Medea (25 page)

'If the boy fell into that,' Atalante exclaimed, 'he'll be over the waterfall by now! It's running very strongly, and it's as cold as death - it must be snow-water.'

'I fear that it may be death,' said Jason, picking up the pitcher. It was wet inside, showing that Hylas had begun to fill it before whatever had happened to him had occurred. 'How do we tell Herakles?'

'Tell Herakles what?' asked the hero. He moved, as always, like a cat or a shadow, and we had not heard him approach. Jason held out the ewer and stammered our story.

'Did he die in the water?' he asked, quietly.

'It's possible, Lord,' said Atalante.

'He was under my protection,' said Herakles.

'He is gone, Lord,' said Jason.

Herakles changed. In front of my eyes, he seemed to alter form. His face darkened. He wiped at his brow as sweat poured down his face. I recalled the warnings about him and backed, grabbing for Jason, who collected Oileus who brough Atalante, and we all moved away from the hero, because we knew the battle fury was coming upon him, and he might slay us all without intention or mercy.

The fact that he would then have to spend another lifetime performing heroic deeds in expiation for our murder did not, at that moment, comfort me.

He opened his mouth and roared, 'Hylas!' with a volume no man has ever produced, before or since. I covered my ears. He called again and branches broke at the sound. Herakles tore, wild-eyed and witless, through the pine forest, smashing trees in his path, thundering always in that terrible voice for lost Hylas, and we turned and ran.

We fled down the valley-path to the sea, shaking and terrified, to hear Tiphys calling 'Quick! A wind! Come now!' We were very afraid of the great voice bellowing like Poseidon's bulls behind us and that is the only way I can explain our actions. We ran to the ship, wading out into the water, and climbed aboard, and the wind carried us faster than a running horse can move out into the ocean.

Then of course, we realised what we had done.

'You've left Herakles behind?' yelled Telamon. 'How could you? We must turn back at once?'

'We can't. The wind is set and the current is strong,' said Clytios. 'It would take three day's rowing to get back to Mysia.'

'How could you leave the greatest hero in the world behind, yes, and Hylas too! He deserves better of you than this, Jason!' cried Alabande, the first time I had heard him speak out on anything.

Jason said nothing. He would not reply to such taunts. He sat in the bow and wrapped his cloak around him, crushed by this mischance. I could not explain why we had run away, but we had. The sea was running; Clytios was right. We could not turn back, not without losing days in possibly fruitless labour. Herakles was lost, and Hylas. I still had the bone fish which I had thought to give him, the beautiful, gentle boy.

While the others were all screaming at each other, I strung the little carving with a leather thong and hung it around my own neck, and breathed a prayer for Hylas and Herakles, thanking the gods for having allowed Dictys the fisherman's son to have been in their company, and commending them - as far as my own small worth could - to the divine attention of those who are most high.

'Hera,' I whispered, as Telamon yelled at Oileus and Oileus yelled back at Telamon. 'Your hero is mad again. Protect him, Lady Queen, and protect the boy if you will, for all things are in your gift and Herakles
Kallinikos
- Herakles Beautiful in Victory - is your most faithful warrior, and surely you have tried his courage and his love as much as you need, Lady of the Heavens.'

I did not receive a reply. I ducked as Telamon dived over me to fasten his hands around Tiphys' comely neck.

'You may well loll there at your ease,' he exclaimed furiously, squeezing hard. 'You planned this so you could be the most famous in Achaea instead of Herakles. But I'm going back for him, and you are going to turn this ship around and we'll start rowing, and anyone who wants to go on to Colchis without Herakles can swim!'

Tiphys was quite purple, his feet kicking in the air a span off the deck, when Philammon struck all the strings of his lyre at once and cried, 'In the name of all the gods, Telamon. Stop!'

Telamon put Tiphys back on his sandals and loosened his grip a little.

'I have received a vision,' said Idmon, standing beside the bard. 'The last I shall ever receive, and I die soon, so listen to me. Release Tiphys, Telamon. The gods have spoken.'

Idmon was a dark shadow across the sun, a thin man pregnant with his doom, already mourning his lost life. Telamon pushed Tiphys so that he staggered back against a steering oar and the
Argo
staggered too, before she recovered and the wind filled her sail again. Idmon held out his hand, and three strange birds - I had never seen the species before - settled on his arm. They were snow white with blood red beaks, small and eerie in that they were quite silent. As I watched them I fancied that I could see sunlight through them. They may not have been really there at all.

Idmon, staring at the birds as though he were relaying a message, spoke. 'Thus say the gods: Why do you try to take Herakles to Colchis? He belongs in Argos, to which he must return to suffer his fate.' The first bird flew up and away, as though it had delivered its message.

Idmon continued, 'Do not mourn for Herakles, who will join the immortals after his worldly voyage is closed in flames.' The second bird also left its perch. Idmon bent his head as if listening, then said quietly, 'Hylas has gone to the Naiads, who fell in love with his beauty. You must sail on,' he concluded, as the last bird left him.

I tried to watch its flight, but it vanished in sun-dazzle.

Jason drew a deep breath of relief. Oileus laughed suddenly, a short laugh like a bark. Telamon slapped Tiphys on the back. He was still stroking his throat, and could not speak, but he nodded. We resumed our seat and Melas distributed wine and bread and the remains of the roasted sheep which the Mysians had given us. There were tears running down the boy's face. He feared that the Naiads had indeed taken Hylas, pulling him down to a watery grave, and so did I.

'I apologise, Jason,' said Alabande. 'May the winds blow away my offence against you.'

'You did indeed insult me grievously,' agreed Jason, who was desperately relieved and trying not to show it, 'by accusing me of wronging a loyal friend and hero. But I do not hold grudges, not against a shipmate. This was not a quarrel about property, but about a comrade, and I would like to think that if it had been me left behind, you would have stood up for me as boldly. It is forgotten,' said Jason, and Alabande embraced him.

The wind blew us onward all night, until it failed off another coast, greyish green and unpromising. We landed and lit a fire to roast some of the fish we had netted on the way and I set a pot of sea-water to boil dry. We needed salt.

Argos said we were in the territory of a bandit called Amycus - I was evidently not the only one who talked to old fishermen - who had killed his neighbours and was likely to attack us. This robber demanded that every ship which watered on his territory should provide a champion to fight with him, barehanded. If they lost, he took the ship.

'I am the best boxer on this voyage,' said Idas immediately, through a mouthful of fish. 'I demand this honour.'

There was no discussion. Idas was known to be an excellent fighter. He was light, strong and fast, and despite his boasting, his brother Lynkeos had told us that when Idas fought he was cold, dangerous and calculating.

'And if you do not prove my words true, brother,' he warned Idas as he oiled his body carefully and thoroughly, 'I will personally break your neck as a dishonourable rogue. Here he comes,' he observed. 'Now, Idas, no words. Deeds.'

And to my surprise, I saw the twins kiss, rough cheek to rough cheek, and I saw that they loved each other, though I had never heard them exchange anything but insults and they could not even bear to be on the same rowing bench.

A group of warriors were approaching us along the beach. Leading them was a huge naked man. He rippled with muscle and was unarmed. He overtopped Oileus. The newcomer was a young man with a broad jaw and an unpleasant grin. He walked boldly into our midst and challenged, 'No foreigner shall continue his voyage until he has proved worthy against me. I use no weapons, strays from the sea. Only these hands.'

He made them into fists. They were huge, as big as hams, and scarred from many collisions with other people's teeth and bones.

'Very serviceable,' commented Idas quietly. 'I am Idas, and I will meet your terms. I think this place here will do very well for this contest.'

Amycus glared. His eyes rolled and I wondered if he was mad.

We separated into groups. The followers of Amycus stood at one side and we stood on the sand at the other. The bandit took two pairs of ox-hide gauntlets and threw them at Idas' feet.

'I will make no choice. Pick which pair you like,' he snarled. Idas turned over the gloves, selected two, and Lynkeos and I bound them onto his hands.

I had seen what damage this sort of fighting could do, in the market-place in Iolkos and when the heroes sparred with each other in Pelias' palace. It seemed so long ago. Blows struck with clenched fists inside rough leather gloves tear skin, break bones and bruise unmercifully. Most fights end when one fighter can no longer see out of his swollen eyes and submits. I did not think that this fight would end until one of the contestants was dead.

'Keep your weapons to hand,' whispered Jason. 'If we win, I fear we will have to fight these followers. They look used to acting together.'

'Well skilled,' agreed Oileus, dropping his hand onto his sword hilt.

Atalante was sliding unobtrusively towards the rear of our group. One needs room to shoot arrows effectively. Beside her, Clytios sat down, his quiver in his lap.

We sat on the sand and I wondered if the gods were angry with us, despite Idmon's messengers, for leaving Herakles behind; and were about to punish Idas' boasting with defeat, and us with death at the hands of Phrygian bandits.

Idas stretched, bounced on the balls of his feet, and feinted a few times. I was sitting next to Lynkeos, who was as tense as a bowstring. Then Amycus attacked, and Idas began to dance.

Left, left, a step and a leap; each time the great fists slid and missed, and Amycus stumbled, recovered and struck again. It was like watching a bull attempting to gore a gad-fly. Idas caught one punch on his forearm, and slipped close to strike, once, twice, the blows thudding home on jaw and chest, then he was out of reach, always just out of reach, taunting, dancing.

A thread of blood was running from Amycus' mouth, and another from his eye. He shook his head like a maddened animal, then roared and dived.

Idas sprang, dodged, and always he punished Amycus, trading blow for blow; on the mouth again, and the giant spat teeth; on the chest, which rang hollow like a drum; and a punch which ripped the skin open along one cheekbone, so that Amycus staggered back, wiping frantically at his face.

It was cruel, cold, merciless. We did not cheer. The bandit was breathless with shame, exhaustion and pain. He decided to finish the fight with one blow. He raised himself to his full height, his face a mask of blood and fury, and both fists together, thudded down like a club.

If Idas had been in the way he would have been killed instantly. But he was not there. As Amycus stumbled, unbalanced, Idas swung with all his weight, pivoting on one foot, and his clenched fist hit the side of Amycus' head.

It was a perfect blow, delivered with all Idas' strength, perfectly timed. It must have crushed the bones of the skull. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The men of Amycus' following attacked us as soon as they found that their champion was dead. There was a scream of fury and a rush of feet on the sand. I heard bows singing and the swish of arrows above me as we fought.

I had never been in a battle before. I was surprised that I was not afraid. A man slashed at me with his sword. I side-stepped and hit him with the pole of my spear, and he fell. Others fell over him. A man in front of me reeled, shrieking, with an arrow through his eye. Another lay begging for death, one leg hacked off below the knee. I did not have time to think. People were trying to kill me, and I may have killed them. I stabbed with my spear at at least one unprotected belly, and saw a following gush of blood and bulging intestines as I retrieved the weapon.

The attack ceased. No one was pressing forward, eager for Nauplios' blood. Then we seemed to have won. The attackers scattered. We raised a ragged cheer to speed them on their way. The warriors ran for the mountain, dragging their wounded and dead after them. The crew clustered together. No one was injured. Atalante lamented her lack of arrows and wondered where she would get more. Jason embraced Telamon and Oileus, laughing with triumph, spattered with someone else's' blood.

I went into the bushes to be sick.

When I came back, someone had lit a fire. Lynkeos heated water to wash Idas and then massaged him, using the perfumed oil that his woman on Lemnos had given him. And, oddly enough, we didn't hear a word out of Idas about what a good fighter he was - not a single boast about how he beat the giant Amycus and killed him with a single blow.

And when we departed the next day, well supplied from Amycus' herds, we sailed up the Bosporus with the wind.

For a while it seemed that it was not going to be the dreadful, muscle-wracking struggle which Argos was predicting. I was leaning against the side, discussing music with Philammon and Idas - I did not care for the heroes' gloating talk of their battle the day before - when I saw the bard's sun-tinted skin blanch. I swung around and saw what had produced this reaction in one as brave as Philammon, and yelled for Jason.

A huge wave was poised over us, as big as a mountain, grey-green, foaming white at the crest. If we were underneath when that fell, we would be like the kindling boys use to light the kitchen fire. I shouted to Tiphys at the steering oars, and he screamed back, 'Just needs a good hand on the helm, boy!' and leaned his weight into the rudders.