Medea (39 page)

'I need to get to Iolkos. My husband must be put on the throne,' I explained.

'You are going to Iolkos to depose Pelias?' His eyes lit up. 'Well, that is different. Yes, that is indeed different. You, Lady, you are no Achaean, though you speak it well.'

'I am from Colchis,' I said.

He chuckled. 'Ah, yes, the witches of Colchis, most knowledgeable of women.' He coughed suddenly, putting a hand to his mouth. I knew what the bloodstain meant. I put an arm around his waist.

'Lord, you must sit down,' I urged. 'Let me take you inside.'

I hauled him into his little cave. It was quite comfortable. Scylla and Kore sat down on guard outside, while the bronze giant threw his stones and I brewed an infusion of lungwort and coltsfoot for the old man. The herbs were to hand. He knew that he was dying.

'Thank you,' he whispered. 'I am better, Lady. These fits come on me, and one day I will die in one of them. Pelias exiled me. I have been here for twenty years. I was the best craftsman in Achaea once. Now I will die in a cave, with no company but the sea birds and the goats.'

'Will you come back and watch Pelias' deposition?' I offered. I was sure that Jason would take Talos home. The old man shook his head.

'No, I would not last the voyage.' I had to agree. His lung ailment was smith's disease, got by bending over smelting metal for years and inhaling the toxic fumes. His wasted body was wracked with coughing, and every cough brought blood.

'But I will allow you to pass, Lady. Pull that lever down.'

I did so. There was a shudder in the rock as the giant slowed his movements.

'I have drained the
ichor
from his veins,' said Talos, 'It will take twelve hours to refill. Go, Medea. Bring Pelias down and when he lies at your feet, bid him remember Talos, whom he exiled because he would not make such machines as these for a greedy and cruel king. Machines are for the delight and help of men,' said the old man, blood bubbling to his lips.

'Machines are for fountains, for labour and, perhaps even one day, to fly like a bird through the air. Pelias wanted me to make warriors for him, with which he could conquer cities - and I would not. Here is the only one of his bronze soldiers that I ever made. And once I am dead, no one will be able to use it to kill other men. Farewell, Lady. Come safe home, and revenge me.'

I stoked his fire for him, put an infusion ready to his hand, and left. Pelias would know what had become of Talos.

When I came back to the ship the Argonauts hailed me, but I saw them making the signs to avert evil. Jason kissed me in front of all his crew, and we set a sail because the wind had picked up.

 

We were within sight of islands which every Argonaut knew. We came down the coast of Phrygia, past Lesbos where only women lived. There Philammon sang the central song of his faith. As he sang, the sun shone on his bright hair, so brightly that I could hardly look at him.

As wine mixes, dark wine and clear water,

Spiralling into purple to fill the cup,

The wine in the cup is of grapes not yet grown,

And grapes long dead, and of the drinkers, their clothes, and their houses.

The fire built by shepherds to warm their sleep

Among the restless herds, is of tree still in seed and wood as ash,

And contains both shepherds, sheep, night and fire.

The nurseling in his mother's arms is live child, dead bones, child not yet conceived,

And mother and her mother.

All things are immutable; there live in us and all things

The seed of suns, the matter of night.

 

'That song is called the "Krater",' he told me. 'Krater' is Achaean for the large mixing bowl in which they mingle water with their wine.

'But what does it mean?' I asked.

'Ah, Lady, a hundred priests could reply to that question, and all of them would be wrong. And right, of course.'

Which was no answer at all. Was he saying that time, perhaps, is not a straight road down which all must walk from birth to death? Tyche had spoken to me of prophecy, which she called 'a window into another time'. I had little prevision. These matters were too complex for me.

I was beginning to wonder what was happening to my body. I was seasick all the time, even in placid seas, though I had not been sick at first. It had been two months since I lay with my lord for the first time, and I had not bled. I began to think that I was pregnant. I would have been full of joy if I had not felt so ill.

Nauplios found me fruits to eat at some of the islands, though he still would not stay in my company, and that was a pity, for my lord was often busy, and apart from the hounds I was a little lonely.

Atalante's way of living, I had decided, could not be mine. I admired her. She was as skilled and independent as the Scythian women and as strong-minded as a Sauromatae. The Argonauts treated her as though she was a comrade, as they would never treat me, the wife of their commander. She was scornful of me. I had abandoned my maidenhood and my craft. She chided me for my choice, which she considered weak and foolish.

'What will you do, Lady, when you are old, beyond child bearing? The Achaeans have no time for old women, and your lord will take another wife.'

'Take another wife?' I cried. 'But he is married to me.'

'That is so, Lady, but old men need young lovers to keep their bones warm. You were a priestess and a wise woman, a princess in your father's house. Now you will be the drudge of an Achaean man, and no worse fate could befall a woman.'

I did not reply, being taken by a sudden spasm, and when I lifted my head from vomiting over the side, she had turned her back on me. It was a very straight back, Atalante's; bare and smooth. I suppressed the desire to plunge a knife into it. I did not know where these violent images were coming from - perhaps it was the vengeance of Hekate on her faithless one.

Then we sailed into Iolkos.

 

We had been sighted as we came around past Skiathos, and all day the crowd on the seafront had been growing. Jason and Nauplios stood beside me.

'There are the cliffs,' said Nauplios softly. 'There is the mountain, where the centaurs fostered us.'

'There is the quay where
Argo
was built,' said Jason. 'And the market-place where I came, the
monosandalos,
to be given this quest by Pelias Usurper. My quest is achieved,' he said with satisfaction. 'The Golden Fleece lies in this ship, and the bones of restless Phrixos, ancestor of Minyans.

'And we return, who would not have been looked for. But not as we left, alas! Poor Idmon was left in the swamp in Mysia, and Tiphys the beautiful beside him. Herakles we lost on that coast, and Hylas with him.'

'Oh, our lost ones,' whispered Nauplios, and Jason put an arm around his shoulders. The boy was close to tears. He enumerated the names of the dead in a chant, which turned into a song, a wailing of loss shared by all the Argonauts.

Thus
Argo
came back to the city of Pelias as she had left, Nauplios said; in mourning and with weeping. She slipped into the place left for her at the stone waterfront, and the rowers shipped their oars for the last time.

I was lifted ashore with the others, and stood behind Jason in the crowd of well-wishers. The market women hailed the heroes, calling obscene reminiscences at them.

'It's them, sisters,' screamed one fat woman, hands on hips. 'Him with the flagpole phallus and his shipmate with the muscles.'

Oileus and Nestor grinned, recognising themselves. 'Couldn't keep us away from such pretty girls,' they responded, and the fishwife screamed 'Oh, yes? And what about all them Lemnian women?'

'Not a patch on the women of Iolkos,' declared Oileus, and was kissed soundly by three of them. Telamon took the wine cup out of a fisherman's hand and drank it off, smashing the cup on the stones. Nauplios was scanning the people for someone whom he could not find. Alabande and Erginos had taken Clytios and Atalante to the tavern and were calling for wine. Philammon was tuning his lyre, the noise loud enough to hurt the ears.

Did no one in Achaea speak in a normal voice? Scylla and Kore, after being stood on more than once, retreated to my feet and we sat down on the quay on the bundle of our belongings and wondered what would happen when Pelias heard that we had arrived.

We were to know soon enough. The king came from his palace, attended with the
demos
of Iolkos, the old men who were his advisors. He was tall, with a smile I did not like.

'Jason, son of Aison,' he said in a hearty voice. 'Welcome, welcome! You come just in time. The winter gales are beginning.'

'I greet you, Uncle,' said Jason. Then he brought to the king's feet the leather bag containing the bones of Phrixos and the Golden Fleece. Telamon was carrying it, draped over his massive shoulder.

'I have fulfilled my quest,' said Jason loudly. 'Hear, all men of Iolkos! I have brought here what Pelias demanded as the price of my kingship: the Golden Fleece, treasure of Colchis, and the bones of my ancestor Phrixos, who will be buried in his own earth.'

I saw Pelias' face twist with rage. For a moment he could not speak. Jason was looking at him, puzzled. He had done as Pelias had asked. He was expecting Pelias to meekly hand over his sceptre and retire, leaving the kingdom to his nephew.

Jason never expected treachery.

He was staggered and furious when Pelias said, 'You have done well, Nephew. I will think of what we are to do, now that you have so unexpectedly returned. Bring the prizes of such heroism into the palace, and we will feast. You have been long at sea, Nephew. And who is this?'

The crowd had flowed away from me, and the king stared at the sight of a red-robed woman and two hounds, alone amongst the Argonauts.

'This is Medea, Princess of Colchis, my wife,' said Jason.

I knew that I was not supposed to stare directly into a man's face, but I had to know if this king was trustworthy. I judged that he was not.

Pelias' gaze was direct, even rude. He raked me with his eyes for some time before he grunted, 'A Colchian witch.' He turned on his heel and walked back into his palace.

 

I was home. I had thought that I would never see Iolkos again. The journey had been so long, so unlikely, the task so impossible. Yet here I was, standing on the quay again, older, taller, perhaps wiser. I found it hard to remember what he had been like, young Nauplios, the net-caster's son. Since I had last seen the stone pillars of Pelias' palace, soon to be my lord's, I had lain with many women, found out about the secrets of the flesh, watched death and love, and sailed uncounted
stadia
through incredible seas.

And by the blessings of Poseidon and Jason's protector, Hera, we had come back alive, bearing the Golden Fleece and the bones of Phrixos. Most of us had come back alive. We had mourned our lost ones as we came into the harbour.

And soon I had more to mourn.

I wondered that my father was not amongst the crowd, and as soon as Pelias had taken Jason and the lady Medea into the palace I shook off my companions. They were gathered in the tavern on the waterfront and seemed likely to remain there while wine was still made by men. I went searching for my father. I asked the old men, and they stared at me sadly, shaking their heads.

'Go to your mother, Nauplios,' they said and, much worried, I climbed the narrow streets between the whitewashed walls to my father's house.

It is a small place, only one room. On the hearth were a heap of cold ashes. I knew what had happened before I went inside.

 

Only death can extinguish a hearth fire. The bride brings it to her husband's house, and it never goes out while he lives.

'How did he die?' I asked the woman seated on the floor beside the dead fire.

'He went fishing,' she said, without looking up. 'The storm took three boats. He was washed ashore, to lie beside his sons. They are all dead now,' she said in a flat, toneless voice. 'There is nothing left to me.'

'There is me, mother,' I said, kneeling beside her. She looked up into my face. I know she recognised me. She almost smiled. I was looking into the face of an old woman. Her hair was white, clotted with the ashes of her mourning, and her skin was deeply lined, dry and grey, like Colchian parchment.

'Nauplios has come to take his mother to the afterlife,' she said, a little animation creeping into her voice. 'That is kind of you, Son, but where have you left your brothers and your father? This side of Styx, he said, I will wait this side of Styx for you to come, Wife. Has he gone on ahead? That is discourteous. Now he will have forgotten me, who always loved and served him. But I am glad that it is you, Nauplios. You always were my favourite son.' She raised her trembling hand and brushed my hair from my brow, as she had always done when I was a small boy, and the familiar touch brought tears to my eyes. She wiped them briskly away.

'Do not weep, my dearest son,' she said. 'I am ready to die. What life is there for a widow, childless, kinless, wearing away her life on the fading generosity of neighbours until she lies down for weariness and dies at last? Better to die now,' said my mother calmly, leaning her head against my chest and closing her eyes.

And I was holding a body, which sagged into death. Her last breath was breathed almost into my mouth. As she slipped out of my embrace, a little bottle rolled from her unclenching hand. It had contained poison. She must have been sitting on the cold floor alone for hours as it worked. It was hemlock. I knew the smell.

There remained nothing of the family of Dictys, man of Iolkos, but one faithless son, who had gone adventuring with Jason, son of Aison, and returned just in time to watch his own mother leave a life which had become loathsome to her.

I sat by her body until it was dark, holding her hand, trying to explain that I had been under oath; that I had to follow my lord, the lord to whom my father had given me when I was a child. I told her shade, which hovered around me - a loving shade, for my mother was always loving - that I had never forgotten her and that I had returned as I said I would.