Medea (36 page)

But I was not - not any more. I was still a virgin, barely. I was fleeing now from my father's wrath, and I was in an Achaean company bound for a foreign land in which I would live as Jason's wife, bear his children, die and be buried in strange earth, all without the protection of Hekate.

I felt that I had lost my mother. My own had died when I was born, Trioda had turned against me without warning, and now the goddess was denied me as a disgraced and fallen daughter. But the potions and spells still worked, even if the divine hand was no longer over Medea, and I did not know why this was so. I dared to hope that perhaps Trioda had been outside her powers, and Hekate was still with her priestess. But I did not think this was possible. Cast out was cast out. I had not only been denied my position, but cursed as well.

Perhaps I was mourning the death of my own mother, Aerope, whom I could not consciously remember ever having seen, or perhaps the loss of the goddess or the brutality of Aegialeus, but something made we weep as we rowed out from the islands. I dressed in Jason's spare tunic and wrapped myself in Nauplios' cloak, sat down to mend my own garments and cried as though my heart was broken as the bone needle-moved through the torn cloth of my black robes.

 

Ships, I decided six days later, were uncomfortable. In good weather and with a following wind it was fine to perch next to the steersman and watch the Scythian landscape slip past, faster than a galloping horse could run. But most of the time it was work, the groan as the oars were hauled back, the gasp as they were lifted and the rowers moved with precision, like trained warriors advancing on an enemy. There had been no sign of pursuit from Colchis. I vengefully hoped that they were still searching for missing bits of Aegialeus. I sat looking back for two days before Jason told me I could give up my watch.

That, at least, had given me something with which to occupy myself on the way to Circe's isle. His god had spoken to Philammon, saying that Jason and I should be cleansed of blood-guilt for my half-brother's murder and mutilation before we could marry. The only person - apart from my father - who could conduct this ceremony was the sorceress Circe, my aunt. Her island was, anyway, on the way home to Iolkos.

I was not only bored but I was always damp, if not actually wet, with slapping waves or spray kicked up by the oars and the ocean. There was no task for me. I was not used to being idle and I did not want to think. One night I had woken the whole crew by screaming that Aegialeus was hurting me, and only the presence of Jason and the hounds had reassured me that I was not back on that beach with the scraping, groping hands clawing for my virginity and my life. My dreams were not pleasant, and I did not want to sleep.

I had sewn all my robes back together, with the smallest and most careful stitches. Then I had collected work from the crew.

 

I had mended torn garments, patched tunics and re-cut and soled damaged sandals. I had re-threaded the lacings on Oileus' armour, which was so huge that I had to climb practically inside it to reach, which had made the Achaeans laugh.

There was nothing else I could do and I was as nervous and restless as Kore and Scylla, who were used to running
stadia
a day on the open ground. Fortunately, Phlogius, one of Herakles' expedition, had volunteered to row with Atalante, and Philammon the bard took pity on me. He sat at my side, patting the nearest hound - for they loved him and tried to climb into his lap, staring adoringly up into his face - and talked to me all day, teaching me to play his lyre.

He was exotic to Colchian eyes, with hair like copper and the look which Hekate's maidens call 'goddess-gaze'. Possessors of this gift cannot be deceived, and their skill is always to discover truths. I felt that he knew all about me the instant his grey eyes stared into mine, but he was benign and wise, and I did not care. He, at least, knew that I was not unchaste.

It was a clear day with a strong wind, and the men called for a song. Philammon had been talking to me about gods and I had been learning about the divine singer Orpheus, who could tame beasts with his music.

'This is the song of the robe,' he said. Then, with the single strings plucking a simple tune behind the words, he began to sing in a compelling, true, very clear voice.

For her garment, the Earth Mother

Wove a green covering. In it are all things made

That ever were made or ever will be made.

We are trees, we are the cold curve of the sea-wave,

We are the bright eyes of stars,

We are the precise geometry of salt.

We are as uncounted as the grains of sand,

But she has counted us,

Woven us into her tapestry.

We are part of her garment

We are designed, have place,

We are part of her pattern.

As her loom was laid out across the heavens,

As her shuffle swung back and forth,

Weaving ants and mountains

She wove us, and snow, and leaves.

We cannot die

Although we die.

The pattern continues,

We are part of her pattern.

 

As I listened I saw the robe flung over Phanes, the revealed one, the blue-sky and white-cloud globe of the Earth, and I saw the fish in the waves and the beasts in the woods, the trees growing and the grass springing. I remembered horses new-foaled, running to their damn on wobbling legs, and the feel of new linen and the smell of cold water and blood and pine trees, and it was all one - all one immensely beautiful and intricate pattern, and even I, Medea, was one irreplaceable piece in it, as was my father and the sons of Phrixos, as was the dead Aegialeus and Tyche, the old woman in the cave, and Scylla and Kore and Anemone.

'You are a wondrously skilled bard,' I said to Philammon.

'I am the mouth and hands of my lord Orpheus,' he said. 'But I thought of that song because I have sat here and watched you sew, Princess. Your hands are also wondrously skilled.'

That night I slept without dreams.

We went through the Clashing Rocks without incident. It also seemed the
Argo
was shoved through, though I saw no gods. And we came to Circe, my aunt's island, one morning at dawn, after a god-given wind had blown us for days and nights through the Bosporus and the Propontis without ceasing, dying down to a gentle breeze as we slipped into the arms of the harbour.

 

There was a strange mist around Circe's island. The path which led to her house was made of pebbles, the house itself was of white stone, like many to be seen in any Achaean city. But there was a pinkish haze, blurring sight which made my eyes water, and no horizon could be seen. This was bound to disconcert any sailor, and we were duly disconcerted.

We followed my lord Jason and the Princess Medea to the house, at a respectful distance. Circe was reputed to be a woman of terrible powers and unknown purposes, and we had already been sobered by the sight of three Achaean vessels and one Libyan ship, all wrecked, which had sunk at their moorings in her harbour. Where had the crews gone, I wondered. Had they died here, or been transformed? Two vessels, at least, had sat waiting for their men until their timbers had rotted. Argos, aghast at the sight of the sunken ships, had stayed behind with
Argo
, keeping Telamon, Oileus, Ancaeas and Nestor as rear-guard.

My lord and his affianced bride were clothed only in air, walking barefoot over the stones, as fitted suppliants. The Princess Medea stepped easily. I saw strong muscle moving in her calf, knee, thigh and buttock under her smooth, dark skin, which was as unblemished as the inside of a pearl shell.

I knew that I should not be looking at my lord's wife, especially when she was naked for a religious purpose, and I hoped that the all-seeing Circe could not see me; but my lady was so beautiful, so light and quick and unconscious of her nakedness, that she compelled my gaze.

Then something happened which took even my lecherous mind off my lady. A rabbit hopped past us, pursued by a fox. A common sight, perhaps, except that the rabbit had six legs and the fox had three tails.

I rubbed my face. My eyes were obviously deceived. But then Lynkeos, the most keen-sighted of all the Argonauts, exclaimed aloud, and it seemed that he had seen the same thing. Then we saw a flock of birds who called to us, 'Achaeans! Beware Circe, Achaeans!' Under the trees snuffled a herd of swine, and from amongst them a piggish voice grunted, 'Beware.'

'This is a serious place,' remarked Akastos to his cousin. 'We must pay close attention to our behaviour here.'

'What do you mean?' asked Admetos.

'This Circe is a transforming sorceress,' said Akastos. 'And I am afraid that we have just seen those missing ship's crews.'

After that we said nothing and trod very gently as we came to the witch's house.

A woman was standing in the courtyard, washing her very long, silver hair in a deep cauldron. When she saw us she smiled, tossing back her head and spraying water onto us. I tasted one droplet on my lips. It was salt. Who would wash their hair in sea-water, when there was a well of sweet water to hand?

'I dreamed of burning and of blood,' she said to the suppliants, who reached her feet and kneeled, heads down. 'I have soaked my hair, my magical hair with which I can spin a cord to draw down the moon, in water as salt as tears, to clean away the threads of my dream. Who comes to Circe's isle, and what do you want of her, suppliants?'

'Purging of blood guilt,' said Medea, then said a phrase in Colchian. The witch sank down on her heels and raised my lady's chin with one sharp forefinger.

'Medea of Colchis, Aetes' child,' she observed, though as far as I knew she had never seen the princess before. 'And this must be Jason, son of Aison. Blood-guilt? Have you killed my brother?'

'No, Lady,' replied Medea. 'We have ambushed and killed Aegialeus, my half-brother.'

'Wait,' said the witch. She tied up her hair, wringing out the water. She looked down into the cauldron, stirring the water with her hand, then watching as it stilled and cleared. She looked for a long time at whatever vision she saw in the pot. Possibly she was looking at her own reflection.

She was old, Circe, but still beautiful. All the softness which made youth attractive was absent, fined and honed in this witch into a sharp face, such as a sculptor cuts on a grave; one stroke for the line of the nose, two more for the chin, two for the eyes and two for the brows. There was immense intelligence in her eyes, but little there of mercy, or even pity. She hummed distractingly as she watched, biting her lip and curling one tress of the silver hair around her thin brown hand. Then she came to some decision.

'You,' she told the Argonauts. 'Sit where you are. Presently you shall eat, though not with me. Strange transformations have happened after one of Circe's feasts. You may have met some of them on the path. While I am conducting this ceremony, do not move or speak, or I cannot answer for what might happen to you or these blood-stained ones, and I do not need any more animals on my island.'

We sat down abruptly. Most of us hid our faces in our cloaks, that we might not see something which was forbidden. Authalides threw his chlamys over Melas' head, for his father would never forgive us if anything happened to the boy. But I could still not stop looking at the straight back of my lady Medea, and I was concerned for my lord Jason, so I watched as Circe came back with a suckling pig.

It squealed as she raised it high, chanting in a strange tongue, then brought the knife across its throat. Blood flowed down over Jason's bowed head, and my lady's, and fell then upon their upturned hands. The pink mist intensified, like smoke fed by a smouldering pile of wet leaves. Something vast loomed up, much higher than the house, behind the witch and the two suppliants kneeling at her feet. A woman, perhaps, in dark robes, who held out both her arms in blessing. Then a little breeze blew and the smoke dissipated, or the vision was lost.

'You are forgiven,' said Circe in an exhausted tone. She put the carcass down on the ground and raised Jason and the princess to their feet. Blood ran in red lines down the Princess Medea's shoulder, trickling down her belly and down her legs, as straight as a boy's.

'Go down to the sea alone and wash, absolved of the goddess,' ordered Circe. 'You are not mated yet. Do not lie together while you are on my island. There has been enough blood,' she said, and walked back into her house, closing the door. Her shoulders sagged as though she was carrying a heavy weight.

A feast was prepared for us by eleven giggling young women, who were delighted to find a group of men who hadn't been turned into something by their powerful mistress. When my lord and lady came back clean and reclothed from the ocean, we sat down to eat roasted flesh and bread and drink strong, very sweet wine made of honey, and the maidens waited upon us, flirting through the feast, touching and being touched.

I wrapped myself in my blanket and lay down to sleep in the shade of the trees. The fire was still burning, to keep off the deformed animals, and Lynkeos was on watch. I heard Idas promising a maiden that if she lay with him she would never regret, and heard then the unmistakable sounds of someone making love.

All around the fire the Argonauts were being seduced. Circe's maidens were maidens no longer, though I heard no cries of pain, only the laugh and gasp, the sucking slap of flesh in conjunction, and the groan or bird-cry of orgasm. Jason and the Princess Medea, I knew, lay under the next tree, but I heard no sound from them. I supposed that they were in sufficient awe of the witch of the island to obey her command.

But I was under no such constraint. When the white-armed girl who had served me with roasted mutton came to me and stroked me, I closed both her bright eyes with kisses, and she put aside my tunic, her long hair splaying across my chest as her mouth moved down my body.