John Gardner - Jason and Medeia

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

heroes come home

to their own island. But the Joy was brief, for the fleet

of Kolchians

who’d passed from the Black Sea through the Kyanean

Rocks arrived

at the wide Phaiakian harbor and sent stern word to the

king

demanding that I be returned to my father’s house at

once,

without any plea or parley. Should the king refuse, they

promised

reprisals bitter enough, and more when Aietes came. Wise and gentle Alkinoös, king of the Phaiakians, restrained their furious bloodlust and dealt for terms.

“Thus even

at the front door of Hellas, my hopes were dashed again, for a prospect even more dread than capture by my

brother had arisen:

capture by Kolchians hostile to me — hostile to all mankind after endless scavenging months on the sea.

I appealed

to Jason’s friends repeatedly, and to Alkinoös’ wife Arete, touching her knees with my hands. ‘O Queen, be gracious to your suppliant,’ I begged; ‘prevent these

Kolchians

from bearing me back to my father. If you’re of the

race of mortals,

you know how the noblest of emotions can lead to ruin.

Such was

my case. My wits forsook me — though I do not repent

it. I was

not wanton. I swear by the sun’s pure light, I never

intended

to run from my beautiful home with a race of foreigners, much less commit crimes worse. For those I have paid,

my lady,

startled awake in the dead of night by memory-

shrinking

from my new lord’s touch, unjustly suspecting disgust in

him.

I was a princess, lady, in a kingdom that stretched out

half the width

of the world — the colony of the sun. I was initiate to the mysteries of fire, could speak with the moon,

knew life and death,

sterility, conception; I was served by nuns sufficient to

throng

this whole wide isle of the Phaiakians. And now am

nothing,

a hunted criminal, exiled, condemned to death. Have

mercy!

Soften the heart of your lord, and may the high gods

grant you

honor, children, and the joy of life in a city untouched by dissension or war forever.’ Such was my tearful

appeal

to Arete.

“But I spoke less timorously to the Argonauts,

besieging each of them in turn: ‘You, O illustrious dare-devil lords — you and the help I gave you in your

troubles—

you alone are the cause of my affliction. Through me

the bulls

were yoked, and the harvest of earthmen reaped.

Thanks to me alone

you’re homeward bound, and with the golden fleece you

sought. Oh, you

can smile, looking forward to joyful reunions. But for

me, your warprize,

nothing remains. I’m a thing despised, a wanderer in the hands of strangers. Remember your oaths!—

and beware the fury

of the suppliant betrayed. I seek no asylum in temples

of the gods,

no sanctuary in forts. I have trusted in you alone. I look up in terror for help, but your hearts are flint.

Do you feel

no shame when you see me kneeling to a foreign queen?

You were ready

to face all Kolchis’ armies and snatch that fleece by

force,

before you had seen those armies. Where’s all your

daring now?

“The Argonauts tried to calm me, reassure me. But

their eyes

were evasive, I saw. I shook with fear. A deadly despair had come over them, it seemed to me — a wasting

disease

of the will. They had heard the insinuations of the

sirens, had seen

friends die, and they knew still more must die. They

had sailed through the channel

of Skylla and Kharybdis and had begun to grasp the

meaning of adventures

past — or the absence of meaning in them. No fire was

left

but the wild furnace of my own heart.

“Night came at last

and sleep descended on our company. But I did not

sleep.

My heart sang pain and rage, and tears flooded from

my eyes

and my Heliot mind hurled fire at the ships of the

Kolchians,

and fire at the Argonauts’ heads and the heads of the

Phaiakians,

and fire at the sing-song moon. But the queen of

goddesses

blocked my magic. They slumbered on.

‘That night in the palace

King Alkinoös and Arete his queen had retired to bed as usual. As they lay in the dark, in the hearing of

ravens,

they spoke of the Kolchian demand. Arete, from the

fullness of her heart,

said this to the king: ‘My lord, I beg you for my sake

to side

with the Argonauts, and save this poor unhappy girl from Aietes’ wrath. The isle of Argos lies near at hand; the people are neighbors. Aietes lives far away; we

know only

his name. And this: Medeia is a woman who has

suffered much.

When she told me her troubles she broke my heart. She

was out of her mind

when she gave that man the magic for the bulls. And

then, as we sinners

so often do, she tried to save the mistake by another. But I hear this Jason has solemnly sworn in the sight

of Zeus

that he’ll marry her. My love, let no decision of yours force Aison’s son to abandon his promise to heaven.

What right

have fathers to claim their daughters’ love as the gods

claim man’s?

Behold how Nykteus brought the lovely Antiope to

sorrow—

Nykteus of Thebes, that midnight monarch whose

daughter’s beauty

outshone the moon’s, so that Helios himself was in love

with her.

Behold how Danaë suffered perpetual darkness in a

dungeon

because of her father, though Zeus himself was in love

with her

and sought her deep in the earth, in the shape of a

driving rain.

Behold how Ekhetos drove great brazen spikes in his

daughters’

eyes. Old men are mad, my lord. It is hardly love that moves them, whatever their howls. Love sends out

ships to search

new mysteries, not haul back miscreant hearts, bind

love

in chains.’

“Alkinoös was touched by his wife’s appeal.

He said:

‘I could, I think, repel the Kolchians by force of arms, siding with the Argo for Medeia’s sake. But I’d think

twice

before I dared to defy just sentence from Zeus. Nor

would

I hurry to scoff at Aietes, as it seems you’d have me do. There lives no king more mighty. Far away as he is,

he could bring

his armies and crack us like nuts. I must therefore

reach a decision

the whole world and the gods above will acknowledge

as wise.

I’ll tell you my whole intent. If Medeia is still a virgin, I’ll direct the Akhaians to return her to her father. But

if she and Jason

have married, I’ll refuse to separate them. Neither

will I give,

if she carries a child in her womb, that child to an