Medea (7 page)

Someone was standing next to me. Jason, averting his eyes. I went to him and reached out my hand, but he would not take it.

'My lord,' I begged. 'Take my hand.'

'I almost killed you, Nauplios,' he muttered.

'No, you saved me. You cut the boar's throat when he had swallowed my spear and was about to swallow me,' I said, but he would not smile.

'I attacked too soon and missed my mark,' he said.

'Yes,' I agreed.

'And when it felled you, I froze,' he confessed. 'I was afraid.'

'So was I. Hippos says I must forgive you, and I do, if you need forgiveness.'

'You forgive me?' he said, looking into my face for the first time. He was as pale as marble.

'I forgive you,' I said, kissing him on the brow in token of this, as is the Achaean custom. He embraced me, and I felt him draw a sharp breath.

Then we turned to watch the centaurs. For a while I could not understand what I was seeing. The naked men were pursuing small figures, masked with horse-masks like the one which Hippos wore. Belts around their waists held horse tails which bobbed and wove in the warm air. Then one ran close enough for us to see the breasts of a young woman, the spangle of sweat on her belly and pubic hair. She was out of breath and collapsed to her knees right beside our rock.

There her pursuer caught her. He, too, was masked, but it was a young man, his tattoo still bleeding. He grabbed her by the shoulders and mounted her in one movement like a stallion mounts a mare, roughly and from behind. She cried lamentably, wincing away from the hard thrusts, but his weight was on her and she was mastered. It was over in moments. He pushed her away, so that she fell on knees which must have been bruised.

I was aroused and shocked. My phallus rose at her nakedness, but I was sorry for the maiden. She was a maiden no longer, wiping a hand over her insulted genitalia and sobbing at the sight of her own blood.

The centaur sighted us. He did not lift his mask, but I heard him say 'Brother' to Jason and me. It was Philos, who had held my hand gently as we lay in the healing waters. His groin was dabbled with the maiden's blood and I heard him laugh.

He seized the girl and pushed her to her knees again, presenting her to us as a cow is presented to a bull. Her buttocks were pale, her hair parted over the nape of her neck, and the horse's tail flowed between her legs. Jason looked at me. I said nothing as my lord knelt and took her, as he had a right to take what was offered; and I watched his face grow blank, like a carving, as his body moved against her and inside her. He groaned and stiffened in every muscle. When he withdrew from her he was also marked with her blood.

'It is not the custom of my father's people,' I said to Philos as he pushed me toward the girl, 'to mate in plain sight.'

I took the girl by the hand and helped her up. She followed me behind the rock into the shadow of the bushes. I let her down onto the moss and said, 'I will not hurt you.'

'You alone of all men,' she said softly. I removed the mask to see her face. She was very young. She was beautiful, even tear stained and shaking as she was.

'They will notice if you do not have my blood on you,' she said.

'Give me some, then,' I replied. She reached between her thighs and smeared me with blood. The phallus rose at her touch, so sweet a touch that I gasped.

'I would please you,' she said.

'I will not mate with you. You bleed enough for one festival.' I was still disgusted by the centaur's mating, their violence to their women.

'Lie down,' she said, 'and I will please you without hurting myself.'

I lay down under the bushes, in the scent of sweat and smoke and blood, and the centaur woman caressed me with her mouth and her hands, her breasts soft against my thighs, and I felt a rush of fire, and cried aloud.

 

My father was ill for many weeks. There was no immediate opportunity to inform him that his suspicions as to who was conspiring to take over his throne were directed entirely the wrong quarter. Besides, he would not hear a word against Aegialeus, his only son.

When Aetes became king, the oracle of Ammon - the Achaeans call him Apollo - had spoken. Thus I had been told as a child, to explain why my father never came to see me or my sister. A bronze horn had blown without human breath and a great voice had said from the sanctuary:

Thanatos selects from Colchis' herd; his calves or his cows.

'It is hard to love something which must die,' said Trioda in explanation. I had stored both the oracle and the clarification for future reference, for Trioda seldom answered further questions. Now I understood. Although I had seen the queen's care for my father, although he lay in her arms, he could not afford to love her because he had understood the oracle: if his children should live then his wives would die; as Chalkiope's mother had died, as mine had died, bearing us. He could not love us, for we had killed his wives. The anniversaries of our births were days of mourning for our father.

'The seed of Aetes is black,' said Trioda, 'death-bearing'.

I felt fortunate that I was a dedicated maiden, never to bear fruit, for the seed of Aetes was in me. Then again, my sister's children were strong and fine. Perhaps the seed of Phrixos the stranger, was strong enough to overcome the dark. I said as much to Trioda as we compounded yet another combination of heart-strengthening herbs. My father was responding to the medicines, although he flatly refused to allow us to sacrifice to Hekate on his behalf. The shaven, white-robed priests of Ammon visited every day and had interceded for Aetes of Colchis, slaying the bull who is the avatar of their god. I could smell burning flesh from the temple of the Sun as I ground foxglove in a mortar.

'The sons of Phrixos are healthy,' Trioda said, pouring one decoction into another. 'But death is everywhere."

'Surely,' I agreed. This was a ritual statement.

'Closer than you might think, Princess,' she added. I stopped grinding.

'Mistress, do you mean that my father's illness is induced, and that the sons of Phrixos are plotting to take over, as he thinks?'

'Tssh, daughter, do not speak so plainly! I mean, maiden, that death is everywhere. Consider the situation, Medea.' She lowered her voice and I moved closer so that I could hear her. The scent of the herbs was making me giddy.

'There are only two daughters of Colchis who could be married to provide the right to the kingship. There is you, daughter, but you are a priestess of Hekate and maiden and She Who Meets would lay a powerful curse on any who took you to wife, willing or unwilling.'

I resumed pounding the herb so I did not have to look at her. It was time to tell Trioda of Aegialeus' plans, but I was hot with shame that I had endured his hands on my maiden body.

'I would never be willing. It is my half-brother who wants this, he touched me, Trioda, when I went to the king. He wishes for Aetes' death, Mistress.'

'Yes, yes, it is against all nature,' she said dismissively, unshocked, as though she already knew of my brother's assault on me and his revolting proposal. 'The seed of Aetes is death to women, and his son is Thanatos' own cousin.

'But listen, Medea. There is your sister, Chalkiope. She is proved fertile, she is a widow, and she had four strong sons. A man who took her would be assured of heirs even if she bore no more children. He would have kinship and kingdom, according to the laws. But…'

'But?' The sun was streaming through the window of the little temple. It was a bare building, wooden, with a tree leaning on either side and leaf litter on the floor for the serpents of the mother. Kore and Scylla lay asleep on the broad steps in the autumn sunshine, twitching occasionally. Trioda and I were working at the big table. Bunches of herbs hung from the roof and baskets contained other ingredients. The big bronze cauldron was simmering on a brazier, beside the copper pot in which we seethe the infusions which cause women to miscarry. No woman in Hekate's kingdom carries a child to term unwilling. Unlike Achaea, a child of rape will not live in Colchis, to give legitimacy to an unholy act.

Along the wall were shelves of scrolls, the accumulated wisdom of the priestesses. I hoped that one day I would write one myself, and the scroll 'Medea' would join the others to be read by a new priestess in a hundred years' time, who might use my compound of feverfew, foxglove and willow bark to save another king's life.

Trioda was looking at me quizzically. I collected my wits and repeated, 'But?'

'But the union which can bring this about is not to be considered.'

I puzzled the sentence out. 'You mean that brothers and sisters cannot marry.'

'In the Black Land, this was the case,' Trioda said, stirring the cauldron. I dropped into it my now very well-mashed foxglove. The decoction was green, for we had added willow bark for the pain.

'Brothers and sisters marry?'

'They do. The king marries his daughter, sometimes, and frequently Pharaoh marries his sister. They are matrilineal, daughter, as we are. The possession of the princess confers the kingship.'

'But the marriage confers no power on the princess,' I reasoned. She gave me the spoon and I took over the stirring. One stirs a decoction for good in a sunwise direction, a poison widdershens, against the sun. This was a healing brew, so I made sure that the spoon always moved to the right.

'No, daughter, that is true. Since the advent of men we have lost all power but knowledge. You have seen the way the people defer to the priestesses of Hekate. They fear us, and fear is the beginning of power. But kingship we have not; nor will we have it again until the world changes. Now, as to your half-brother, avoid him. If he pursues you, daughter, remember your power. How many poisons do you know, Medea?'

'Fifty-three, Mistress,' I said proudly.

'And rituals?'

'The seven blessing and the seven cursing, Mistress. And you promised to teach me the Grove Path.'

'So I did. We will go there after this potion is completed, daughter. Make your heart hard, Medea. I fear some stroke of Ate. Even Hekate cannot always control Fate. We will go and ask the question of the serpent. It is time, in any case, that you met her. You will take over her care when Hekate gathers me to her bosom. I would not leave you unprovided, acolyte. Women have no place in the men's world, ruled by Ammon and the Sun. But in the dark, in secret places, we are more powerful.'

She tasted the brew, nodded, and we poured it into a pottery jar marked with the three-legged cross, the sign of Hekate. Then she collected a series of flasks and a jug of milk mingled with honey, and we left the temple.

Eidyia, the queen, caught us as we came into the women's quarters. She was slim and beautiful, the wife of my father. Her hair was a rich chestnut, for she came from the mountains towards the west, where women are fair and, unafraid of prophecy, men gather gold from the icy streams. Her father had given her to Aetes, the youngest daughter in a house of daughters, even though he knew of the oracle. He had many daughters and could afford to lose one to cement an alliance with Aetes of Colchis. We knew that she had lain with him, but she had not yet conceived.

My father treated her well, if distantly. She was dressed in the finest woven wool, dyed bright red, and she was hung about with gold; a ram's head torc at her throat, a crown, bracelets, rings and an embossed belt. The queen of Colchis wore enough gold to ransom a prince. But her lower lip was caught between her teeth and her smooth brow was furrowed. She held Trioda's sleeve in her soft, perfumed hand. I smelt a waft of summer flowers from her garments and her hair.

'Hekate's maiden, he calls for me again,' she whispered.

Trioda hefted her burden on one bony hip and said, 'Does he so? And are you still resolved, daughter?'

'I want to live,' said the queen almost under her breath. Trioda smiled, rummaged in the basket and produced a tiny flask, like the one which Achaeans put on graves to hold tears. It was sealed with the double seal, which meant that it was poisonous. No priestess wants to put her hands on the wrong flask in the dark. Really lethal concoctions, snake venom or hemlock, have three seals. The queen snatched it and hid it in her cloak, so fast that only a really dedicated watcher would have seen the transaction.

'How is the king?' asked Trioda, easily.

'He is recovering,' replied Eidyia. 'The medicines are working. And, of course, the prayers of the temple of Ammon,' she added hastily.

'They are eating well while the king's illness continues,' said Trioda dryly. 'They sacrifice a bull daily and feast on beef after the god has eaten his portion. When he recovers, they will chafe at their diet of pulse and grain. Do not allow them to give him any potions, daughter and lady.'

The queen nodded. Her silky hair fell forward over her face. I think she was afraid of Trioda. I bent my head for her blessing, and gave it quickly, then was gone into the women's quarters in a swirl of scarlet.

I was pleased with that cloak. It had been my first attempt at dyeing a fine colour. One finds the galls on oak trees in which the insects are working, and sprinkles them with new wine to prevent the emergence of the moth - though one out of five must be marked for the goddess, or the tribe of worms will die out. Then one steeps the galls in boiling water, and extracts the dye. It is concentrated, and I coloured my hands red for half a moon before it wore off. But the cloak had held up well through washing, even though Trioda said I had used too much salt to fix it. Salt comes from Poti and is very expensive. What decoction, I asked myself, was the queen requiring of Hekate, and why? Was she poisoning my father?

I could not ask Trioda while we were in the palace. We went to the king's chamber, but were denied - the attendant said he was asleep. The slave had a black bruise across half his face, indicating that the king's temper had not improved. Trioda sat him down and applied all-heal ointment to the hot swollen skin. I noticed how the boy relaxed under her hands - deft, sure, and drinking in his pain. When she let him rise again, he was relieved but wary, as though, perhaps, her treatment had stolen something from him.