Medea (48 page)

 

'You will be unable to sweat. The heat will strike inward until you tear your own flesh, or plunge into icy water, and yet you will burn until your brains bubble in your burst skull.'

She had no further need for cursing. They had gone, running like rabbits. She picked up the toy from the grass, kissed it, and thrust it into the bosom of her grown.

I strapped up the torn bundle and we remounted and rode on, but she spoke no word to me that day.

I gave her into the care of the priests of Apollo and sat down in a Delphi tavern to worry, I and the hounds. They were sitting at my feet, gnawing bones, when Scylla gave a small yelp. I knelt down and she let me examine her mouth. One of her teeth was rotten, and I busied myself with borrowing a pair of pincers and pulling it out. She bore this operation well, not offering to bite, and was drinking without pain as soon as I had completed it, but I was concerned again. The dogs which had been Medea's constant companions were aging. It was not likely that either Kore or Scylla would live another year. Then what would the lady Medea do, utterly alone in the world?

She would never be utterly alone, I vowed, while I lived.

 

I don't remember the ride to Delphi, though I have a vague memory of confronting some bandits who had defiled Arktos with their touch. That toy was all I had of my son Mermerus, who lay cold in his grave in the precinct in Corinth, together with the twins. I had nothing to venture, nothing to lose. Two further gangs had thought about attacking Nauplios and me but had changed their minds, one group even offering to escort us to the road again, provided that I didn't curse them.

Delphi polis is a small but bustling town. It is supported by the temple of Apollo, venerable and famous all over the world for the accuracy of its prophecies. It lies on a hill between the shining cliffs, where the springs of Castalia rise, cold and nourishing, the waters of absolution.

I did not think I would be allowed to drink from them. The Pythia could order a suppliant to pay for her crimes with her death, a thought had encouraged me to bear the sea-voyage and the long ride through the mountains.

There seemed to be nothing left of Medea who had gone with the Achaeans. There was a hollow inside me which the whole of Phanes' creation could not fill. The children, the children were dead, and I had not wailed, I had not mourned. Sisyphos and I had watched the priestesses dig graves for my murdered darlings and my dearest friend, who had died trying to protect them. My Clytie, with her salty tongue now stilled. I had with me the veil she had worn, stained with her blood. I had lain the small bodies of the twins together in one grave, not to be parted in death as they had never been in life; and I gave Eiropis her doll Pallas, and my little son his carved olive-wood fish, called Icthys. I had folded the terribly damaged hands of my children over their most treasured possessions without a tear. Mermerus lay curled in the earth without Arktos, because I could not find him. I was so sorry. I hoped that Mermerus would sleep, but he never liked to go to bed in the dark without Arktos. Sometimes I heard him crying, and woke so full of despair that it seemed that the dark could not contain it.

I had not dared to unwrap the bundle of my possessions, so it was not until the bandit had plundered it that I knew that I had my son's bear, and I would certainly have killed to regain it. The soft sheepskin lay against my heart as I climbed the hill towards the three temples. Hekate had sent me to Pythia, and to Pythia I would go.

Then she would release faithless Medea, and I could die.

The first temple was made of laurel branches. There I left my robe and my knife. No one can climb the hill of prophecy bearing marks of rank or weapons. Even a king, the attending priest told me, must leave his crown and sceptre here.

I had no crown. I had used it to kill Creusa and Creon.

The pink dust coated my feet as I climbed again to a circular temple plastered with beeswax and covered with white feathers, where I left my sandals and ascended barefoot to the sanctum. Here was the navel-stone, the
omphalosi,
and an altar to Hestia, where I sprinkled incense. It flared up brightly, burning blue, so it must have been resinated. A priest of Apollo - the priests are only Achaean men who wear veils - beckoned me to come into the
oikos
, the outer chamber.

I smelt the presence of gods. A strong, honey-sweet scent, like jasmine on a hot day, filled the chamber, though outside there was a cool clean breeze which bore almost no scent at all. The
adyton
, the inner chamber, was open. I saw a woman straddling a tripod over a crack in the mountain. Her face was perfectly blank. She had no personality at all; the god had stolen her, possessed her, and she was the mouth of Apollo.

The priest brought a kid forward, for which I had paid a handful of gold. He sprinkled it with water and it shivered, which meant that the sacrifice could be made. If it hadn't, I would have had to stay on the mountain until I could get the right omen. This was a black goat. The priest slit the beast's throat and, as bright blood streamed into the channel in the stone, I heard Pythia scream, 'Apollo is here!' I watched the blood move in a sticky stream along the marble, congealing as it flowed.

'
Theoprope
, speak,' she cried, in a voice which must have rasped her throat. 'Oracle-seeker, ask.'

'What should Medea do now?' I had thought about my question, always wise when consulting oracles. There was a silence from the
adyton,
so I knelt and waited for Apollo, a god of whom I knew nothing good, to speak my doom.

I wondered what it would be like to fall from those shining cliffs, and how long it would take before I hit the ground and was freed to return to Hekate.

But what I heard from the inner chamber was not the usual prophetic verse, but a child's voice demanding drearily, 'Mother?' as though he had been crying for a long time in the dark and despaired of anyone hearing him.

'Mermerus,' I replied without volition, without thinking or analysing, 'it's all right, my son, there, Mother's here.'

'I want Arktos,' he said. I couldn't see him, though I stared into the gloom. I could only see an elderly priestess grasping a tripod, her eyes shut tight, her knuckles clenched. The child's light voice came strangely from her mouth.

'Mother?' Mermerus' voice rose into panic. 'It's all dark!'

'Oh my son shalt have Arktos, I have him here, it's all right, don't be afraid. Clytie's with you, sweeting. Find Clytie, and Mother will send Arktos to you. You mustn't be afraid, Mermerus. Find Clytie.'

There was a pause. Something clenched inside me, my heart or my womb. I had no doubt that I was speaking to the ghost of my little son. I took Arktos out of my bosom and held him on my lap, stroking the partially bald woolly head, the ears sucked out of shape. Then I kissed his badly embroidered black nose and gave him to the priest, who took him reverently and let him fall into the sulphurous crack in the mountain, to send him to my son.

'Mother?' I heard a moment later. 'Clytie's here, she's holding the twins Mother, she's pulling me away. There's a light. Brighter than the sun. And I've got Arktos,' he said, my solemn little son who always worried about propriety. 'Arktos is here,' he said with deep satisfaction. 'Clytie says to tell you that I love you,' he said after a pause. 'I love you, Mother.'

'I love you, my son. I love all of you. Tell Clytie and the twins. Tell them I love them.' Then, with a tearing wrench, I told him, 'Now go toward the light, little son. Go with Clytie, and I'll see you again, Mermerus.'

I heard Mermerus' voice say crossly, 'I'm coming,' and then, 'Farewell, Mother.'

Still I could not weep, though the silence which followed the last words ripped my heart. Now they were truly gone, my children. But Clytie would look after them. My lap was empty, even of Arktos. I was about to rise when the priestess spoke, this time in the conventional oracular utterance.

Medea of Colchis, murderer,

Pelias is ashes, and Aegialeus,

Though Korinthos lies not in your charge.

Creusa is no more, unspotted virgin,

Creon the merchant trades on a different river.

Four dead, Princess, and four dead answer them.

Clytie and Mermerus,

Eiropis and Alcimedes,

Dead by the hand of Corinth,

Who shall also answer for their crimes.

You are freed, Princess, you are balanced,

All paid for and the account closed.

Innocent lives answer innocent lives.

Live, Medea; you may not die.

The dead are happy, being dead,

Not to have lived is better,

But humans must be content.

Another place and another life,

A hero wrapped in flame,

A fisherman with a hero's heart.

Apollo has spoken.

Begone. You are absolved.

 

I was disappointed. I did not want absolution. The priest led me down through the temples to the Springs of Castalia and bade me strip and wash, and I did so, for nakedness is no shame on the holy mountain. The water was as cold as ice. I stood in the shallow stone dish which catches the sacred water as he poured dippers of it over me, soaking my hair, the chill penetrating to my bones. Something departed me then. The leaden weight of horror began to lift. I noticed the world, which I had been prepared to leave without a moment's thought. I noticed the priest, a young man with a wrinkled brow, who was trying not to look at my body in case it disturbed his chastity. I ran my hands over it. I was stronger than I had been as a captive, though nothing like the young maiden who had ridden with the Scyths. My body was curved now, though thin as ever, the marks of childbearing were on my belly and my breasts sagged. My hair weighed down my head, stuck to my shoulders, still sooty black. Somehow I had blistered three of my fingers - I thought I recalled picking up a brand to light a fire. The burns stung. The shield of unreality which had protected me from the world had been washed away. The wind was cold on my skin.

When I was clean, the priest gave me three sips from the spring water. I drank obediently. Then he conducted me back to the temple where I had left my clothes, and I found my stained tunic, wrinkling my nose at the smell. I had been wearing it for days, sleeping and riding. It stank of sweat and horse. I could not put that on over my newly cleansed skin.

The keeper of the first temple saw this and chuckled. He was a likeable old man with a bald head and mischievous eyes.

'You're recovering, woman,' he said. He meant no disrespect. Priests of Apollo call all females 'woman', as they call all males 'man'. There is no rank in the temple of Delphi.

'Here, take this. It is over-large, but it is clean. A woman of Athens left it behind. She was so delighted with the oracle that she ran out of the temple and into the road with not a stitch on her. Still, since she had been told that she would bear a son, she was pleasing to her husband in that state.'

I donned the loose, oatmeal-coloured tunic and he helped me to put on my robe. He even knelt to fasten my sandals, as my hands were shaking so badly that I could not even pin my cloak.

'Spring is a time of hope,' he said gently. 'There is always hope, or what's the point of human life?'

I did not answer, but gave him a coin, and he blessed me in the name of Apollo.

'Go back to Hekate,' he said. 'The Crone waits for you, woman, but you will not go into the light yet. In the name of the Sun-Bright, live long and have joy,' said the priest, and he smiled at me.

I found Nauplios in a tavern with Scylla and Kore. He looked up and scanned my face.

'How is it with you, Lady?' he asked.

'I… do not know,' I said, unable to fathom the strange sense of lightness which the god had given me. The children were gone and the hollow was still there; it would never be wholly filled, and I had yet to mourn them fittingly. But I no longer wanted to die. In fact, I had been forbidden to die.

Nauplios filled a cup and I drank.

I could taste the wine.

 

It was a slow journey, because we were all tired.

It is not far from Delphi to Athens. A good rider with a strong horse can do it in two days. One of the Achaean message-runners can manage it in a day and a night and part of the day, and will come into the market-place when it is emptying for the noon meal.

But the lady Medea seemed exhausted and always hungry, which I found encouraging, because she would eat enough to feed a ploughman and sleep all night and half the day, which meant that we covered only a few stadia before she would say, 'Look for a village, Nauplios,' and I would find us a tavern or a house and tell the owner to prepare a huge meal. This would be consumed as though she had been starving for years, then she would lie down in her cloak and sleep as though stunned.

She did not speak much, but she was noticing the world again. I was content. I was with her, she accepted my company as she accepted that of the dogs - and my devotion, too. Scylla, Kore and I were her faithful followers, and for the moment we were pleased to ride a few hours a day, eat like wolves, and sleep in the new sun.

Spring grew all about us. I gave the lady a sprig of the plum flowers, and she pinned it to her cloak as we rode through the golden blossom and the silver leaves through a landscape so rich and sweet-scented that it seemed that we traversed the Elysian Fields, where heroes dwell after death.

Kore and Scylla grew rested and playful, I stopped jumping at every sound, and slept deeply. I was escorting a mourning woman to some unknown fate, and I was happy.

She had opened the bundle which she had carried so devotedly, but even when she saw the little tunics - hardly the length of my forearm - which her children had worn, she did not weep, and that worried me. Until she mourned them she would never recover.