John Gardner - Jason and Medeia

His thick fear

hidden in the deepest, darkest of abditoriums,

Jason spoke lightly, driving out shadows as, long ago, he’d lightened the hearts of the Argonauts when hope

seemed madness.

He praised King Kreon’s long wise rule and swore

to uphold

his principles, and praised his visitors and vassals.

Of those things

nearest his heart — Idas in the dungeon, his own wife

and children

banished — he spoke not a syllable, biding his time.

His eyes

moved, as he spoke, from rafter to rafter through

Kreon’s hall,

secretly watching omens, a silent invasion: ravens.

Dressed exactly as he always dressed, not in regal array but hooded and wrapped against rain — for it still fell

fierce and fiery—

Jason went down, alone, to the vine-hung house where

Medeia

and the Corinthian women sewed. He rang the great

brass ring

and waited, restless but patient. At last the male slave

came

and, seeing his master, said he would bring out Medeia.

He returned

to the house, and after a time the princess of Aia

came out.

She stood in the shelter of the rainwashed eaves, and

he called to her

and asked her to unlock the high, wide gate.

Medeia said only,

“Speak from there.” He seized the bars of the

small window

in the gate and called, “You prove once more what

I should have remembered:

a stubborn disposition’s incurable. A home here

in Corinth

you might have yet if only you’d endure old Kreon’s will with at least some show of meekness. But no, you

must hurl wild words.

So you’re banished — thrown out of Corinth as a

dangerous madwoman.

And rightly, no doubt. Not that I too much care,

for myself.

Rail all you please at vilest Jason. Often as the old man’s fear of you rose, I struggled to check it.

I would have had

you stay. But still in your obstinate folly you must

curse and revile

the royal house; so it’s banishment for you — and lucky

no worse.

But despite all that, more faithful than you think,

I’ve prevailed so far

as to see that you’ll not lack gold or anything else

in exile.

Hardships enough you’ll suffer with your sons. So for

all your hatred,

take what I give you, Medeia.”

When first he began to speak she listened with anger locked in, as if, despite her fury, she intended to answer with restraint; but as Jason

continued, speaking

of Kreon as king (I realized now with a shock that

she knew

all that happened in the palace, informed by

black-winged spies),

her fury broke from its prison. She screamed,

“O vile, vile, vilest!

Rail I may well! Do you come to me —to me, Jason? This is no mere self-assurance, no manly hardihood. It’s shamelessness! And yet I’m glad you’ve come,

husband.

I do have one joy left, and that’s berating you.

As all Akhaia knows, I saved your life. I helped you tame those fiery bulls and sow that dangerous tilth. The snake wreathed coil on coil around that

cursèd fleece

I put to sleep for you. I fled my father and home, arranged my brother’s death and later King Pelias’ death, at his own children’s hands. Such deeds I’ve done

for you,

and yet you trade me away like a worn-out cow for

a heifer,

though I bore you sons. If you’d still been childless,

I might perhaps

have pardoned your wish for a second wife.

But now farewell

all faith — for this you know in your soul: You swore

me oaths.

“Come, let me ask you questions as I would a friend.

Where should

I turn? To my father’s house? To Aia? You know

well enough

how they love me there — kinsmen I betrayed for you.

Shall I go

to the Peliad sisters? Perhaps we can all have a good

laugh now

at that monstrous birthday party. You see how it is:

by those

who loved me at home I am now hated; and those

who least

deserved my wrath, I have turned to foes — for you.”

He listened, hands on the gatebars, his head bent. When her

rantings ceased,

he said — not troubling to shout against the rain—

“Again and again

you’ve preached all that, and again and again I’ve

allowed it to pass,

though surely it’s true that I need thank no one but

the goddess of love

for the services you mention. But let that be; I find no fault with your devotion. And as for the marriage

you hate,

I say again what I’ve said before: with calm dispassion I made that choice, and partly for you and my sons.

No, hear me!

Not out of loathing for your bed, Medeia (the thought

that galls you)

and not through lust for a new bride or for numerous

offspring—

with the sons you’ve borne me I’m well content—

but for this alone

I’ve made my choice: to win for my family, my sons

and you,

such safety and comfort as only a king can be sure of.

My plan

is wise enough; you’d admit it if it weren’t for your

jealousy.

“But why do I waste my words on you? When

nothing mars

your love, you imagine you’re queen of the planet.

But if some slight shadow

clouds your happiness, the best and fairest of lots

seems hateful,

and the finest of houses a shanty in a field

of thorntrees.”

At this Medeia grew angrier still, tied hand and foot

by arguments,

as usual, and straining against the injustice like

a penned-

up bull. I could have told her the futility of trying

to fight

by Jason’s rules; but they looked — both of them—

so dangerous,

and the surrounding storm was so violent, such a

fiery menace,

I kept to my safe hiding place in the dark, thick vines. She said: “If you were not vile, as I’ve claimed—

if all these things

you say to me weren’t shameless lies — you’d have asked

straight out for consent

to your plan, not slyly deceived me.”

He laughed. “No doubt you’d have helped me nobly, since even now your

jealousy rages

like a forest fire.”

“It was not that that stopped you. I am a foreigner, and middle-aged. I cease to serve

your pride.”

His square fists tightened on the bars, and I

could hardly blame

his anger at the woman’s unreasonableness. Though his

jaw-muscles twitched,

he still spoke gently: “Medeia, lady—”

At the word, her face went white, her emotion like crackling fire. “Go!”

she screamed.

“Run, drunken lover! You linger too long from your

new bride’s chamber.

Go and be happy! May your marriage soon prove

a pleasure you’d fain

renounce.” Then, sobbing, she fled into the house.

He turned heavily

and made his way back up the worn stone steps

to the palace.

Not long did she weep in her fury at Jason. In her room, the oak

door closed

on the sewing women, she gathered from secret places

her herbs

and drugs, and above all the coriander for conjuring. Taking a ring she had lately received from a

wealthy king

named Algeus, father of Theseus — a man who’d

travelled

from a distant land for theurgic cure of his sterility— she placed the ring on a silver dish and murmured

his name.

Soon the bejewelled ring began to move. When it came

by its own energy to the rim of the dish, the gate-ring

clanged,

and Medeia called to have Aigeus shown in. He arrived