John Gardner - Jason and Medeia

plan is right.

I chide myself: Why this madness, Medeia? Why this

anger

at the land’s rulers, and the lord who acts for your own

good

and the children’s? Why this sorrow? Is heaven not

once again

proved kind? Have you forgotten, woman, that the four

of you

are friendless exiles bound to fight in whatever way you can for survival? So, by stages, I’ve come to

myself

and have seen how dangerously foolish I was. So now

I’ve come

to grant my approval of all you’ve done, and to beg your

forgiveness.

It was I myself who was wrong; you were not. I should

have shared

in your plans and lent you aid; I should have

countenanced

the match and ministered joyfully to your bride. But

we are

as we are — I will not say evil, but — women. You were

wise, as always,

refusing to vie with me, matching folly against folly.

My spirit

is saner now. I yield to you and confess, I was wrong.” Then, to the children: “Sons, speak to your father. Be

reconciled.

Let this terrible battle between dear friends be ended.” Weeping, she raised their hands to Jason’s knees, and

Jason

took them, clasping them fondly, his eyes full of tears.

No wonder

if his heart refused, that instant, to believe it treachery.

He said: “Lady, most noble of all women living, I praise you now beyond all praise in the past. And I gladly excuse your

anger.

Small wonder if a woman’s wrath be kindled when her

husband turns

to another wife. But now your mood’s more sane, and

you

perceive, though late, where our welfare lies. And you,

my sons,

away with these tears! For I dare to hope — the gods

willing—

you’ll be rich and powerful yet in Corinth. Grow strong!

Leave all

the rest in your father’s hands. May I live to see you

reach

the prime of youthful vigor, envy of my enemies!”

He paused, studying Medeia. “Why these fresh tears?”

he said.

“Why this turning away of your face?”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “My heart was brooding on the children.”

“But why in such terrible sorrow?” “I bore them. And when you prayed just now that they

reach their prime,

a sad foreboding came over me, a fear of the future.” He looked at her, his face thoughtful and sorrowful at

once.

“Take heart, Medeia,” he said. They shall not lack my

protection.”

She nodded. “I will, husband, and will not mistrust your

words.

— But of that which I came here to say I’ve said only a

part, my lord.

Let me say now the rest: Since it’s Kreon’s will that I be banished — and I grant that’s best, vexatious to

Kreon’s house

and to you — I will go into exile. But as for our two

dear sons,

I beg you, let Kreon not banish them, nor banish them

yourself,

since you’ve won more power in this hall than you like

to admit. Let them live

in Corinth, reared in the palace, so that no one may

doubt the right

you’ve promised them.”

“I doubt I have power sufficient to move him so far, Medeia,” he said, “though I may have such power

in theory.

And yet I’ll try.”

“Let your bride entreat him, for surely then—” “I will, yes.” He thought about it for a moment,

frowning.

“I may persuade her.”

“You will, if the woman’s like other women. And I’ll help you, Jason. I’ll send our children with gifts

for her,

a golden gown and wreath so beautiful no living mortal has seen their match.” She turned to the slave

Agapetika

and took those gifts from the old woman’s hands. The

old woman’s eyes

threw a wild appeal to Jason, but she could not speak,

her tongue

turned stone by Medeia’s spell. Medeia said, “She’ll be

blessed

a thousandfold, winning you, most splendid of heroes,

for her spouse

and dowered with treasures from Helios.” And then, to

her sons:

“Children, take these gifts in your hands and carry them

to her

as your father directs. They’re gifts no woman could

refuse.”

But Jason held back in fear, having recognized the cloth. He said, casting about for some stratagem by which he might be more sure of her, “No, wait, Medeia! Why cast away this finest of treasures? — for surely that cloth is the

fleece from Aia.

The princess has robes and gold enough. Keep it for

yourself,

a sure protection from hardship and suffering in exile.

If my bride

esteems me at all, she’ll prize my wish beyond any

mere treasure.”

Medeia said, “My lord, I have not chosen lightly these gifts I bring.” Sadly, solemnly, she met his eyes. “How is a woman to prove to the man she’s given her life that, following his wish, she renounces all earthly claim

to him?

This cloth was, to me, chief proof and symbol of our

steadfast love.

Giving it away — that which I prize beyond all other

wealth—

I give you away, my husband, and all our past together, for our sons. To me, it’s a gift no less than Khalkiope

gave

for hers. Do not shame me, or reduce me to

insignificance,

by refusing this queenly gesture. I’m left with no other

I can make.

You know me, Jason. Have mercy on my pride. I’d give

my life,

not merely gold, to save my sons from banishment.”

Then Jason believed her, and, placing the golden

gown and wreath

in his two sons’ hands, he said, “Wait here, and we’ll

test the power

of your gifts at once,” and he rose to lead them to

Pyripta’s room.

Medeia said, “Children, speak bravely when you meet

with your father’s new bride,

my mistress now, and beg her to save you from

banishment.

And don’t forget: with her own hands she must receive

our presents.

Hurry now, and the gods be with you! Return to me soon with the news I’m eager to hear.”

Then the children left with Jason, the old male slave attending. The sea-kings watched

them leave,

no man daring a whisper. In time they returned again, and Jason said, “You’ve done well, Medeia. Your sons

are spared.

The royal bride has received your gifts with gracious

hands.

Henceforth I hope for peace between our family’s

branches.”

He studied her, baffled despite all his years of

knowledge of her,

his mind clouded by the thought that the fleece was

still with him, his curse.

“Why so distraught?”

“A pain, my lord.”

“Such moans seem strange when I bring you joyful news.”

She covered her eyes, groaning. He said, now deeply troubled, “Can there be in what

you’ve done

some harm still undetected?”

“I was thinking of the past,” she said. “I loved you, Jason. I would have thought even a man

might grieve.

But now we’ll go. All I came for is done.” With her slaves

and children

she moved like one in a nightmare toward the door.

With his eyes

he followed them. After they left, he turned slowly, his heart racing, back toward Pyripta’s room. He knew he’d missed something, but for all his cunning, he

couldn’t guess what,

or whether the things were already accomplished or

just now beginning.

His heart was filled with fear, suddenly, for Medeia’s

life,

as her boundless rage turned inward. He could feel now

all around

him a rush, as if Time had grown sensible, and volcanic.

Below,

far ahead of the old, tortuously moving slaves, Medeia hurried with the children, bending her head