I am ready to guide you to the Fleece. Remember, though, that it is guarded by an enormous serpent that feeds on anything that moves, and can swallow an ox as a cat does a grasshopper.”

“We’ll go there alone,” he said. “I want to take a good look at this monster before making plans.”

She led him up the slope of the same wild mountain where the women did their rain dance … led him past the lake where she had first seen his face, up, up, past the timberline to where a stone temple stood. He heard a horrid mixture of sounds—rustling, grunting, slurping, thin screams—and saw a fawn being swallowed by a giant serpent. The fawn was going down head last; its eyes seemed to be begging Jason to help.

He couldn’t bear the sight; he looked away. And saw that Medea was watching with glittering yellow eyes and a little smile. He knew then that he must leave her—but not until he had stolen the Fleece. He also knew he couldn’t afford to be squeamish. He had come here to study something he would have to fight. He forced himself to keep watching as the serpent swallowed the fawn.

Now it saw them, began to slither toward them, opening its mouth. It was huge, Jason saw: twice the length of the
Argo
and as thick as the bole of a cedar.

“No weapon can pierce its hide,” whispered Medea. “Not arrow, not spear.” Indeed, Jason saw that its hide was of hard mottled leather, thick as armor. “When it flails its tail, it knocks down trees,” said Medea.

“Isn’t it getting rather close?” said Jason.

Medea whistled a two-noted birdcall. The serpent stopped slithering and began to rise, uncoiling, climbing the air, higher and higher, stretching its jaws until Jason thought it must be hinged at the tail. It was a hundred feet of living gullet, lined with teeth.

“Does it obey you?” he said.

“Only me,” she said. “And only sometimes.”

“Can you make it leave this place?”

“Some nights, I take it hunting. Down the slope, through the trees, to a place where the fawns dance. But it doesn’t stay long. Brings its kill back.”

“How long can I count on?”

“Two hours or so.”

“Time enough. Will you take it hunting tomorrow night so that we can get into the temple?”

“What then? Will you sail away with the Fleece and leave me here?”

“Of course not. You’ll meet me at the cove where the
Argo
lies hidden and sail with me to my kingdom.”

The serpent stood on its tail now, undulating slightly, weaving its head. It was taller than the temple. Medea whistled again, three bars this time. The serpent lowered itself into coils and lay there motionless. Its eyes were lidless and could not close, but Jason knew it was not asleep.

“What did you tell it?” he said.

“That I’ll come back in three nights and take it hunting.”

“Why wait? Why not tomorrow night?”

“In three days, my father and his war chiefs will leave the city. They go to inspect the troops that guard our northern frontier. It will be better for you if the king and his captains are on the other side of the country when you steal the Fleece.”