rise up against us on every
side. We yoke our team in the morning; by evening
we’re through
our harvesting. That is what we do. If you, my good
man,
can manage the same, you can carry the fleece to your
tyrant’s palace
on the same day. If not, then you shall not have it.
Make no
mistake: It would be wrong for the grandson of
dragons to truckle to a coward.’
“Lord Jason
listened with his gaze fixed on the floor. For a long time he said nothing, turning it over in his
mind.
At last he brought out: Your Majesty, right’s on your
side and you leave
us no escape whatever. Therefore we’ll take your
challenge,
despite its preposterous terms and although we’re aware
that we’re courting
death. Men can serve no crueler tyrant than Necessity, a lord whose maniac whims brook no man’s reasoning and no appeal to kindness.’
“He wasn’t much comforted
by my father’s sinister reply: ‘Go, join your company. You’ve shown your relish for the task. Be aware: if
you hesitate
to yoke those bulls, or shirk that deadly harvesting, I’ll take up the matter myself, in a manner calculated to make all other men shrink from coming and
troubling their betters.’
They left. My heart flew after them. He was
beautiful, I thought,
and already as good as dead. I was overwhelmed with
pity
and I fled to my room to weep. What did it mean, this
grief?
Hero or villain (and why did I care which? ) the man was walking to his doom. Well, let him go! I had seen
men die
before, and would again. What matter? —But my sobs
grew fierce,
tearing my chest for a stranger! ‘And yet how I wish
he’d been spared,’
I moaned.‘—O sovereign Hekate, grant me my prayer!
Let him live
and return to his home. But goddess, if he must be
conquered by the bulls,
may he first learn that I, for one, will be far from glad
of it!’
The voice fell silent. I continued to listen in the
dark. Then:
“On the ship, her lean bows virled with silver, black
hull bruised
and cracked, resealed with oakum—the scars of narrow
escapes;
pounding of the stormwaves, battering of rocks—the
crew of the Argo
listened in silence to the water lapping, the bullfrogs
of the marsh.
“Then Melas spoke, my cousin, the boldest of
Phrixos’ sons—
bolder by far than my sister. ‘Lord Jason, I’ve a plan
to suggest.
You may not like it, but no expedient should be left
untried
in an emergency. You’ve heard me speak of Aietes’
daughter
Medeia, a witch, and priestess of Hekate. If we managed
to win
her help, we’d have nothing to fear. Let me sound my
mother out
and see if Medeia can be swayed.’ The son of Aison
laughed
(I forgive him that), and said, ‘Things are serious
indeed when the one
pale hope of the glorious Argonauts is a girl!’ All the
same,
he put it to the others. For a time they were silent in
impotent despair.
For all their power, there was no man there who could
yoke those oxen;
not even Idas was so far riven of his wits as to dream he might. Melas spoke again. ‘Do not underestimate Medeia. The goddess Hekate has taught her
extraordinary skill
with spells both black and white, and with all the
magic herbs
that grow on land or in water or climb on the walls
of caves.
She can put out a raging forest fire, stop rivers in spate, arrest a star, check even the movements of the moon.
My mother,
her sister, can make her our firm ally.’
“They wouldn’t have believed,
but the gods, who watch men enviously, deprived by
nature
of man’s potential for sorrow and joy, broke in on
the Argonauts’
helplessness with a sign. A dove pursued by a hawk dropped into Jason’s lap, while the hawk, with its
murderous speed,
was impaled on the mascot at the stem. Immediately
Mopsos spoke:
unmistakable.
This gentle bird whose life was spared is Jason’s and
belongs
to her. Go, Melas, and speak with your mother.’
The Argonauts
applauded; and so it was decided. At once young Melas
set off.
“Poor Khalkiope! The princess was chilled to the
bone with fear.
Suppose Medeia should be shocked and, stiff with the
righteousness of youth,
tell all? Suppose, on the other hand, she agreed and,
aiding
the Argonauts, should be caught by that half-mad
wizard?—Either way
horror and shame and sorrow!
“Meanwhile Medeia lay
in her bed asleep, all cares forgotten—but not for long. Dreams soon assailed her, bleak nightmares of a soul
in pain.
She dreamed that the stranger had accepted the
challenge, but not in the hope
of winning the golden fleece: his plan was to carry
her away
to his home in the South as his bride. She dreamed
that she, Medeia,
was yoking the bulls of bronze. She found it easy work, pleasant as flying. She managed it almost listlessly. But when all was done, her father was enraged. The
brother she’d loved
past all other men stepped in. Old Aietes struck him
with a club,
then, horrified, broken, he gave the decision to her:
she could do
as she pleased. Without a moment’s thought, she turned
her back
on her father. Aietes screamed. And with the scream
she woke.
“She sat up, shivering with fright, and peered round
the walls of her room.
Slowly reality crept back, or something akin to reality: an airy dream she mistook for memory of Jason.
Why could
he not stay home, court Akhaian girls, torment the kings of Hellas, and leave poor Medeia alone to her
spinsterhood?
Tears sprang to her eyes; in one quick motion of mind and body, she leaped from her bed and, barefoot,
rushed to the door
and opened it. She would go to her sister—away with
this foolish
modesty! She crossed the threshold, but once outside, was uncertain, ashamed. She turned, went back into
her room again.
Again she came out, and again crept back. Three times
Medeia
tried, and three times failed. She clenched her fists
in fury
and threw herself face down on the bed and writhed
in pain.
Then, lying still, she was aware of the softness of her
breasts. She whispered
the stranger’s name, and at the magic word—more
powerful spell
than any she’d learned from Hekate—her tears came
flooding.
“Presently one of the servants, her own young maid,
came in
and, seeing Medeia in tears, ran swiftly to Khalkiope, who was sitting with Melas, considering how they might
best win Medeia’s
aid. When Khalkiope heard the girl’s story, she jumped
up, terrified,
and hurried to her sister. ‘Medeia!’ she cried, ‘what’s the
meaning of these tears?
Has Father told you some awful fate he’s decided on for my sons?’
“Medeia blushed. How hungry she was to give answer! But her heart was chained by shame. Ah, time and
again the truth
was there on the tip of her tongue, and time and
again she swallowed it.
Her lips moved; but no words came. Then her mind’s
eye
saw Jason gazing at the floor before Aietes, slyly
preparing
some answer to stall his wrath. Inspired by the image,
Medeia
brought out: ‘Oh, sister, I’m terrified for your sons. It
seems
our father will certainly kill them, and the strangers
with them. I had
a terrible vision just now, and I saw it all.’
“It was Khalkiope’s turn to weep. The tears ran
rivers down her cheeks.
Medeia furtively watched, her heart like a fluttering
bird. ‘
I knew it!’ Khalkiope gasped between sobs. ‘I’ve been
thinking the same.
That’s what brought me to your room. Dear Medeia, I
beg you to help me.
First, swear by earth and heaven you won’t tell a word
of what I say,
but will work with me to save them. By the blessed gods,
I implore you,
do not stand by while my precious children are
murdered! If you do,
may I be slain with them and afterward haunt you
from hell, an avenging fury!’
“With that she burst into tears once more, sank down,
and
throwing her arms round her sister’s knees and burying
her head
in Medeia’s lap, sobbed as if her heart would burst.
The younger sister, too,
wept long and hard. Throughout all the house you could hear their lamentations.
“Medeia was the first to speak: ‘
Sister, you leave me speechless with your talk of curses
and furies.
How can I ease your heartache? As God is my judge,
Khalkiope—
and by earth and heaven, and by all the powers of
land and sea—
I will help you to save your sons with whatever strength
or skill
I have.’
“Then Khalkiope said, ‘Could you not devise some
scheme,
some cunning ruse that will save the stranger, for my
children’s sake?
He needs you as much as they do, Medeia. Oh, do not
be merciless!’
“The girl’s heart leaped, her cheeks crimsoned; her
eyes grew misty
with joyful tears. ‘Khalkiope, dearest, I’ll do anything
at all
to please my sister and her sons. May I never again see
morning
and no mortal see me in the world again if I place any
good
ahead of the lives of your sons, my beloved kinsmen.
Now go,
and bury my promise in silence. At dawn I will go to
the temple
with magic medicine for the bulls.’ Khalkiope left,
carrying
her news of success to her son. But Medeia, alone once
more,
was sick with shame and fear at her daring to plot
such things
in defiance of her father’s will.
“Night drew down darkness on the world;
on the ship the Argonauts looked toward the Bear and
the stars of Orion.
Wanderers and watchmen longed for sleep. The cloak of
oblivion
stilled both sorrow and laughter. At the edges of town,
dogs ceased
to bark, and men ceased calling one another. Silence
reigned
in the blackening gloom. But sleep did not come to
Medeia. More clear
than the bedroom walls, the stars beyond the window
frame,
she saw the great bulls, and Jason confronting them.
She saw him fall,
the great horns tearing at his bowels. And the maiden’s
poor heart raced,
restless as a patch of moonlight dancing up and down
on a wall
as the swirling water poured into a pail reflects it.
Bright tears
ran down her cheeks, and anguish tortured her, a
golden fire
in her veins. One moment she thought she would give
him the magic drug;
the next she thought, no, she would sooner die; and the
next she’d do neither,
but patiently endure. And so, as Jason had done before
Aietes,
she debated in painful indecision, her eyes clenched
shut. She whispers:
“ ‘Evil on this side, evil on that; and I have no choice but to choose between them. Would I’d been slain by
Artemis’ arrows
before I had ever laid eyes on that man! Some god,
some fury
must have brought him here with his cargo of grief and
shame. Let him
be killed, if that is his fate. And how can I get him
the drug
without my father’s knowledge of it? What story can
I tell
that his dragon’s eye won’t pierce?’ Then, suddenly
panicky, she thought:
‘Do I meet him alone? And speak with him? And even
if he dies,
what hope have I of happiness? Far blacker evils than any I toy with now will strike my heart if Jason dies! Enough! No more shame, no more glory! Saved
from harm,
let Jason sail where he pleases, and let me die. On the
day
of his triumph may my neck crack in a noose from
the rooftree, or may
I fall to the sly bite of poison.’ She saw it in her mind
and wept:
and saw that even in death she’d be taunted like mad
Jokasta,
who bucked in bed with her royal son, and every city, far or near, would ring with her doom—the wily little
whore
who threw away life for a stranger! Then better to
die,’ she thought,
this very night, in my room, slip out of the world
unnoticed,
still innocent.’
“She ran out quickly for the casket that held
her potions—some for healing, others for destruction—
and placing
the casket on her knees, she bent above it and wept.
Tears ran
unchecked down her cheeks, and she saw her corpse
stretched out in state,
beautiful and tragic. The city howled, and fierce Aietes tore out his hair in tufts and cursed his wickedness, he who’d brought his daughter to this sad pass. She
was now
determined to snatch some poison from the box and
swallow it,
and in a moment she was fumbling with the lid in her
sorrowing eagerness …
but suddenly paused. Clear as a vision, she had seen
death,
at the corner of her eye. An empty
room, a curtain
blowing,
some dim memory or snatch from a dream … There
was icy wind
whistling in the walls of her skull, collapsing her chest
like the roof
of an abandoned palace. And now the pale child’s lip
trembled.
She thought of her playmates—more girl than woman—
and the scent of fire
in the temple, and of caracolling birds and of newly
hatched birds in their nests
in the plane trees, cheeping to heaven. And all at once
it seemed
she had no choice but to live, because life was love—
every field
and hillside shouted the same—and love was Jason.
“She rose,
put the box in its place. Irresolute no longer, she waited for dawn, when she could meet him, deliver the drug to
him
as promised. Time after time she would suddenly open
her eyes
believing it must be morning, but the room was black.
“At length
dawn came. Now the tops of the mountains were alight,
and now the spring-
green stath where the flamebright river flowed past
long-shadowed trees,
and now there were sounds in the peasant huts, the
stone and wattle
barns. Medeia was filled with joy, as if risen from the
dead,
and her mind went hungrily to meet the light, the smell
of new blossoms,
and newploughed ground and the sweat of horses. And
she whispered, ‘Yes,’
and was ready.
“She gathered the flamebright locks that swirled past
her shoulders,
washed the stains from her tear-puffed cheeks and
cleansed her skin
with an ointment clear as nectar. She put on a beautiful
robe
with cunning broaches, and draped a silvery veil across her forehead and hair, all quickly, deftly, moving about oblivious to imminent evils, and worse to come.
“She called
her maidens, the twelve who slept in the ante-chamber
of Medeia’s
room, and told them to yoke white mules to her chariot
at once,
as she wished to drive to the splendid temple of
Hekate.
And while they were making the chariot ready, she
took out a drug
from her casket. He who smoothed it on his skin, after
offering prayer
to Hekate, would become for that one day invulnerable. She had taken the drug from flowers that grew on twin
stalks
a cubit high, of saffron color. The root was like flesh that has just been cut, and the juice was like sap from a
mountain oak.
The dark earth shook and rumbled underneath her