a footstep
soft as a deer’s — and, turning in alarm, I saw a figure striding from the woods — a youth, I thought, with the
bow of a huntsman
and a tight, short gown that flickered like the water in
a brook. As the stranger
neared, I saw my error: it was no man, but a goddess, graceful and stern as an arrow when it drops in
soundless flight
to its mark. Aphrodite spoke: ‘Too long we’ve warred,
Goddess,
moon-pale huntress. I come to your sacred grove to
make
amends for that, bringing this creature along as a
witness,
a poet from the world’s last age — no age of heroes, as
you know,
and as this poor object proves. Don’t expect you’ll heat
him speak.
He’s timid as a mouse in the presence of gods and
goddesses;
foolish, easily befuddled, a poet who counts out beats on his fingers and hasn’t got fingers enough. But he
understands Greek,
with occasional glances at a book he carries — in secret,
he thinks!
(but the deathless gods, of course, miss nothing). He’ll
have to do.”
The love goddess smiled almost fondly, I thought. But
as for Artemis,
she knew me well, stared through me. The goddess of
love said then:
“I come to you for a boon I believe you may gladly
grant
when you’ve heard my request. Not long ago a murderer buried his victim in secret, in this same
grove
sacred to the moon. As soon as the body was hidden,
he fled
with the woman he claimed to love, Medeia, the
daughter of Aietes.
I protected them — their right, as lovers. But now the
heart
of the son of Aison has hardened against his wife. He
means
to cast her aside for the virgin Pyripta, daughter of
Kreon
of Corinth. So at last our interests meet, it seems to me.
Forgive me if I’m wrong, chaste goddess. I can see no
other way
than to throw myself on your mercy, despite old
differences.
Set her against him firmly, and I give my solemn
pledge,
I’ll turn my back on the daughter of Kreon forever, no
more
stir love in her bosom than I would in the rocks of Gaza.
Just that,
and nothing more I beg of you. Charge Pyripta’s mind with scorn of Jason, and even in Zeus’s hall I’ll praise your name and give you thanks.” So the goddess spoke.
And Artemis
listened and gave no answer, coolly scheming. I did not care for the glitter of ice in the goddess of purity’s eye, and I glanced, uneasy, at the goddess of love. She
appeared to see nothing
amiss. Then Artemis spoke. “I’ll go and see.” That was
all.
She turned on her heel, with a nod inviting me to
follow, and strode
like a man to the place where her chariot waited, all
gleaming silver.
As soon as I’d set one foot in it, we arrived at the house of Jason. The chariot vanished. I was down on my
hands and knees
in the street. I got up, dusting my trousers, and hurried
to the door.
No one saw me or stopped me. I found, in Medeia’s
chamber,
Artemis — enormous in the moonlit bedroom, her bowed
head
and shoulders brushing the ceiling beams — stooped at
the side
of Medeia’s bed like an eagle to its prey. “Wake up!”
she whispered.
“Wake up, victim of the mischief god! Seek out thy
light,
sweet Jason, life-long heartache! You are betrayed!”
Medeia’s
eyes opened. The goddess vanished. The moonlight
dimmed,
faded till nothing was left but the glow of the golden
fleece.
The slave Agapetika wakened and reached for Medeia’s
hand.
Medeia sat up, startled by the memory of a dream. She
met
my eyes; her hand reached vaguely out to cover herself with the fleece. I remembered my solidity and backed
away.
“Devil!” she whispered. In panic I answered, “No,
Medeia.
A friend!” She shook her head. “I have no friends but
devils.”
And only now understanding that all she’d dreamt was
true—
as if her own words had power more terrible than
Jason’s deeds—
she suddenly burst into tears of rage and helplessness. She tried to rise, but her knees wouldn’t hold her, and
she fell to the flagstones.
I said: “I come from the future to warn you—”
My throat went dry. The room was suddenly filled, crowded like a jungle
with creatures,
ravens and owls and slow-coiled snakes, all manner of
beings
hated by men. In terror of Medeia’s eyes, I fled.
20
On the palace wall, in his blood-red cape, the son of
Aison,
arms folded, gazed down over the city of Corinth. He knew pretty well — Hera watching at his shoulder,
sly—
that he’d won, for better or worse — that nothing
Paidoboron
or Koprophoros could say would undo the work he’d
done
or open the gates of Kreon’s heart or the heart of the
princess
to any new contender. He smiled. On the palace roof behind him, a raven watched, head cocked, with
unblinking eyes.
For reasons he scarcely knew himself, Jason had
avoided
his home today. It was now twilight; the light, sharp
breeze
rising from stubbled fields, dark streams, fat granaries, brought up the scent of approaching winter. There
would come a time
when Medeia would rise and insist upon having her
say. Not yet.
Though light was failing, the house, lower on the hill,
was dark
save one dim lamp, dully blooming — so yellow in the
gloom
of the oaks surrounding that it brought to his mind
again the fleece
old Argus wove, and the obscure warning of the seer.
The vision blurred; I hung unreal. Then, crushed to flesh once
more,
my swollen hand brought alive again to its drumbeat
of pain,
I stood — dishevelled as I was, my poor steel spectacles
cracked
and crooked — in the low-beamed room of the slave
Agapetika,
hearing her moans to the figure of Apollo on the wall.
Her canes
of gnarled olive-wood waited on the tiles, her stiff, fat
knees
painfully bent on the hassock before the shrine.
She wailed, whether in prayer or lament, I could hardly telclass="underline" “O
Lord,
would that an old slave’s wish could wind back time
for Medeia
and she never beguile those dim, too-trusting daughters
of Pelias,
who slaughtered their father; or would that Corinth
had never received them,
allowing a measure of joy and peace, pleasure in the
children,
Medeia still loved and in everything eager to please her
lord,
her will and his will one, as even Jason knew, for all his anger, bitterness of heart. The loss of love makes all surviving it blacker than smoke at sunrise.
What once
was sweet is now corrupt and cankered: our Jason plans heartless betrayal of his wife and sons for marriage