my trust,
for saving your hide from the breath of the bulls, your
head from the swords
of giants! And the fleece! Flattered like a goose-eyed
country wench
I granted what should have been sacred, what may be
no more, for you,
than a trophy, a tale for carousing boys — but for me
the demise
of honor, the death of childhood, disgrace of my
womanhood!
I tell you I am your wife, Jason — your daughter, your
sister,
and no man’s whore. And I’m coming with you to
Hellas. You swore
you’d fight for me — fight come what may — not leave
me alone
as you diddle with kings. Jason, we’re pledged to one
another,
betrothed in the sight of gods. Abide by that or draw your dagger and slit my throat, give my love its due.
Think, Jason!
What if this king who judges me should send me to
Kolchis—
supposing — incredibly — that my brother keeps his
word, refrains
from sheathing you all in fire before he drags me home to protect his own poor head from my father’s rage.
Can your mind
conceive the cruelty of my father’s revenge? — As for
yourself,
If the goddess of will, as you say, is your protector—
beware!
When was she kind toward cowardice?’ Raising my
arms and eyes
to heaven, I cried, ‘May the glorious Argonauts reach
not Hellas
but Hell! May the fleece disappear like an idle dream,
sink down
to Erebus! And even in Hades’ realm, may howling
furies
drive false Jason from stone to stone for eternity!’ And then, to Jason: ‘You have broken an oath to the
gods. By your own
sweet standard, Reason, my curses cannot miscarry.
For now,
you’re sure of yourself. But wait. I’m nothing in your
eyes, but soon
you’ll know my power, my favor with the gods. Beware
of me!’
“I boiled with rage. I longed to fill all the ship with
fire,
kindle the planking and hurl my flesh to the flames.
But Jason
touched me, soothing. I had terrified him. ‘Medeia,
princess,
beware of yourself!’ And again that voice, still new to
me,
had uncanny power. ‘You begin with complaints,
appeals, but soon
your own blood’s heat makes a holocaust. Call back
your curses.
It’s not finished yet. Perhaps I may prove less vicious
than you think.
Look. Look around you at the Kolchians’ ships. We’re
encircled by a thousand
enemies. Even the natives are ready to attack us to be rid of Apsyrtus as he leads you home to Aietes.
If we dare
strike out at these hordes, well die to a man. Will it
please you more,
sailing back to your father, if all of us are slaughtered,
and you
are all we leave them as a prize? This truce has given
us time.
We must wait — and plan. Bring down Apsyrtus, and his
force — for all
its banners, its chatter of bugles — will clatter to the
ground like a shed.’
“My eyes widened, believing for an instant. The
next, I doubted.
Was he lying? I was sick with anguish. His look was
impenetrable.
I who moved at ease with the primal, lumbering minds of snakes, who knew every gesture of the carrion crow,
the still-eyed
cat, who knew even thoughts of the moon, stared
humbly, baffled,
at the alien eyes of Jason. It seemed impossible that the golden tongue, those gentle hands, could lie.
Searching
vainly for some sure sign — his hands on my arms—
I felt
a violent surge of love, desire not physical merely, but absolute: desire for his god-dark soul. I whispered: ‘Jason, plan now. Evil deeds commit their victims to responses evil as the deeds themselves. If what you
say
is true — if my brother’s forces will collapse when my
brother falls,
and if that, as you claim, was your hope when you
sealed that heartless truce—
then once again, I can help you. Call Apsyrtus to you. Keep him friendly. Offer him splendid gifts, and when his heralds are taking them away, I’ll speak and
persuade them to arrange
a meeting between us — my brother and myself. They’ll
do it, I think.
They no more wish me sorrow than does my brother.
When we meet,
slay him. I will not blame you for it. The murder’s our
one
last hope.’
“And still Lord Jason’s eyes were impenetrable, studying me. His swordsman’s hands closed tighter on
my arms,
as if horrified. But at last he nodded, the barest flick, revealing no sign of his reasons. My anguish was
greater than before:
on one side, terror that he scorned me for the plan,
seized it merely
as the skillful, methodical killer I knew he was; on
the other,
sorrow for Apsyrtus. He’d thrown me up on his
shoulders as a child,
had shaken snow-apples down for me from hillside
trees.
Despite all that, he would drag me to my father’s
torture rooms.
Was I more cruel? But my mind flinched back. It was
not a question
for reason. There was no possibility of reason, no
possibility
of justice, virtue, innocence, on any side.
“So that,
mind blank, heart pounding in terror and
self-condemnation, I watched
as Jason in his scarlet mantle, all stitched with
bewildering figures,
laid out gifts for Apsyrtus, with the Argonauts’ help.
Black Idas
watched me, smiling to himself, and soon the trap was
set.
I watched Lord Jason debating in his mind the final
gift—
the mantle of scarlet that Argus wove, majestic but
gloomy—
it sent out a dull, infernal light — or the sky blue mantle King Thoas gave to Hypsipyle when she wept and
spared him,
sending him out on the sea. The son of Aison chose the blue, hurled it on the pile as if in anger; then, suddenly smiling, transformed, he came where I stood.
The heralds
approached. My mind went strangely calm, as calm as it
was
when I charmed the guardian snake. They left with the
message. When I
had come to the temple of Artemis — so the message
ran—
Apsyrtus must meet me, under cover of night. I would
steal the fleece
and return with the treasure to Aietes, to bargain for
my life. Such was
the lure. I know pretty well how Apsyrtus received it,
sweet brother!
His heart leaped up and he laughed aloud. ‘Ah, Medeia! Brilliant, magnificent Medeia of the many wiles!’ He
could scarcely
wait for nightfall, pacing restless on his ship and
smiling,
beaming at his sister’s guile.
“The sun hung low in the heavens,
reluctant to set, but at last, blood red with rage, it sank. As soon as darkness was complete he came to me,
speeding in his ship,
and landed on the sacred island in the dead of night.
Unescorted,
he rushed to the torchlit room where I waited and paced.
He seized me
with a cry of joy, proud of my Kolchian cunning. And