Jason and Medeia (33 page)

speech that might

persuade Aietes to give it as a gift? God knows, the

man's

intractable, but nothing should be overlooked.” Athena sighed. She hated to be caught without schemes. “

I've racked my brains, to be truthful,” she said, “and

I've come up with nothing.”

For a while the goddesses stared at the grass, each

lost in her own

perplexities. Then Hera's eyes went sly. She said:

“Listen!

We'll go to Aphrodite and ask her to persuade that

revolting boy

to loose an arrow at Aietes' daughter, Medeia of the

many

spells. With the help of Medeia our Jason can't fail!”

Athena

smiled. “Excellent,” she said and glanced at Hera, then

away.

Hera caught it—no simpleton, ruler of the whole

world's will.

“All right.” she said, “explain that simper,

Lightning-head.”

Athena's gray eyes widened. “I smiled?” Hera looked

stern. Athena

sighed, then smiled again. ‘There is … a certain logic to events, as you know, Your Majesty. Your war with

Pelias

has taken, I think, a new turn. If Medeia should fall in

love

with Jason and win him the fleece, and if she returned

with him

and reigned with him—and Pelias …” Queen Hera's

eyebrows raised,

all shock. “I give you my solemn word I intended no such thing!” Then, abruptly, she too smiled. Then both

of them laughed

and, taking one another's arms, they hurried to the love

goddess.

She was alone in her palace. Crippled Hephaiastos

had gone to work early,

as he often did, to create odd gadgets for gods and

men

in his shop. She was sitting in an inlaid chair, a

heart-shaped box

on the arm, and between little nibbles she was combing

her lush, dark hair

with a golden comb. When she saw the goddesses

standing at the door,

peeking shyly through the draperies—in their dimpled

fingers

fans half-flared, like the pinions of a friendly but

timorous bird—

she stopped and called them in. She crossed to meet

them quickly

and settled the two, almost officiously, in easy chairs, before she went to her own seat. “How wonderful!”

she said,

and her childlike eyes were bright. “It's been ages!”

The queen of goddesses

smiled politely, cool and aloof in spite of herself. She

glanced at Athena,

and Athena, innocent as morning, inquired about

Aphrodite's

health, and Hephaiastos' health, and that of “the boy.”

She could not

bring herself to come out with the urchin's name. When

the queen

of love had responded at length—sometimes with tears,

sometimes

with a smile that lighted the room like a burst of pink

May sun,

the goddess of will broke in, a trifle abruptly, almost sternly, saying: “My dear, our visit is only partly social. We two are facing a disaster. At this very

moment

warlike Jason and his friends the Argonauts are riding

at anchor

on the river Phasis. They've come to fetch the fleece

from Aietes.

We're concerned about them; as a matter of fact I'm

prepared to fight

with all my power for that good, brave man, and I

mean to save him,

even if he sails into Hades' Cave. You know my justified fury at Pelias, that insolent upstart who slights me

whenever

he offers libations. ‘Peace whatever the expense' is his

motto.

Even those beautiful images of me he's ordered ripped

down

from end to end of Argos, for fear some humble herder may dare to assert himself as Pelias himself did once, when his brother was rightful king. I won't mince

words:I want

his skull, and I want it by Jason's hand—not just

because

he's proved himself as a warrior (though heaven knows

he's done so).

Once, disguised as an ugly old woman with withered

feet,

I met him at the mouth of the Anauros River. The river

was in spate—

all the mountains and their towering spurs were buried

in snow

and hawk-swift cataracts roared down the sides. I called)

out, pleading

to be carried across. Jason was hurrying to Pelias' feast, but despite the advice of those who were with him,

despite the rush

of the ice-cold stream, he laughed—bright laugh of a

demigod—

and shouted, ‘Climb on, old mother! If I'm not strong

enough

for two I'm not Aison's son!' Again and again I've

tested

his charity, and he's always the same. Say what you

like

about Jason, he does not blanch, for himself or for

others.”

Words failed

the queen of love. The sight of Hera pleading for favors from her, most mocked of all goddesses, filled her with

awe. She said:

“Queen of goddesses and wife of great Zeus, regard me as the meanest creature living if I fail you now in your need! All I can say or do, I will, and whatever small strength I

have

is yours.” Her sweet voice broke, and her lovely eyes

brimmed tears.

Athena looked thoughtful. She could not easily scorn

Aphrodite,

whatever her dullness. You might have imagined, in

fact, that the goddess

of mind felt a twinge of envy. She was silent, studying

her hands.

She knew nothing, daughter of Zeus, of love; but she

knew by cool geometry

that she was not all she might be—nor was Hera.

Hera spoke, choosing her words with care. “We are

not

asking the power of your hands. We would like you to

tell your boy

to use his wizardry and make the daughter of Aietes fall, beyond all turning, in love with the son of Aison. Her

aid

can make this business easy. There lives no greater

witch

in Kolchis, even though she's young.”

Then poor Aphrodite paled

and lowered her eyes, blushing. “Perhaps Hephaiastos,”

she said, “

could make some engine. Perhaps I could speak to—”

Her voice trailed off.

“The truth is, he's far more likely to listen to either of

you

than to me. He sasses me, scorns me, mocks me. I've

had half a mind

to break his arrows and bow in his very sight. Would

that be right, do you think?”

She wrung her fingers, looked pitiful. “As you well

know, his father and I

do
everything
for him. And how does he pay us? He

won't go to bed,

refuses to obey us, says horrible, horrible things, and

in front of company!—

but he's a child, of course. How can he learn to be loving if
we
don't show love and forgiveness?

How can he learn

to have generous feelings toward others if we aren't

first generous to him?

Parenthood really is a horror!”

Athena and Hera smiled

and exchanged glances. Aphrodite pouted. “People

without children,”

she said, “know all the answers. Never mind. I'll do

what you ask,

if possible.”

Then Queen Hera rose and took Aphrodite's

milkwhite hand in hers. “You know best how to deal

with him.

But manage it quickly if you can. We both depend on

you.”

She turned, started out. Athena followed. Poor

Aphrodite,

sighing, went out as well. She'd never been meant to

be a mother.

But too late now. (Married to a dreary old gimpleg—

she

who'd slept, in her youth, with the god of war himself!

—Never mind.

—Nevertheless, it was a bitter thing to waste eternity with a durgen, genius or not.) She wiped her eye and

sniffed.

She glanced through the world and saw Jason, watchful

on the
Argo,
a man

as handsome as Ares in his youth. And she turned her

eyes to the palace

of Aietes, and saw where Medeia slept, and suddenly

her heart

was warmed. The goddesses were right: they made a

lovely couple!

Things not possible in heaven she meant to shape on

earth.

The Argonauts were sitting in conference on the

benches of their ship.

Row on row sat silent as Jason spoke. “My friends, my advice is this—if you disagree, speak up. I'll go with three or four others, to Aietes' palace and parley,

find whether

he means to treat us as friends or to try out his army

against us.

No point killing a king who, if asked, would gladly

oblige us.”

With one accord, the Argonauts approved.

With the sons of Phrixos, and with Telamon, the father

of Alas,

and with Augeias, Aietes' half-brother, the captain of

the Argonauts

set forth. Queen Hera sent a mist before them, so

covered the town

that no man saw them till they'd reached Aietes' house.

And then

the mist lifted. They paused at the entrance, astonished

to see

the half-mile gates, the rows of soaring columns

surrounding

the palace walls, and high over all, the marble cornice resting on triglyphs of bronze. They crossed the

threshold then,

unchallenged, and came to the sculptured trees and,

below them, four springs,

Hephaiastos' work. One flowed with milk, another

with wine,

the third with fragrant oil; but the fourth was the

finest of all,

a fountain that, when the Pleiades set, ran boiling hot, and afterward bubbled from the hollow rock ice-cold.

All that,

they would learn in time, was nothing to the

flame-breathing bulls of bronze

that the craftsman of the gods had created as a gift

for Aietes. There was also

an inner court with ingeniously fashioned folding doors of enormous size, each of them leading to a splendid

room

and to galleries left and right. At angles to the court,

on all sides

stood higher buildings. In the highest, Aietes lived

with his queen.

In another Apsyrtus lived, Aietes' son, and in yet another, his daughters, Khalkiope and Medeia. That

Moment

Medeia was roaming from room to room in search of

her sister.

The goddess Hera had fettered Medeia to the house

that day;

as a rule she spent most of her day in the temple of

Hekate, of whom

she was priestess.

The voice of the narrator softened. I had to close

my eyes and concentrate to hear.

“And I was that child Medeia,

a thousand thousand lives ago. And yet one moment stands like a newly made mural ablaze in the sun.

I glanced

at the courtyard and saw, as the mist rose, seven men,

and their leader

wore black, and his cape was a panther skin. His hand

was on his sword,

and his look was as keen as a god's. Without knowing

I'd do it, I raised

my hand to my lips, cried out. In an instant the

courtyard was astir—

Khalkiope joyfully greeting her sons, her children by

Phrixos,

my father approaching on the steps, all smiles, huge

arms extended,

and a moment later his servants were working with the

carcase of a bull,

more servants chopping up firewood, and others

preparing hot water

for baths. I stared from the balcony, half in a daze.

Stupidly,

unable to move a muscle, I watched sly Eros creep in (none of them saw him but me). In the porch, beneath

the lintel

he hastily strung his bow, slipped an arrow from the

quiver to the string, and,

still unobserved by the others, ran across the gleaming

threshold,

his blind eyes sparkles, and crouched at Jason's feet.

He drew

the bow as far as his fat arms reached, and fired.

I could

do nothing. A searing pain leaped through me. My

heart stood still.

With a laugh like a jackal's, the little brute flashed out

of sight and was gone

from the hall. The invisible shaft in my breast was

flame. Ah, poor

ridiculous Medeia! Time and again she darts a glance at Jason, and she cannot make out if the feeling is

mainly pain

or sweetness!

“How can I say what happened then? In a blur,

a baffling radiance, I moved through the feast. His eyes

dazzled,

his scent—new oil of his welcoming bath—filled me

with anguish

as blood and the smoke of incense-reckels confound the

dead.

“When they'd eaten and drunk their fill, my father

Aietes asked questions

of the sons of Khalkiope and Phrixos. I paid no

attention, but watched

that beautiful, godlike stranger. He never glanced once

at me,

but myself, I could see nothing else. For even if I closed

my eyes,

he was there, like the retinal after-image of a

candleflame.

Childish love-madness, perhaps. Yet I do not think so,

even now.

We're all imperfect, created with some part missing;

and I saw

from the first instant my crippled soul's completion in

that dark-robed

prince. He stood as if perfectly fearless in front of