reconciled.
Let this terrible battle between dear friends be ended.” Weeping, she raised their hands to Jason’s knees, and
Jason
took them, clasping them fondly, his eyes full of tears.
No wonder
if his heart refused, that instant, to believe it treachery.
He said: “Lady, most noble of all women living, I praise you now beyond all praise in the past. And I gladly excuse your
anger.
Small wonder if a woman’s wrath be kindled when her
husband turns
to another wife. But now your mood’s more sane, and
you
perceive, though late, where our welfare lies. And you,
my sons,
away with these tears! For I dare to hope — the gods
willing—
you’ll be rich and powerful yet in Corinth. Grow strong!
Leave all
the rest in your father’s hands. May I live to see you
reach
the prime of youthful vigor, envy of my enemies!”
He paused, studying Medeia. “Why these fresh tears?”
he said.
“Why this turning away of your face?”
“It’s nothing,” she said. “My heart was brooding on the children.”
“But why in such terrible sorrow?” “I bore them. And when you prayed just now that they
reach their prime,
a sad foreboding came over me, a fear of the future.” He looked at her, his face thoughtful and sorrowful at
once.
“Take heart, Medeia,” he said. They shall not lack my
protection.”
She nodded. “I will, husband, and will not mistrust your
words.
— But of that which I came here to say I’ve said only a
part, my lord.
Let me say now the rest: Since it’s Kreon’s will that I be banished — and I grant that’s best, vexatious to
Kreon’s house
and to you — I will go into exile. But as for our two
dear sons,
I beg you, let Kreon not banish them, nor banish them
yourself,
since you’ve won more power in this hall than you like
to admit. Let them live
in Corinth, reared in the palace, so that no one may
doubt the right
you’ve promised them.”
“I doubt I have power sufficient to move him so far, Medeia,” he said, “though I may have such power
in theory.
And yet I’ll try.”
“Let your bride entreat him, for surely then—” “I will, yes.” He thought about it for a moment,
frowning.
“I may persuade her.”
“You will, if the woman’s like other women. And I’ll help you, Jason. I’ll send our children with gifts
for her,
a golden gown and wreath so beautiful no living mortal has seen their match.” She turned to the slave
Agapetika
and took those gifts from the old woman’s hands. The
old woman’s eyes
threw a wild appeal to Jason, but she could not speak,
her tongue
turned stone by Medeia’s spell. Medeia said, “She’ll be
blessed
a thousandfold, winning you, most splendid of heroes,
for her spouse
and dowered with treasures from Helios.” And then, to
her sons:
“Children, take these gifts in your hands and carry them
to her
as your father directs. They’re gifts no woman could
refuse.”
But Jason held back in fear, having recognized the cloth. He said, casting about for some stratagem by which he might be more sure of her, “No, wait, Medeia! Why cast away this finest of treasures? — for surely that cloth is the
fleece from Aia.
The princess has robes and gold enough. Keep it for
yourself,
a sure protection from hardship and suffering in exile.
If my bride
esteems me at all, she’ll prize my wish beyond any
mere treasure.”
Medeia said, “My lord, I have not chosen lightly these gifts I bring.” Sadly, solemnly, she met his eyes. “How is a woman to prove to the man she’s given her life that, following his wish, she renounces all earthly claim
to him?
This cloth was, to me, chief proof and symbol of our
steadfast love.
Giving it away — that which I prize beyond all other
wealth—
I give you away, my husband, and all our past together, for our sons. To me, it’s a gift no less than Khalkiope
gave
for hers. Do not shame me, or reduce me to
insignificance,
by refusing this queenly gesture. I’m left with no other
I can make.
You know me, Jason. Have mercy on my pride. I’d give
my life,
not merely gold, to save my sons from banishment.”
Then Jason believed her, and, placing the golden
gown and wreath
in his two sons’ hands, he said, “Wait here, and we’ll
test the power
of your gifts at once,” and he rose to lead them to
Pyripta’s room.
Medeia said, “Children, speak bravely when you meet
with your father’s new bride,
my mistress now, and beg her to save you from
banishment.
And don’t forget: with her own hands she must receive
our presents.
Hurry now, and the gods be with you! Return to me soon with the news I’m eager to hear.”
Then the children left with Jason, the old male slave attending. The sea-kings watched
them leave,
no man daring a whisper. In time they returned again, and Jason said, “You’ve done well, Medeia. Your sons
are spared.
The royal bride has received your gifts with gracious
hands.
Henceforth I hope for peace between our family’s
branches.”
He studied her, baffled despite all his years of
knowledge of her,
his mind clouded by the thought that the fleece was
still with him, his curse.
“Why so distraught?”
“A pain, my lord.”
“Such moans seem strange when I bring you joyful news.”
She covered her eyes, groaning. He said, now deeply troubled, “Can there be in what
you’ve done
some harm still undetected?”
“I was thinking of the past,” she said. “I loved you, Jason. I would have thought even a man
might grieve.
But now we’ll go. All I came for is done.” With her slaves
and children
she moved like one in a nightmare toward the door.
With his eyes
he followed them. After they left, he turned slowly, his heart racing, back toward Pyripta’s room. He knew he’d missed something, but for all his cunning, he
couldn’t guess what,
or whether the things were already accomplished or
just now beginning.
His heart was filled with fear, suddenly, for Medeia’s
life,
as her boundless rage turned inward. He could feel now
all around
him a rush, as if Time had grown sensible, and volcanic.
Below,
far ahead of the old, tortuously moving slaves, Medeia hurried with the children, bending her head
against the rain,
rushing downward through lightning, her two sons
crying in alarm
and pain at the speed with which she dragged them
homeward. Medeia
wailed aloud, her tears mingling with the hurrying rain, her voice feeble in the ricochetting boom of thunder: “No! How can I? Farewell then all insane resolves! I’ll take them away with me, far from this fat,
corrupting land.
What use can it be — hurting my sons to give Jason grief, myself reaping ten times over the woe I inflict? I won’t! That too has a kind of victory in it: he wrecks my life, tears it to shreds, and with furious calm I allow him