to him again,
abandon all sorrow and guilt forever, as if such things were childhood fantasy, and only this — his twinkling
eyes,
his laugh, his comb, his silent, sunlit glade — were real. I could step, if I wished, from my sanity to peace. I
resisted,
perhaps for fear of Jason.
“We came to Circe’s isle.
“At Jason’s command, the Argonauts cast the hawsers
and moored
the ship. We soon found Circe bathing where spindrift
rained
on shale. That night she’d been alarmed by visions: the
walls of her palace
were wet with blood, it seemed to her, and flames were
devouring
the magic herbs she used for bewitching strangers. With
the gore
of a murdered man she quenched the flame, catching
the blood
in her hands. It clung to her skin and garments. When
she awoke, at dawn,
the mood of the dream was still upon her, and so she’d
come
to lie in the spray by the pounding surf and be cleansed.
As she lay there
it seemed to her in a waking dream that saurian beasts flopped from the water — beasts neither animal nor
human, confused
and foul, as if earth’s primeval slime were producing
them, testing
its powers in the age before rain, when the terrible sun
was king.
As she looked, the creatures took on, more and more,
the appearance of men.
She rose, watching them with witch’s eyes, and stepped
back softly
in the direction of the grave-dark grove and the palace
beyond. With her hand
she beckoned, a movement like wind in a sapling. And
the Argonauts, trapped
in the power of her spell, came after her. The son of
Aison
reached out, touched my hand. He knew — though
helpless to resist,
unable to command his men to stay — that Aietes’ sister would prove no friend, her eyes as soulless as my
father’s, her girlish
beauty as deadly as Aietes’ anguine strength. At his
touch
I wakened. I gazed around me in alarm, like a
life-prisoner
startled from pleasant dreams to his dungeon reality. They walked like men asleep, smiling.On the terry
ahead,
the demonic witch smiled back. She had hair like a
raven’s, a smile
malicious, seductive, uncertain as the shifting patterns
of leaves
on her ghostly face. With the long fingers of her left
hand
she touched her breast, then gently, gently, dark eyes
staring,
she moved the tips of her fingers to the cloud of hair
that bloomed
below. Make no mistake: it was not mere sex wise
Circe
lured them with. She promised violence, knowledge like
the gods’,
forbidden mysteries deeper than innocence or guilt.
— Nor think
that I could prove any match for her, witch against
witch. Helpless,
in anguish at Jason’s appeal for help, I cried out, ‘Circe! Spare them!”
“The queen witch swung her glowing eyes to me
and knew that I too was of Helios’ race, for the
children of the sun
have eyes like no other mortals. At once, with a curious
smile,
she unmade the spell, as though her mind were far
away,
and Jason signalled his men to wait, and we two alone went up with Circe to her palace.
“The queen of witches drew on
her sable mantle and signalled the two of us over to
chairs
of gold. We did not sit, but went to the hearth at once and sat among ashes, in the age-old manner of
suppliants.
I buried my face in both my hands, and Jason fixed in the cinders the treasure-hilted sword with which he’d
slain
Apsyrtus. We could not meet her eyes. She understood, smiling that curious smile again, mind far away; and in reverence to the ancient
ordinance of Zeus,
the god of wrath but of mercy as well, she began to offer the sacrifice that cleanses murderers of guilt. To atone for the murder still unexpiated, she held above our heads the young of a sow whose dugs swelled yet
from the fruit
of the womb, and slitting its throat, she sprinkled our
hands with the blood;
and she made propitiation with offerings of wine, calling on Zeus the Cleanser, hope of the murder-stained, who
seize
in maniac pride what belongs to the gods alone; and all defilements her attendants bore from the palace.
Then Circe, by the hearth,
burned cakes unleavened, and prayed that Zeus might
calm the furies,
whether our festering souls were stained by the blood
of a stranger
or a kinsman.
“When all this ritual was done, she raised us up
and led us to the golden chairs; and she herself sat
near,
facing us. At once she asked us our names and business and why we had come here as suppliants. For she
remembered her dreams,
and she longed to hear the voice of her unknown
kinswoman.
I answered, telling her all she asked, sick at heart, answering softly in the Kolchian tongue. But I shrank from speaking of the murder of Apsyrtus.
Yet Circe knew,
shrewd on the habits of devils and men. And yet in part she forgave me, for pity. She touched my hair, watching the flicker of the fire in it, remembering things.
‘Then Circe said: Poor wretch, you have
contrived, it seems, the unhappiest of home-comings. You cannot escape for long your father’s wrath, I think. The wrongs you have done him are intolerable, and
surely he’ll soon
reach Hellas to have his revenge for your brother’s
murder. However,
since you are my suppliant and niece, I’ll not increase
your sorrows
by opposing your wishes through any active enmity. But leave my halls. Companion the stranger, whoever
he is,
this foreign prince you’ve chosen in your father’s
despite. And do not
kneel to me at my hearth in the hope of my own
forgiveness,
though I’ve granted you, as I must, the ritual of Zeus.
If your peace
depends upon Circe’s love, you will find no peace.’
With that,
smiling past us, solemn eyes unfathomable, she left us to find our way out however we might.
I wept,
my anguish and terror measureless. Then Jason touched my hand, raised me to my feet, and led me from the
hall. And so
in part the demands of Zeus were satisfied. The gods had forgiven, though Circe had not. Yet soon came
reason for hope
that the curse was at least much weakened. If Circe’s
heart was stone,
not all our kind was so cruel. Or so it seemed to me, weighing the curse in my mind, on the watch for
omens.
“In the gray
Karaunian sea, fronting the Ionian Straits, there lies a rich and spacious island, border of the kingdom of
the living
and the dead — the isle of the Phaiakians, whose oarless
barques
transport men, silent and swift as dreams, from the
flicker of shadows
to the sweaty labor of day. There, after months and
sorrows,
the Argo touched. The king, with all his people, received
us
with open arms. They sent up splendid thank-offerings, and all the island feted us. The joyful Argonauts mingled with the crowds and enjoyed themselves like