John Gardner - Jason and Medeia

minds,

fearing for my life, fearing for his own if he incurred

our father’s

wrath. And so in anguish he set down watchmen as

he passed,

to report, by the blowing of horns or flashing of mirrors,

if we

on the Argo sailed behind him. The message soon

came. In sorrow,

he drew up his fleet as a net.

“Ah, Jason, reasonable Jason!

Had not the moon’s song warned me? — ‘my light, my

life-long heartache!’

But reasonable, yes. If the Argonauts, outnumbered as

they were,

had dared to fight, they’d have met with disaster. They

evaded battle

by coming to terms with Apsyrtus. Both sides agreed

that, since

Aietes himself had said they’d be given the golden fleece if Jason accomplished his appointed task, the fleece was

theirs

by right — Apsyrtus would blink their manner of taking

it.

But as for me — for I was the bone of contention

between them—

they must place me in chancery with Artemis, and

leave me alone

till one of the kings who sit in judgment could decide

on the fate

most just — return to my father or flight with the

Argonauts.

“I listened in horror as Aithalides told me the

terms. I paled,

fought down an urge to laugh. Had they still no glimpse

of the darkness

in Kolchian hearts? Could Jason believe that, free of

me,

Apsyrtus would sweetly make way for them — rude

strangers who’d burned

his father’s ships, seduced his sister, set strife between a brother and sister as dear to each other as earth

and sky?

He must carry me home or abandon Kolchis; but once

his sister

was off their Argo, he’d sink that ship like a stone.

— Yet rage

burned hotter by far in my heart than scorn. I trembled,

imagining

the tortures that king, old sky-fire’s child, would devise

for me.

He had loved me well, loved me as he loved his golden

gates,

his gifts from Helios and Ares. No need to talk of reason in Aietes’ pyre of a brain. He’d become a man like the

gods,

like seasons, like a falling avalanche. Not all the earth

could wall out the rage

of the sun’s child, Lord of the Bulls.

“And so I could not rest

till I’d spoken with Jason in private. When I saw my

chance I beckoned,

getting him to leave his friends. When I’d brought him

far enough,

I spoke, and Jason learned to his sorrow what his

captive was.

His mind took it in. No spells, no charms would I use

on him,

though I might by my craft have had all I wished with

ease. Lips trembling,

cheeks white fire, I charged him: ‘My lord, what is this

plan

that you and my brother have arranged for my smooth

disposal? Has all

your triumph fuddled your memory? Have you forgotten

all

you swore before heaven when driven to seek out my

help? Where are

those solemn oaths you swore by Zeus, great god of

suppliants?

Where are the honey-sweet speeches I believed when

I threw away conscience,

abandoned my homeland, turned the high magic of gods

to the work

of thieves? Now I’m carried away, once a powerful

princess, become

your barter, your less-than-slave! All this in return for

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.