John Gardner - Jason and Medeia

his arm

like rock. So we stood as we fell, dropped down from

a dizzying height,

a violent booming around us, as if the earth had split, and we looked up behind us in terror and saw the

mountains close,

and the same instant we struck and were hurled to the

belly of the ship.

The Argo shrieked as if all her beams had burst, and

water

boiled in over us. Then, at Ankaios’ shout, we knew we were safe, the ship was afloat, all her brattice-work

firm despite

contusions, a thin, dark ooze. And thus we came, by

the whim

of the river spirit of the North, to the kingdom of Circe,

daughter

of the sun, my father’s sister.

“We did not speak of the dream—

the cynical god who could scoff at all human shame

and pain.

Did only I dream it? There are those who claim we

create, ourselves,

in the dark of our minds, the gods who guide us. Was

I in fact

remorseless as the snake who smiles as he swallows the

bellowing frog?

Did my dreams create, then, even the dizzying fall of the

Argo,

that dark-as-murder sky? I dared not speak of the

dream,

but the image of the god remained, like the nagging

awareness of a wound,—

that and the sunlight in which he sat, with his attention

fixed

on his beard. If I closed my eyes, relaxed, I could drift

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