Medea (22 page)

Jason took charge. 'We must find out where we are,' he said. 'Half of us will climb to the top of this mountain - we should be able to do that in daylight - and the rest stay here and mind the boat. Clytios, Atalante, Nauplios, with me. Idmon, can you divine any omens? Hylas, Melas, distribute some water. If we are in trouble we will light a fire. You light one down here and make some broth to settle your stomachs. Come along,' said my lord, and we climbed after him.

The slope of this mountain was thickly wooded but not too steep. We were heading for a ridge which we had seen from the beach, which seemed to give some command over the ocean, but we lost it instantly we began to clim. I had the path firmly in mind, however, and Atalante was not going to be at a loss in mountains, being born in Calydon of the forests. Clytios was familiar with woods and Jason and I had hunted Centaurs' Mountain. This was easier walking, and we came without undue difficulty up onto the cleared ridge.

'That way,' said Clytios. 'That must be the coast of Mysia - I suppose. I do not know this area. But clearly we are meant to continue east.'

'We are on one side of a large island,' said Atalante. 'I think tha…'

We never heard what she thought, for at that moment we were attacked.

It was gathering into dusk. Out of the trees came huge figures with six arms, wielding clubs. They cried no challenge but grunted, and when the first arrow from Atalante's bow struck one, they wailed, a high animal noise with nothing of the human in it. I was grabbed by Clytios, who was retreating, with Atalante as rear-guard. We were not going to escape. The huge bodies were behind us on the path, and before us I saw gigantic naked, furred arms and chests breaking the bushes. Most eerie was the lack of voices. All men cry out on attacking, their own names and the reason for their war - all men. But not these monsters. The air was rank with their stench. I ducked under a thrown club and tried to pick it up out of the blackberries, but it was too heavy for me to lift.

Then I heard feet on the path below. A huge man was thrown aside and fell with a dreadful thud, then another, with his skull crushed. Something quite methodical and utterly ruthless was ploughing through the earth-born ones, striking, killing and casting aside. One fell close to me, and I saw that what I had thought were extra arms were the four paws of the bear, dangling from the skin fixed around his waist. I slipped aside as Herakles passed me, mowing the attackers. I looked at his face. He was not in a battle rage. He was quite calm. He was splashed with blood and brains but he himself was unhurt. Atalante, her last arrow still on the string, joined us in our bush and watched in astonishment. He killed all the attackers, seventeen of them, and their bodies rolled down the slope and lay like logs waiting for the shipwright, lined up on the beach. Then he wiped his club clean on the grass, took a handful of berries, and walked down to the ship, eating them.

We came down the mountain in the wake of Herakles and reported that we had to sail east. In view of the fallen bodies, no one seemed to want to stay, and we set sail in hope, which proved vain.

It was dark and we were spun like a top and flung like a toy. We were utterly confused, superlatively uncomfortable and in fear of our lives. Our mood was not improved by Philammon, who began to sing 'Descent Into Hades', a song usually played at funerals. But even the heroes were too preoccupied with trying to bend
Argo
to our will, to hurl more than a request to play something else at the bard.

Herakles rowed methodically, as he did everything. The oars would not bite on the choppy water and we made no headway, slipping from forward to backward motion in sickening alternation, and in the dark of the moon, so that all sense of direction was utterly lost.

We beached, finally, somewhere. We pulled
Argo
out of the water and lay down on the shingle to sleep as best we could, on land which was cold and hard but immovable. Herakles lay down under the keel, watched over by the goddess Hera, fell instantly asleep and snored like a whale. I wandered a little aside to vomit again, then found a piece of beach that had more sand and less stones, and fell asleep as though I had been gathered to my fathers.

I woke in profound darkness to shrieks of pain, and the clash of weapons. I felt a body near me, but since I did not know if it was friend or foe I did not strike. Someone had no doubt, however, for they lhit me so hard that I lost my wits, and wandered out of the world on the strange pathways of the initiate, to be welcomed by Kadman and Omonia enthroned. Just as the beautiful queen leaned down to lift me to my feet, I came back into daylight to a bit of pain, the smell of blood, and voices wailing like gulls.

'Lie still,' said Philammon. His coppery hair fell over his eyes, but he had been crying. I wondered what had happened and where I was.

'Lord, why do you weep?' I asked, raising a wobbly hand to touch his face. 'Are many slain of our company?'

'None of our company is slain,' he said. 'Someone has hit you rather hard on the forehead, Nauplios, but you can see and you seem to have all your wits. Did you kill anyone on this god-cursed beach?'

'Me? No. I woke and someone hit me,' I replied. 'Why, what happened? Did the earth-born men come upon us in the night?'

'The Doliones, who treated us so kindly, came upon us washed up on their shore again,' said Philammon in a dry, despairing tone. He allowed me to sit up against his knee. I saw bodies on the pebbly beach, and heard women keening in unutterable grief and loss. 'Herakles slept as though he was swooning - presumably Hera was protecting him. If he had been in battle rage we would all be dead, which might be for the better, considering what we have done. Our shipmates, Nauplios, uttering no challenge, speaking no word, fell upon the Doliones and slew; their king is dead. The noise you hear of women's voices are the maidens lamenting the suicide of Kleite, the bride, who could not live without Kyzicus, her husband. She hanged herself when the news was brought to her. And how we are to atone for this, I do not know.'

I saw double. My eyes failed me. I could not believe that we had done such a dreadful deed, but I could smell the blood, see the bier brought to carry the dead young man away; Kyzicus, who had been so sleek and virtuous, so full of joy, and with him two of the old men who had told me stories only two nights before, their white heads matted with blood, their wisdom spilled and wasted along with their blood, flowing in a sticky red stream among the pebbles.

I laid my head on the bard's knee and wept, and he wept with me.

 

We were returning to Colchis.

The Scyths turned their wagons when we came to a certain river and began their journey back. It was high summer and we travelled only in the cool of the morning, starting before dawn and stopping under the trees as soon as the day became hot. Then we lazed, talking, for no beast suitable for hunting was out and about in the fierce sunlight, and it was too hot to dance or even fight.

One morning I was walking, on foot and alone, to the shrine of Hekate, the oldest shrine in all the lands. It was in a cave about an hour's journey from the river where the Scyths would stay for three days, to water the stock and clean and re-dye all the winter garments. Only at this high point of the year was the sun hot enough to really dry the felt, of which they made most of their cloth.

At the Washing Place valley, they would dismantle the outer coverings of the wagons, turn out the bedding, and the whole tribe would descend into the river, to pound everything clean. The river, they said, would run discoloured for a day because of the amount of lye used in this operation, which must have been hard on the fish. Then the Scyths would peg and weight all the clean things out in Drying Meadow. This would abolish lice and fleas, which cannot stand strong sun. After that, large pots of dye would be brewed and the dry cloth would be painted and coloured, to be pegged out again until it was absolutely desiccated. The old women still talked about the year when it rained all summer, and how in winter fever had swept through the wagons, the god of the Scyths being affronted by their filth, smiting them with death for their disobedience. I remembered Trioda telling me of this epidemic, though she attributed it to the Scythians worshipping altogether the wrong pantheon, and being savages besides.

The dyeing sounded interesting, but I wanted to think, and Scylla and Kore were delighted to be out of the encampment, smelling new smells and rolling in the grass. I knew where the shrine of Hekate Oldest was. All I had to do was follow a tributary of the river and it would take me there.

The sun was hot. The grass on the slopes above the stream had burned almost white, and even the green of the trees had retreated from its fresh spring colour to the matte surface for summer. I was wearing my robes, as I was to visit the most important priestess of the Black Mother, and I was soon sweating.

I would not have done this in Colchis, but I stopped and removed my long black gown, rolling it up under my arm. I could replace it later, when I was close to the shrine. I threw a stick for Scylla, which was foolish of me, because she would be retrieving it and demanding that I throw it again for the whole journey. But I was feeling happy. I was singing a little Scythian song, one that they use to put children to sleep, as we walked along the bank and I picked up and tossed Scylla's stick.

Sleep, Scythling,

Thy mother is here.

Shalt be a rider,

Shalt be a fighter,

Shalt be a fine woman

When thou art grown.

 

It struck me that I had never been alone before. Not in all my life. I had been Trioda's charge since I had been a baby, and constantly in Scythian company since. Scylla pounded back along the path, dripping wet. My last throw must have landed in the water. She dropped the branch in front of me and stood panting, ears on alert, almost bouncing off the ground in her eagerness.

 

She was comical and I embraced her. Kore, instantly jealous, lolloped over and washed my ear with her wet tongue, and I sat down abruptly, hugging the hounds and giggling.

I never did such a thing before. I had never been out of someone's supervision before. This struck me as so funny that I laughed until I cried, with both dogs squirming to get closer to my mirth and grinning and licking.

'Scythian, what do you here?' asked a soft, cold voice, and I sat up abruptly, spilling the dogs. They cowered down on either side of me.

The speaker was a small woman, no taller than a child. She was immeasurably old, her hair was thin and white, falling around her face. She was draped in the gown of Hekate's priestess, and leaned on a staff of black wood, carved and painted in the likeness of a serpent.

And there I was, sitting in a thin tunic on the grass and laughing. No wonder she thought I was a Scyth. Such behaviour was entirely unfitting for a priestess of the Dark Mother, but instead of being ashamed I was annoyed.

I stood up. I was taller than the old woman. I put back my hair and donned the robe, shaking it out carefully and smoothing it down. Then, one hand on each black furry hound's head, I stated my name and my allegiance, as was proper, in as cool and formal a voice as I could manage.

'I greet you, Hekate's Maiden. I am Medea, Princess of Colchis, Aetes' daughter, She Who Has Twined With The Great Serpent Of The Grove Which Guards The Golden Fleece. I am acolyte to Trioda and sister to Chalkiope. I travel for a time with the Scythians to tend the shrines.'

'And did Trioda teach you to walk alone through hostile country, wearing only a tunic, to be found lolling on a river bank and laughing?'

'No, Priestess,' I replied. 'But I am guarded, and I have learned that there is no harm in mirth.'

'If the Scyths have taught you that, then it was worth a journey,' she said unexpectedly. 'Why are you here?'

'The Scythians are at Washing Place and will be there for three days. I thought to visit the oldest shrine of Hekate and profit from the guardian's wisdom,' I said, still nettled.

'Then come this way, Medea, Princess of Colchis, and we shall see what profit lies in speech,' said the old woman. 'I am called Tyche. You show some courage, young woman,' she added, as we climbed the bank, the hounds following obediently behind.

I did not know what to say in reply, so I kept silent.

We came to the mouth of a cave and entered, stepping carefully over the warding spells traced on the threshold.

After the heat of the day, the interior of the cave was gratefully cool. I closed my eyes, as I had been taught, and stood still, facing the darkness, waiting for my eyes to get used to the dimness. This takes the time in which one can say the first four prayers to Hekate, so I said them; and when I looked again I could see, though I was careful not to glance back toward the cavern mouth, for a glimpse of the sun would ruin my night-sight and I would have to begin the process again before I could safely go on.

The old woman had padded on ahead of me, and I caught up with her by sound as she tapped her way slowly along the corridors, which were close to being utterly dark.

Scylla's nose bumped me from behind. She did not like the dark as well as Kore did. I grasped her collar as we came around another corner into a cavern which was lit with a strange greenish light.

The walls were glowing.

'Is this some mark of Hekate's special favour?' I asked.

Tyche leaned on her staff, inspecting me for what seemed like a long time. Then she made some sort of decision. She took my hand and scraped my nails along the wall. They left a dark smudge in the light, and my fingers were suddenly oily and shining.

'No, it is called phosphorescence. It's produced by a fungus. Doubtless it was fabricated by the goddess in the beginning but it grows here because it likes dark places with this amount of water in the air. And the temple was established here because it is far underground, hard to find. The Androphagi are not averse to roasted priestess if they can get her, but they are terrified of the dark. Actually I haven't seen them lately.'