DANKO ANTOLOVIC - WOMAN FROM COLCHIS

Danko Antolovic is the author of a recent novella, a fictional biography of the legendary craftsman Daedalus.
He has authored a number of technical publications, and has written about the nature of scientific work and about unresolved problems of scientific understanding of nature.
Danko's author's web page:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3340050.Danko_Antolovic

Woman from Colchis
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​Come, goddess, come to this modest shrine I have raised to you; accept the blood of the sacrifice. Appear to me, Hekate the night wanderer! I have honored you all my years, compassionate goddess, come to me now. The night is deep, soft and dark, this is your hour...  May your gaze not pass me by at this time when I need you...
 
I hear your plea, priestess. I do not avert my eyes, and it is not for the sake of the sacrifice that I come, but because of your devotion, which makes you dear to me.
 
I could always see into your sincere heart, priestess Medeia, but this evening your heart is dark and closed, opaque like the night. What trouble besets you? What sorrow veils itself from immortal eyes?
 
Blessed goddess, I am strong and grateful in your presence. I will tell you everything: tonight I mean to win my freedom from the snares that hold me... It is a fearsome charm I will attempt, a thing no sorceress has ever done. I pray to you to approve, I call upon you to allow my craft to succeed. Hear me, Hekate, follow my journey, so that you will know how my heart came to this dark place where it now rests.
 
* * *
 
You remember, goddess, the shy young maiden, barely more than a child, who had entered your service. I feared your power, feared the dark arts I was meant to learn. But you smiled upon me, merciful Hekate: I imbibed your knowledge like the eager child that I was, and before long potions, charms and sorcery became my whole life.
 
What you say is true, Medeia. No priestess has ever been as skilled in my arts as you.
 
I was a shy, timid girl, my goddess, but in your arts I found a thing to call my own. I was content to remain in the land of Colchis, in your service, all of my days. But what did I know? I did not have my sister's plucky courage, and all I knew of the world was my native land — not even that, but mostly just my father's court.
 
That day, when the strangers came, I happened to be in the great hall, watching them address father Aietes. The man who appeared to be their leader was explaining that they had come from someplace in Hellas, and that they were compelled —  by some reason back home, which I did not understand — to bring back with them my father's golden fleece. They truly needed the fleece, he said, and they were willing to pay for it; there were fifty of them, brave and experienced fighters, ready to enter into mercenary service of noble Aietes in exchange for this favor.
 
The young stranger was calm and polite, but father flew into a rage. He swung down his thick, hairy arm, his hand slammed the table, so that plates clanked and beakers overturned. Give them the fleece? Just like that, for the asking? Who did they think they were? He railed, he shouted. He even accused the strangers of having come to depose him from power — a stupid accusation indeed, for how could they? Fifty men, however brave, were not a match for the Colchian army.
 
The stranger spoke again, seeking to reassure him of their honorable intentions, but father would not hear any of it. He threatened to lop off their hands, mutilate their faces, unman them, leave them only their feet to wander away on, as a caution to other insolents. His face was red with cruel, unthinking rage.
 
I was shaking as I watched their exchange; I remember leaning against a wall to steady myself. Father was a large man of heavy limbs and a thick neck; he was glowering at the stranger, and I knew that the young man would have no chance if they locked limbs in a wrestling match. But the stranger merely stood there, calm and upright, making no threats but staying unperturbed, and I saw that there would never be a fight on father's terms. The stranger's body was slim and limber, his arms strong and well-toned. He was either a swordsman or a boxer, schooled in the arts of fighting: he would not give his heavy opponent a chance to seize him, but would outpace him, and batter his head with skillful blows from a distance.
 
As this imagined fight ran through my head, with a clarity of mind I did not even know I possessed, my shaking ceased. Instead, a wave of tingling warmth began to course through my body, filling me with thoughts that were new to me. The wave settled in my lap at last, offering a secret and bashful but — and this I was certain of — irrevocable welcome to the young stranger.
 
His name, I found out later, was Jason. Once again he patiently explained his errand, once again he made his plea. He had set out for Colchis, he said, with a band of the best men of his land; they sailed on a stout ship that was built with the blessing of Athena; they had defeated the Clashing Rocks and many other perils, and had arrived in Colchis under the protection of great Hera and Kypris Aphrodite, who, the oracle said, both wished their venture to succeed. Their ship, the gallant Argo, was anchored at the mouth of a river nearby.
 
My father's face gradually grew less red. Perhaps he was taken aback somewhat by the calm confidence of the visitors; perhaps he did not want to anger the goddesses under whose protection they might indeed be sailing. I also knew that, hot-tempered as he was, he could stay red in the face only so long. His rage was burning out. Finally he said:
 
"Stranger, I will set you a task: I have two great bulls that no one but I could ever yoke. Their breath is fire, their horns and hooves are bronze. Yoke those bulls and plow a field with them; and when you have done that, sow the serpent's teeth and reap the crop that springs from them.
 
"I can do these things myself, I assure you; if you really are the gallant darling of Hera, as you say you are, they should be easy for you. When you have done them, the fleece is yours; but if you refuse or fail, I have already told you what awaits you!"
 
The stranger gulped visibly, and I could see that he had turned pale. Then he answered:
 
"Very well, King Aietes. Since the gods wish it so, I will do what you demand or perish trying."
 
The band of visitors walked out to return to their camp, and my mind raced to foresee what would happen. I had seen the bulls father was talking about: huge, vicious beasts, they did not quite belch fire but they had vile breath, and their horns really had a bronze lustre to them. I did not know where father had got them — he said he received them from the smith-god Hephaestus — and he kept them in a fenced field in the countryside, in a place sacred to Ares. Trying to yoke these monsters, let alone plow with them, could only lead to the stranger's death.
 
This man whose name I did not even know yet, he would be dead before I had said a word to him, before he knew who I was, before he knew...  No, that will not happen! I ran to look for my sister Chalciope; I found her in her chambers:
 
"Sister, dear," I said to her, "have you seen those men who have just now finished talking to father? You are older than I, braver and worldlier; please go after them, tell them that I, your sister Medeia, can save their leader from certain death. I can give him the means to accomplish the deadly task set to him."
 
Chalciope gave me a puzzled look but hurried out all the same, while I returned to my rooms. What are you doing, Medeia? I asked myself. This is treason, don't you see? It is betrayal of your father the king, and of Colchis too, your native land. Father Aietes could renounce you for plotting against him, madly jealous as he is of his power, and you know what his wrath means... But no, goddess, I answered my own fears, my claim is older than his: every king had a mother, every warring hero was born of carnal lust. Before there were kings and kingdoms, there was already a woman wanting a man. I was a girl who had become a woman that day — and I wanted Jason.
 
Chalciope returned later in the evening, with a message: "If you are willing to help the stranger from Hellas, he will be waiting for you at Hekate's shrine early tomorrow morning."
 
* * *
 
In the morning, at first daylight, I set out for the meeting place. I had with me the requisite charm, a potent potion made from purple-spotted flowers of the Caucasian crocus. I had made it, secretly, for my own use. You know very well, goddess, that no one can study your arts for long and not come close to the dark recesses of the soul, the fears, the loathing, the hurt: the place where true sorcery comes from. Young and still spared the violence and horror, I had already caught the glimpses of the beast that is the human soul, and I would not face the beast unaided. Should I ever have to fear for my life or my chastity, I would have my weapon of defense. And now I was about to give it away.
 
I need not tell you, goddess, about the hopes, the anguish and trepidation that beset me on the way to meeting the stranger; it was at your shrine that we met, after all, and there is nothing secret from you there. When I arrived, he was already at the shrine, appearing to my eyes even handsomer, even more self-confident than the day before. I approached him, straining with great effort to present the dispassionate face of a chaste priestess.
 
"Stranger," I said, "I know what travails await you, and they are not trifling. Beware of the brazen-horned bulls: they are vicious, and would readily kill most men who may try to yoke them. Taming them will require great strength.
 
"The serpent's teeth I don't know what to make of. A legend says that armed men will spring from them when they are sown, but I have never seen it happen. If they do spring up, do as the legend advises: throw a stone in their midst to confuse them, let them slaughter one another, then finish off the surviving ones.
 
"In this vial is the potion that will help you. Listen carefully: the night before the trial, at darkest midnight, don a black robe and, alone in a secluded place, sacrifice a ewe to Hekate. In the morning, anoint your body and your weapons with this liquid: for one day, it will make you invulnerable, and it will give you god-like strength. Do not waste that day."
 
He grasped the offered vial eagerly — perhaps somewhat too eagerly, goddess, looking back at our meeting now, from the distance of years. I instructed him how to perform your rite, told him all the things he must do to make the charm succeed.
 
I remember, my priestess. You instructed him well. Besides, the young man's heart was eager and brave, and I was willing to grant him success.
 
So, my goddess, what more was there to say? Our purpose was accomplished, yet both of us remained rooted in place, facing each other. I would not see him again: by tomorrow evening he would be sailing home triumphantly, golden fleece in hand, or, if the charm failed, he would be dead under the hooves of the brazen bulls. Before he could speak, I threw away my priestly modesty, drew close to him and said:
 
"Stranger — Jason is your name, isn't it? — when you sail away tomorrow, may the fair wind carry you home, and try not to forget me. Remember the name of Medeia."
 
Tears rolled from my eyes. I knew well what men think of women's tears, and I detested the thought that he may find me ingratiating. But he just asked, in a soft voice:
 
"Why are you crying, strange maiden?" Then he was silent. He must have seen it in my face, must have understood why I had given him, freely, a charm for which a king would pay a ransom in gold.
 
"Medeia," he said. "How could I forget you? Your name will be praised throughout my land, like that of a goddess, for having saved the band of heroes from terrible predicament.
 
"And as I stand here, I say to you: if I am alive and sailing tomorrow, I want you to sail on the Argo with me."
 
The few moments that passed seemed like forever, until I finally heeded his gentle chiding to return home before someone sees us together. I turned around and went home. Goddess, I have no memory of my way back to the court, nor of the time it took me to get there.
 
* * *
 
The time of Jason's trial was set for the following morning, to give the Hellenes time they needed for their customary sacrifices and propitiations. In the morning of that sleepless night, I went and joined others in the precinct of Ares. People from the countryside nearby had heard of the event, and had crowded against the fence of the pasture in which the bulls were kept. Father Aietes took his place on a raised platform that was set up just outside the fence, and I joined Chalciope in a group of court women next to the platform.
 
The two great bulls were snorting, sniffing the air, and stomping the ground, no doubt agitated because of the gathered crowd. Nearby in the field lay a heavy plow with a double yoke.
 
The visitors soon appeared, and Jason entered the field of Ares. He was clad in a short, gray tunic and carried a spear and a shield, but he wore no armor. I had steeled myself against betraying any feelings during the trial, hiding behind the aloof mien of a priestess. Nevertheless, as soon as Jason appeared, Chalciope shot me a glance, a glance I could not help returning. Women always know each others' hearts.
 
Jason approached the bulls, and I knew at once that the charm was working. Laying aside his weapons, he seized one animal by the brazen horn, forcing its head down, and led it to the other. With his left hand he seized the other bull the same way, and led the pair to the plow. With the skill of a man used to handling animals — I learned later that he was indeed raised as a farmer — he kicked the bulls' fetlocks and made them kneel by the plow. Two of his companions, the two Dioskuri, lifted the yoke, and Jason harnessed the brazen bulls. Silence descended upon the gathered crowd.
 
He then picked up his spear and prodded the bulls to move. With the yoke on their necks, the animals calmed down, and soon large clumps of earth were being turned over by the plow, the bulls marching forward and voicing their unhappiness only with occasional lowing. Jason was now calmly plowing the field of Ares, furrow after tidy furrow, under the gaping gazes of the onlookers, and there was no reason why he should not finish his task long before the day was over. Up on the platform, Aietes observed the work in stony silence, with a hateful look on his face.
 
The mood of the crowd gradually eased up, and Jason was soon plowing the remaining land to the encouraging calls of his companions, and of some admiring Colchians as well. When he was done, he left the bulls and the plow in the corner of the field, and approached the royal company. Without a word, Aietes gave a sign to a courtier, who presented Jason with a helmet full of serpent's teeth. Jason plucked one out and examined it: it was a large tooth, slightly curved and sharply pointed. The crowd became silent once again. Everyone knew what would happen: when sown, these teeth would sprout into a fighting band of heavily armed, fierce warriors. Defeating them will strain even the regulars of the Colchian army who were guarding the King, let alone this lightly armed foreigner in a tunic. Although he did tame the bulls...
 
Jason walked to the middle of the field and with skilled movements scattered the teeth far and wide into the furrows, like so much grain, then shook out the empty helmet and threw it aside. The silence was deathly. A few moments passed, then a few more... Everyone was waiting for armored shapes to start rising from the plowed ground. Still nothing... People begun to look at each other, a few giggles could be heard... "Are we supposed to wait here until the next harvest?" A few more tense moments passed, growing ever less tense, and finally a great laughter broke out everywhere. Country people were laughing, as were the courtiers; the visiting Hellenes could not contain themselves. Next to me, Chalciope was holding her hands against her face and shaking with laughter... I knew it was a laughter of relief she felt for me. My own heart was singing with joy for Jason, and, feeling protected by the general mirth, I too allowed myself a giggle at father's expense. Really shouldn't believe every stupid old story, just because a king said it was true.
 
Calm and composed, Jason walked to the side of the field where the royal company was gathered, and presented himself silently to the king. Instead of addressing him, Aietes stood up abruptly, toppling the bench on which he was sitting, turned around and stormed away. His minions scurried after him, straining to keep pace with their king.
 
By right and custom, Aietes should have proclaimed that Jason had passed the trial, and that the prize was his. People hoped at first that the King would regain his composure and return; that did not happen, so those of us to whom it mattered continued to hope that he would later make a proclamation from the court. But the sun sunk low and still there was no word from the King. As the night fell, whispers got out that he was sequestered in his quarters with his lieutenants and military commanders. Heated words were overheard.
 
Sitting hidden in my chambers, I knew what this meant: Aietes was reneging on his promise. And knowing father, I knew that he would not merely withhold the prize: he would kill the supplicants as well, so they could not tell the world of his perfidy. His having been laughed at by everybody at the contest only made that murderous outcome more certain.
 
What was there to do? I was confident that Aietes would not attack the Hellenes during the night — Colchian soldiers were not good night fighters — but in the morning Jason and his companions would either flee for their lives, or die. In either case, Aietes will be suspicious of Jason's surprising great strength, and will seek to find out if someone had helped him. Only Chalciope knew — I hoped — but would she protect me? Would she remain silent even if imprisoned, even if tormented by Aietes' henchmen? And if she broke down, far worse awaited me, the one who had led Jason to victory. It made no difference that we were princesses, the King's own daughters: in the land of Colchis, mercy from Aietes' wrath was promised no one. A bout of shaking came over me again...
 
And if I fled with the Hellenes? "If I am alive and sailing tomorrow, I want you to sail with me," he had said, and Elpis, the Hope, had been chirping his words into my ears ever since. Wretched Elpis! She had been buzzing around me, like a cicada, from that moment early on, when my body, disregarding my timid judgment, proclaimed its hot, silent welcome to the stranger.
 
But sailing away, a lone woman on a ship with fifty men? What did I really know about any of them? Even if Jason should want to protect me — and that, too, I could not know for certain — the others could kill him, take their turns, then throw me overboard or sell me as a slave at the next port of call. Would that be the reward of my mad love for this stranger? And a mad love it was, love which had made staying impossible and the escape terrifyingly uncertain...
 
Get lost, Elpis! There is the third way, that of Hekate's disciple. I had one more weapon among my charms, one that kills the heart, kills it quickly, before the henchmen can subject the body to tortures and horrors...  Goddess, I had the vial in my hand already, and what fear I had of death, I thought I could overcome. But it wasn't so simple. I did not yet fully comprehend Elpis, then: the annoying cicada was a shapeshifter who changed into something else, sinister and overwhelming. She crawled under my skin and gripped my heart with the horror of loss: "I want you to sail with me, I want you to sail with me! You are throwing everything away Medeia, come to your senses! Live, foolish girl, live!"
 
I drew a deep breath, goddess, drew my life back in. I stood up, took the fine bronze mirror which once belonged to Asterodeia, my late mother, and, by the light of a torch, I looked for a long while into my face. It was a gentle, rounded face with nice cheekbones and soft, full lips. Hmm, I had not noticed that mocking look in my eyes before... I tossed the mirror aside. This is the last time you have looked in the face of Aietes' daughter, Medeia. Perhaps you will be Jason's woman now; perhaps a slave, a whore, or dead, but the days of the Colchian princess are over.
 
I tied my heavy, flowing black hair into a tail, and exchanged the priestly robe for a dark tunic and a dagger belt; the only possession I took with me was my box of charms. As I stealthily left my chambers, a few courtiers were still awake, and there were guards on duty, of course, but who will catch Hekate's witch in the dead of the night, at her hour?! I stole a horse, brazenly, under the guards' noses, giddy with my own daring, and I rode away into the shadows, there, to the river bank, to where Argo was anchored! And in the sky above me, pouring out her silver light like a stream of deranged laughter, floated Selene, the full Moon.
 
* * *
 
The Argonauts were gathered around a camp fire on the shore. When I dismounted and approached them, it took Jason a few moments to recognize me.
 
"Priestess Medeia! Is that you?" he asked.
 
"Jason," I said, "and all you others, listen: the brute I had still called 'father' only yesterday will not grant you the golden fleece, not today, nor tomorrow, or ever. As of this evening, he was cooped up in his rooms with his commanders, and that can mean only one thing: he will try to destroy the Argo and kill you all. I fear his attack will come with the first light.
 
"But you have come all the way from Hellas for the fleece, haven't you? Without it, your long effort will be in vain. Listen: the fleece hangs on an old oak in the grove sacred to Ares; it is guarded by a dragon. Jason, come with me, and let us fetch the prize that is rightly yours."
 
And so, under Selene's light, we went to the precinct of the god of war one more time.
 
I had become curious about the dragon while still a novice priestess, long before the Argonauts came. The beast was really just a big snake: on his own, he would have been contented to snatch a goat or a sheep every now and then, then coil himself up in his cave and sleep off the meal in the simple-minded bliss only a snake would know. But the sun-god Helios had imbued the creature, on Aietes' bidding, with a fierce, urgent drive to guard the golden fleece. And so the dragon curled himself up, sleepless, near the tree on which the fleece hung, and frightened passers-by by raising his fearsome head and hissing at them when they came near. People who lived nearby avoided the spot.
 
I had heard travelers tell stories of distant lands, far in the east, where there lived people who knew how to charm snakes with song and dance. I pitied the restless creature, and I decided to try the charm myself. The dragon hissed at me when I first approached him, but I raised my arms above my head, as the stories said, intertwined my fingers, and began to sway my arms and body in a slow dance, warbling a gentle lullaby. Gradually, the hissing ceased, the dragon's big head slid back onto the coils of his body, and the slits of his eyes closed. The charm had worked.
 
I visited the dragon again and again, and in time both of us got better at our little game. When I came, the dragon would greet me with a soft, drawn-out hiss, then silently sway his head in anticipation of the dance. I danced my dance, close before him, and my heart would beat with an intense, strange excitement as the dangerous animal's head followed the wavy movements of my hips and the swaying of my breasts. Marvelous, I thought: in such a simple way I can enter the dragon's mind and relieve, at least for the time being, the curse he is burdened with!
 
After a while, the dragon would give me a great silent yawn full of sharp teeth — the only expression his face could make — as the sign of gratitude for the dance. Then his head would slide down, and he would drift off into the sleepy snake-bliss he was meant to live in. I was not afraid to sit next to him, softly sing my lullaby, and stroke his head as he slept.
 
When we came that early morning, I motioned Jason to stay at a distance, and I approached the dragon alone. The animal was ill at ease, sensing a stranger nearby: he was flicking his tongue, and his head shifted tensely left and right, as if aiming for a strike. I danced my most beguiling dance, warbled my sweetest lullaby over and over, until I finally put the agitated dragon at ease. As I was stroking his drowsy head at last, I poured drops of sleeping potion on his eyes, for good measure. Then I silently waved to Jason to make the run for the fleece.
 
This was a dangerous moment. Should the dragon startle from his sleep, Jason would not get away alive, and quite likely neither would I. But, quick and silent like a weasel, Jason climbed the oak tree and made away with the fleece. Once he was safely away, I wrapped my arms around the sinewy neck of the snake:
 
"Farewell, my simple friend," I whispered. "I pray that Helios frees you now from your angry, sleepless duty." The first daylight was breaking, and I left with silent steps, not to awaken the resting animal.
 
* * *
 
Argo had left the river, and was sailing west on the open sea, under full sail and with all hands at the oars. The sun was still rising behind the faraway mountains when we saw several ships, some distance away in the east, following the Argo; those were the pursuers I was certain Aietes would send after us. But Argo was a fast vessel, and the distance between us and the Colchians gradually grew larger, until we lost them from sight.
 
The Argonauts had come to Colchis by way of the dangerous strait of Symplegades, the Clashing Rocks, but the advice of a blind seer, whom they had met along the way, compelled them not to go back the same way, but to seek a milder return route further north instead. And so the ship veered away from the familiar southern coast that led back to the strait of the Symplegades, and sailed north-west.
 
No one quite knew where that favorable return route to the seas of Hellas would be, so Argo hugged the coast, exploring coves and river mouths. A promising deep cove opened before us, and, carelessly, we spent two days in it, hoping to find a passage west. There was no such passage there, but when we returned to the mouth of the cove, we found two Colchian war vessels barring the way. Argo was trapped.
 
The pursuers knew that the men on the Argo were the best warriors of their land, and were not eager to start a fight. Instead, they sent emissaries, who met with us on the shore. Hand back the golden fleece, they demanded, and we will let you sail home. Also, they said, pointing at me, return to us the traitor woman who is traveling with you, that she may know the reward for defying King Aietes! Commanding the Colchian ships, the emissaries let it be known, was none other than Aietes' own son, the fearsome Apsyrtus.
 
Apsyrtus, my boyish half-brother?! The Argonauts gave a mocking reply, and the Colchians strutted back to their camp, but my mind was ill at ease. Goddess, how difficult does reason make our lives, how much easier to love with blind trust! I was certain of my feelings for Jason, but I confess that I trusted no one and nothing else, perhaps because I had so recently abandoned my trusting, sheltered life at the court. The band on the Argo had voyaged to Colchis for the fleece, not for me, and they could well be willing to bargain me away for their trophy! As for Apsyrtus, he was sent to bring back both, but he would endear himself to his savage father even if he brought back just one; he had little to lose in the bargain. Jason, I thought, was still an island of firm ground in this sea of doubt, and so I decided to take things in my own hands.
 
People who lived in those parts had built a temple to Artemis, a kindred goddess. Earlier, I had come by the temple and befriended the priestess, a good-natured if somewhat gossipy woman. Now I sought her out, and I said to her:
 
"My friend, I am in dire predicament. I am a Colchian woman, a priestess like you, and these terrible Hellenes have abducted me from my very temple. I dare not run away or speak to my countrymen on those ships, for fear of punishment. They think that I am traveling with these pirates of my own will!
 
"Please, go speak to my countrymen. Their leader is my dear brother: ask them to send him to this temple tonight, alone and in secret, and I will explain everything and escape under his protection!"
 
I wasn't sure that Apsyrtus would come, but I donned a priestly robe once more, and even poured a libation for Artemis in the evening, asking her to forgive what was to happen. Then I waited silently at the entrance of the temple, leaning at the door frame and staring into darkness... Close behind me, fluttering softly by my ear like a night moth, Elpis whispered of future happiness, of a life that was yet to be, a life with Jason.
 
At last, late in the evening, I saw a man approaching. Two torches were burning at the temple's entrance, and I stepped forward, so that I could see his face but mine would remain in the shadow.
 
It was Apsyrtus. Same heavy build as his father, a thick face with small, cruel eyes. He took off his helmet as he came near:
 
"Sister, is that you? Is it true that you were abducted, that you did not freely join those bastards? Why didn't you say anything to my men?"
 
Yes, I hissed inwardly, it is I, your sister who you would have gladly hauled back and handed over to torture and death. Now you think you will be a greater hero for rescuing me! But aloud, I said with feigned relief:
 
"Brother, thanks be to the blessed gods for your presence! Yes, I was abducted, and I could not speak freely in front of those men who had taken me!"
 
A smug, callow smile spread over my brother's face. Gods, I thought, he doesn't even have the hardened cruelty of a true warrior. He is still a boy who torments captured frogs and thinks himself fierce for it!
 
Behind him, a shadow stepped out of the shadows. Jason had emerged from his hideout, and was now approaching Apsyrtus with panther's steps, holding a wide-blade sword with both hands. I stepped forward, gripped my brother's hands lest he should turn around, and blathered on:
 
"Oh brother, you don't know how terrible it has been! They took me, a priestess, and made me serve them, cook their food for them; they even made me wash their filthy garments..."
 
A heavy cutting blow came down on the back of Apsyrtus' head, in mid-sentence of my chatter. Goddess, I had never before looked into the face of a dying man... His gaze broke, his features stiffened for an instant, as if trying to grimace, and then he collapsed without a sound. I let go of his hands as he fell... Behind him, Jason stood, holding the sword and staring emptily, like a man struck.
 
Well, brother, that is that, I thought. You were going to use me to gain glory, one way or another. If only it was your father lying here instead...
 
And at that thought, something broke loose inside me, something that had been there a long time, half-hidden from sight. I ripped the sword from Jason's unsteady hands, and started swinging wildly at Apsyrtus' body, over and over, muttering obscenities I barely recall and would be ashamed to repeat. If only it was father...
 
When Jason, pale and speechless, finally stopped me, we were both splattered with gore, and Apsyrtus' body lay in pieces in a pool of blood. His limbs were hacked off; the sword had cut great gashes in his chest and belly, and his cloven head lay severed a few paces away, where I had kicked it...
 
Still saying nothing, Jason picked up the dripping pieces of the body and threw them into a hollow behind some boulders. Then we gathered what stones we could find, and covered Apsyrtus' remains by way of burial. I did not care, but Jason insisted on it.
 
He and I came back to the camp bloodstained and filthy, but our companions did not ask for explanations. We gathered clean garments, then walked along the shore, away from the camp. We had gone a little distance, when Jason suddenly stopped and leaned over some rocks, shaking in a paroxysm of vomiting. When it was over, he wiped his mouth with his hand, then removed his clothes and waded into the water. I did the same, and we washed ourselves in the sea, side by side, in the moonlight. Goddess, what modesty can there be between two murderers?
 
I threw away in disgust my priestly disguise; when we returned to the Argo, I was wearing the warrior's tunic again.
 
Argo began to move under oars as soon as the daylight came. The Argonauts had aimed for the nearer of the Colchian ships, rammed her with Argo's prow, and poured onto her deck like a pack of wild dogs. I would have been among them with my dagger but for one Argonaut, the fatherly Mopsus, who gently barred my way and said: "Don't. Jason must not lose you."
 
By the time the shrieks and blasphemies of the battle had died down, the Argonauts had slaughtered the enemy crew, except for a few who jumped into the sea, and had set fire to the blood-drenched vessel. The men on the other ship, leaderless and frightened, took to their oars and escaped to open waters to save themselves. Argo was sailing free once again.
 
* * *
 
Goddess, I will not clutter my confession with everything that occurred on our voyage. The Argo journeyed on fair seas and rough, avoided sea monsters and escaped the Wandering Rocks; after many days we sailed at last into the Ionian Sea, casting anchor in the friendly harbor of King Alcinous, on the Drepane island.
 
Alcinous and his queen, Arete, offered us a warm welcome and a respite from the long sea journey. But the respite was not to be, not yet. No sooner than we received the King's welcome, we found out that a ship from Colchis was also anchored at Drepane. They were on friendly terms with Alcinous, but were undoubtedly still searching for the Argo. And indeed, as soon as the circumstances became known, a dispatch of armed Colchians confronted Alcinous, demanding that the traitor Medeia be handed over to them. The golden fleece had apparently been forgotten already, but I was not.
 
The most wondrous thing on my whole journey happened at that moment: all the Argonauts drew their weapons at once, swearing to protect me. I must affirm, my goddess, that these wandering Hellenes had earned my awe as greater heroes than I could have imagined. Battling the pursuers was easy; but from the night when I first boarded the Argo, during all the lonely days at sea, I was always, to everyone, Jason's bride; to all of his companions I was a sister who had made their hopeless quest successful. There was never as much as a leering look cast my way.
 
And they all stood up for me as one. Alcinous, however, was not going to have foreigners fighting on his soil. He ordered everyone to stand down, and declared that he had to think the demand over; he would render a decision the next morning. For now, he bade both parties to behave like good guests in his land.
 
Another long and uncertain day, as we sat and talked among ourselves, guessing what Alcinous' verdict would be. It was Mopsus, to whom I had become like a daughter, who spoke up first and pledged to defend me, no matter what the king decides. All the others nodded; the Dioskuri spoke up in agreement, then Augeas, and the dear Orpheus. Even the quarrelsome Idas, who would have preferred gaining the fleece by manlier means, rather than with a woman's help; even he declared gruffly that a maiden traveling under his protection will never be given over to that ogre Aietes!
 
There would be no battle this time, though, as help came from unexpected quarters. In the evening, a maidservant of the Queen appeared, and told us this:
 
"Queen Arete knows what decision the King will proclaim in the morning: If Medeia is still a virgin, she is to be returned to Colchis; but if she and Jason have known bodily love together, the King will declare that they be left in peace, for the sake of the child she may be carrying."
 
A laughter of relief rippled through the assembled company. Someone slapped Jason on the back and said, in good-natured tease: "You know what battle you must fight, Commander!"
 
In high spirits, and with the help of some women summoned by the Queen's messenger, they arranged a bridal chamber in a sacred cave nearby, making a bed from a pile of animal skins, with the golden fleece itself spread out on top. They offered sacrifices appropriate for a wedding, everyone garlanded their heads with leafy wreaths, and Orpheus sang a wedding hymn to the strains of his lyre. Through the night, the Argonauts kept watch outside, and in the cave, on the golden fleece, Jason and I made good on our marriage vows.
 
When the morning came, and we stepped out in the daylight, every busybody on Drepane was there to salute the newlyweds and gawk to their heart's content — just as Arete had wanted, I surmised. There was nothing for the shrewd Alcinous to do but acknowledge where things stood: he appeared before everyone, in the company of his beaming Queen, and declared us duly wed and under his protection.
 
The delegates from Colchis objected, but the King told them firmly to either honor his decree, or else leave and stay far away from his island. And then a curious thing happened: a group of Colchian soldiers stepped forward, acknowledged Alcinous as their king and asked for permission to stay and live on Drepane. Then another bunch of them summoned courage, and another. In fact, the entire Colchian crew was asking for asylum!
 
Seeing this, I went and talked to some of them, my compatriots after all. After some hesitation, they revealed that Aietes had threatened them upon departure from Colchis: anyone returning empty-handed would suffer the punishment he had in store for me! These soldiers were obedient men, but they were not evil, nor did they share their king's all-consuming hatreds; when they saw what their prospects were, they decided they would not return home. I heard later that some had settled on Drepane, some on the nearby islands, but that was the last time we had to worry about pursuers from Colchis.
 
Everything turned out well, goddess, but was Alcinous' decree just? He would have sent a virgin to her death... No, it wasn't just, but it appeared impartial, and it kept Drepane out of a war with Colchis. It wasn't just, but what had I done that was just, other than by the justice of my own stubborn heart, since the day when I first set my eyes on that man from Hellas?
 
If Medeia is still a virgin... What a joke! On the morning of that now distant night, the night of Apsyrtus' death and the slaughter of his crew, Argo was sailing on gentle seas, under favorable wind. I was standing by the deck's railing, looking somberly at the sea, when Jason came and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. We looked at each other, and we knew what we both wanted. I took his hand and led the way to a hatch that led below the deck. Jason went down the ladder first, and as I waited for him to descend, I noticed that all the Argonauts were suddenly very engrossed in some task or another, none of them glancing our way. I looked around, smiled, and went down the ladder.
 
It was dark below the deck, and not very clean. All the same, we found a secluded place, in deeper darkness, far from the hatch. And there, to the creaking of Argo's mast and the sound of the waves, we threw ourselves at each other. We embraced with the despairing eagerness of two people who sought to put some distance between themselves and the horror of the previous night...  Afterwards, love's exhaustion brought us both some much-needed sleep.
 
* * *
 
Argo's wanderings, goddess, took her to Corinth in the end. But the appointed end of Jason's journey was meant to be the city of Iolcos in Magnesia, the place to which he was obliged to deliver the golden fleece. By the time our long journey had at last reached the Iolcos' shore, everyone on the Argo seemed more inclined to caution than to boasts of victory, so we cast the anchor a little distance away, while Jason and a few others went into the city inconspicuously on foot.
 
They were gone for a good whole day, and when they returned, I saw trouble on Jason's face right away. All of us gathered around them to hear the news.
 
"Medeia, my wife," Jason looked at me, "you know nothing of the affairs that brought us to Iolcos, so I should tell you some things about the past. I was born in Iolcos, and my father was tangled up in a never fully resolved succession dispute with his half-brother, King Pelias who reigns here.
 
"Pelias had sent me and my companions to fetch the golden fleece as a pious quest. The reason he gave was that, long ago, a Boeotian youth, Phrixus by name, had escaped being unjustly put to death, by flying away to Colchis on the back of a winged golden ram that was sent to him by the gods. Once in Colchis, he sacrificed the ram to Zeus. However, people said that when Phrixus died he was not given proper burial in Colchis; and so, in order to appease his shadow, the divine ram's fleece had to be brought back to Hellas.
 
"But all of that was a ruse. Pelias hoped I would perish on the quest, and had imprisoned my parents and given them a choice between suicide and death at the hands of his henchmen. Both my parents took their own lives, and Pelias killed their infant son, a child the gods had granted them in their later years. People say he himself dashed the boy's head against the prison floor."
 
There was stunned silence all around, and Jason went on:
 
"Vengeance is in order for these deeds, not the reward of the golden fleece." Heads nodded in agreement. "But Pelias is an old, ailing man: exacting revenge on him seems hollow and dirty to me. Besides, Iolcos is well fortified, and we are few. And you, Acastus, our good and worthy companion, are Pelias' son; no one could expect you to join a battle against your own father."
 
Acastus the Argonaut said nothing, but stared at the ground and shook his head in dismay.
 
I looked around at the faces of my companions. It was painful... They had sacrificed much to carry out Jason's quest; they had stood up for me in Drepane; and at what should have been their time of triumph, they saw that they had been played for fools by a dishonorable man. Nor could they do much against a walled city, and their loyalties were divided. I spoke up:
 
"Friends, I will go into Iolcos alone. No, Jason, don't argue about it... And you, Idas, do not grumble: no one doubts your strength and courage, but sometimes a woman can find a passage where the bravest man would find only death.
 
"It may take me a few days; look out for a torch waving from a rooftop at night: that will be your sign that the path is clear."
 
I put on some road-worn clothes, gave myself a ragged, disheveled look, took my box of charms, and went into Iolcos as an itinerant healer from far away; no one stopped me. I set up a stall in the market, and for a few days I healed people's ailments with my potions.
 
Gratitude of these simple people was an unexpected joy, but, as I had thought would happen, after a day or two the court's messenger appeared, and ordered me to the king. Pelias was indeed old and ailing, spending much of his time in bed, or else dragging himself around with visible effort. I gave him relief from the most annoying of his ailments, but he quickly made me know what he really wanted. As soon as I was alone by his bed, he clamped my arm with his dry, bony hand covered with age spots:
 
"Healer woman," he rasped, "I didn't call for you to anoint my boils. You can do more, much more; I have heard how good you are. I want youth and vigor again. Make that happen!"
 
I looked into his face, into his eyes of indistinct light color and a floating, watery gaze of an old man. And there, in the depth of that gaze was fear of death, fear of Hades, fear of the end. I freed my arm from his grip and said:
 
"You have very great faith in me, King. I will prepare the necessary charms."
 
Pelias' daughters, three of them, were always around him, and I thought it better to use them for my purposes than to dodge them. Goddess, it is frighteningly easy to delude people with lies they want to believe! With some trickery, I convinced them of my powers: I would make King Pelias young again, and his family would rule forever — with the daughters themselves as priestesses and forever young keepers of eternal youth!
 
Once the foolish women were convinced, and all was ready, I went to King's bedside and gave him a potion to drink. That, I said, was the first step in his rejuvenation. As he was slowly becoming drowsy, I looked at him closely: this aged man, who had little time left to him, had snuffed out three defenseless lives without hesitation. For what? I asked him silently. To protect your pitiful remaining days from those who might depose you? And you killed a child for that?
 
Pelias must have seen something in my face, because a sudden look of acute fear came over him. He lifted his arm feebly and strained to make a sound, but the potion had already stymied his speech. I looked into his fear-crazed eyes for a few long, silent moments, and then he passed out.
 
I called Pelias' daughters to his bed, and ordered them to cut up his body into thirteen pieces, as I had explained to them was necessary for the rejuvenation. One of them recoiled from it in the last moment, but the other two went ahead. When they were finished with it, they carried the pieces into the kitchen and placed them in a cauldron of hot water that had been made ready earlier. Pelias, I assured them, would emerge from the cauldron a young, vigorous man. And so, while the horrid stew was coming to a boil, we climbed onto the roof, waving lit torches at the night sky and saluting Selene the Moon, supplicating her for King's successful rejuvenation. The Argonauts took the leaderless Iolcos with barely a skirmish.
 
The butchery could not remain concealed for long. Even though Pelias was not greatly beloved among his people, the Argonauts were uneasy about tarrying around Iolcos, and begun to talk about returning home. The quest was at an end, and one by one they gathered their things and made preparations to go back to their home towns. The poor, foolish daughters of Pelias made no end of expiations and purifications to cleanse themselves of the horrible deed.
 
I did what I could not to be seen around very much, and Jason, too, had no stomach for staying in Iolcos any longer. We were sitting together on the shore one early morning, looking at the sea, when he, not a man of many words, poured out his feelings:
 
"Medeia, we need to go; there is nothing for me here. When I left Iolcos on the way to Colchis, bringing back the golden fleece seemed such a wondrous deed to accomplish. The fleece had to be a beautiful thing to behold, I thought; it would bring me glory and admiration, it would even give me a claim to the Iolcos throne! But now? My parents are dead, Iolcos in disarray; and who wants to sit on that blood-stained throne as Pelias' successor?
 
"And what do I care about Phrixus' ghost and his glorious golden rag? I'll give it to a temple somewhere, let the priests worry about it. My quest has given me you, Medeia... Let us go somewhere far away, maybe to Corinth, I have friends there. Let us start anew."
 
I reached for his hand and held it firmly in mine, the hand of the man I had followed all the way here, and would follow still... In the coming days, Jason made preparations to sail. He implored Acastus, Pelias' son, to assume the reign quickly, so that the city may not remain leaderless for long, and we sailed for Corinth with a few companions whose homes also lay that way.
 
Jason made a side trip to the temple of Zeus at Orchomenus, where he hung up the golden fleece and left it in the keeping of the priests, as he said he would. He returned to the ship without his precious prize, but with light steps of a man relieved of a burden, and we continued on our way to Corinth. When we arrived at the famous Isthmus, Jason and the remaining Argonauts beached the Argo one last time. Her long maiden journey would be her last: Argo would never sail again.
 
Jason and I settled in Corinth and remained there for ten years. Those were our happy years together.
 
* * *
 
What can one say about contentment, goddess? What can one say about happiness? Everyone wants to be happy, but when we are so lucky as to gain happiness for a while, it is an inward thing: there isn't all that much to say to others about it.
 
We were happy in Corinth. Jason indeed had friends who helped him establish himself, and as the leader of the great voyage of heroes he was soon part of the noble circles. As for me, I devoted myself to our children, the two sons I had borne, one after another, in short order. They were the sweet fruits of a desire that had stirred in distant Colchis, a desire which had to wait for the end of the great voyage, snatching a hurried moment here and there, before it could come into its own, here in Corinth.
 
I nursed my sons as infants; I washed them and swaddled them myself, lulled them to sleep and guarded them while they slept. I watched them as they begun to crawl around, and I taught them their first steps; I spoke sweetly to them and they babbled their first words to me. I watched them grow, I taught them things children need to learn. Yes, the maids could have done it all for me, a woman of means and the wife of a hero, but why? Weren't these children the prize of my quest, my dearest thing, my golden fleece?
 
Goddess, I was an unworldly maiden when I escaped Colchis as a willing traitor to my land and kin. I left your respectable priesthood to become your witch instead, and I came of age quickly, on a journey stained with treachery and blood. I settled to live far away, as a foreigner in a foreign land, and for what? For what, if not because my body had long ago declared that the slim, confident stranger was the man whose children I would bear, everything else be damned?
 
And now the children had grown to be boys, boisterous and lively like all boys. Mermeros was the older, going onto nine years of age, and Pheres one year younger. There was mischief to be done, scrapes to be bandaged, and boyish disputes to be sorted out. Throughout their childhood, Jason was a patient and level-headed father to his sons, and although he naturally left their daily care to the servants, he spent much time with the boys. How lucky they are, I thought, to have such a father!
 
The thunderclap came without warning, as it always does when you gods decide to put an end to the fleeting happiness granted to us pitiful mortals. It was late afternoon; the boys were running around outside, and I was busying myself with some simple and enjoyable household task. Jason came home from the court, where he had been spending considerable time lately, wearing the elegant robe of a courtier. I hurried toward him to welcome him, but he looked at me with seeming annoyance, and made a stopping gesture with his hand:
 
"Wife, it is time that I spoke to you. I am setting you aside."
 
"What?" I blurted out. For a moment, I wasn't sure what his words were supposed to mean.
 
"I am divorcing you. Creon, the King of Corinth has offered me his daughter in marriage, and I have agreed."
 
An empty feeling came over me; it took me a few deep breaths before I could speak.
 
"You have agreed?" I said, choking on my words. Jason said nothing.
 
"Just so, behind my back, you have agreed? You made your deal with Creon and you are setting me aside? Me, who had boarded a ship full of foreign men, alone, for your sake, who had betrayed her land for your love? Everything I have done along the way, I have done in hope of a life with you and our children together!"
 
I felt a surge of blood in my head, humming in my ears, blurring my eyes with rage:
 
"It is Glauce, isn't it?"
 
Still, Jason said nothing; he looked shiftily to one side, and his silence answered for him. My voice was rising, my speech slurred with anger, but I went on:
 
"Have you forgotten everything? Have you forgotten the day we met at my goddess' shrine? Have you forgotten our first time, under Argo's deck, my first time! No, even that wasn't our first time: we were already a couple the night before, united in murder before we were united in love! And you are abandoning your bloodied accomplice, the woman who delivered her own brother to the sword for you, you are leaving me for that vapid creature?
 
"Have you forgotten everything? Our nights together... You were drunk with my body, you couldn't get enough... You called me your buxom bride, like great Zeus his Hera! And what will become of the fruits of those nights? What of our children?!"
 
The mention of the children offered him something to latch onto. He gave me another sideways glance and replied:
 
"I will take our sons. They will be well cared for, do not worry about that... But you must leave Corinth right away; that is Creon's order."
 
An abyss yawned under me, goddess, but only my rage fell into the void, leaving my mind clear, clear as it was that time long ago, when I guided Jason to his victory in Colchis. Exile, then. As good as a death sentence for a lone woman...
 
Without anger, calmly, I looked at the man I had followed all the way here from Colchis. He was still slim, upright and handsome, but something was different, something I had not noticed or had brushed aside until now. The hero was gone, the Argonaut. He was just a middle-aged courtier now; good-looking and taking proper care of himself, yes, but presently his greatest trial was watching what he says in King's presence, not yoking brazen bulls... Maybe he never really was anything else.
 
"Creon knows how Pelias died," he spoke again, eager to leave. "He fears you, Medeia... and so do I."
 
With these words he slunk away, without looking back and with an air of unease hanging about his still handsome frame. I called the boys inside and ordered the servants to take care of them for the evening: their father would not be back until late, and I had some things to attend to on my own. As she was taking the boys to the dining table, the old servant gave me an odd look...
 
Did she overhear me talking to — screaming at — Jason? No matter, they will all soon know... They will take no more orders from me, and I will be nothing to them. I will be merely "that woman from Colchis," as I had once overheard the boorish manservant call me behind my back. I went to my chambers and threw the bar across the door.
 
I stared emptily through the window for a while, into the gathering evening. Even Elpis was silent; she could offer me only fear this time, and I knew her well enough to swat her away. But Elpis or no Elpis, what should I do? My pleasantly settled life was coming apart again, as it once did in Colchis, but this time in injury and hurt, rather than in hope. Perhaps for the first time, I was of two minds. Medeia the sorceress would willingly go to her exile and death, at the price of a heap of corpses left in her wake; Medeia the mother wanted to hold her boys in her arms, protect them, live for their sake whatever the cost. Goddess, I have neglected your arts for too many years; your disciple, the woman who had boarded the Argo in the moonlight, has wandered away into this amiable world of daily chores and little pleasures. I have come to love it all far too much, and now I am hurting beyond belief because it is being taken from me. No, I must find out which Medeia I am, and I know how to go about it.
 
I poured water into a small cauldron, placed it on a stand and lit a fire underneath. With some trepidation, I retrieved my old box of charms, unfastened its dusty cover, and looked inside. Yes, the vials were still there, undisturbed, and I found the one I needed. All was going well: the cauldron was coming to a boil, and, in the falling darkness, I poured out the vial of pungent liquid into the steaming water.
 
Sitting on a tripod next to the cauldron, in the gradually darkening room, I leaned over and breathed in the vapor. After two or three deep breaths my head became light; I felt jovial, almost giggly. I breathed in slowly a few more times, and then there was a loud ringing in my ears, and a sudden, brief pang of dread came over me... The floor slipped away from beneath me, and then I was falling, falling downwards and back, into darkness...
 
* * *
 
It is pitch dark, this void in which I am falling, dark and formless. There is nothing to touch, nothing to hold onto. Baying hounds... I hear hounds baying in some unseen distance... But now the darkness congeals, and I see something: two faces floating in a patch of vague light in front of me. They are children, a girl and a boy. Yes, I remember them from my childhood, just the faces; I have forgotten their names long ago. They are staring at me from close by, solemnly serious, as children are in their disapproval. It hurts...
 
"Look at her," the girl says. "Strange. Doesn't talk to anybody, always plays by herself. Always mixes something in her bowls, catches bugs and lizards. Maybe she cooks them and eats them?"
 
"You think she is a witch?" asks the boy. "I bet she is. Look how thick and black her hair is: maybe she's hiding horns under there. I bet she has fingernails like claws, too. Yeah, she's a witch. They'll chase her out into the woods when she is bigger."
 
"I am not a witch, I am not!" I cry back at them, motioning them away helplessly with my short little arms, wiping tears from my face. "I am not a witch!"
 
Their childish disapproval only grows thicker with disgust. "Let's go. We don't want to play with this freak."
 
The two pudgy faces disappear. Hounds are baying... Where am I now? Ah yes, the great hall at the court... It is full of people standing, sitting, walking. I see them as from below, they all seem very tall. I slither between them, no taller than their waists, and they do not notice me; they are laughing and talking loudly. Over there, a large drunken man is swaggering with a wine bowl in his hand... I wish mother was still here: she would notice me, hold my hand, say something sweet... I wander around among the crowd, then out, onto the night-covered terrace.
 
There is no one on the terrace, but there is light coming from a distant doorway. What is there? I approach timidly... In the dim light of a torch, down on the floor, there are bodies: writhing, clutching one another, bare legs and arms intertwined. Women's robes on the floor; jerking movements and muffled cries of distress... I peek from behind the doorpost... No, it is not distress, there are peals of throaty laughter mixed with the moans... I know what that is. Chalciope had told me: she said that's what people do with each other when they grow up. I slip away quietly, as I came, into the dark, and the hounds are baying in the distance...
 
I am in the great hall again; the crowds are gone, and I am taller. Father is there, wearing a scowl on his face, and the guards have brought a captive before him. The man is limping, his hands are tied behind his back. I look at his face, and a spasm of dread grips me... not in my chest, not in the heart, as they always say; no, the fear pinches the tip of my spine, a piercing twitch of terror, which rises up through my backbone and makes my hair stand on ends:
 
In the middle of the man's face, below his eyes, where the nose should be, there is only a wound: it is bubbling blood and oozing red rivulets onto his mouth; his beard, too, is caked with the ooze... Another oozing wound on the side of his head, hair sticky with blood... I cannot see the other side, but I know an ear is missing there too.
 
Father is glowering at the mutilated man; he is purple in the face, growling something I can't make out. A worried-looking woman rushes up to me, puts her arm around my shoulders, ushers me hurriedly out of the hall; someone is explaining in a hushed, urgent voice that this man is an evil man, a traitor... So the horror is really done, now, right here where I am, not in the stories people tell... And the body on which the horror is visited is the same body that writhes and moans on the floor by the torchlight. My own body shakes with revulsion; I try to lean against a wall, steady myself...
 
But I am falling again... There are screams now in the darkness: the man they called a traitor is living his last hour... And then all is silent. Silent and still. I am not falling any more.
 
I am floating now, weightless, in the empty darkness. The dark is slowly giving way to a flicker, red and yellow like the glow of a fire. I see my bare limbs, my body floating in the flickering light, my hair flowing around me in black streams, as if under water... And all around me is an orange glow, a flame that casts light but does not burn.
 
A sound comes from behind the glow, a sound like the flick of a tongue, then a soft, drawn-out hiss. "Show yourself," I call gently, not sure whether my voice carries through the orange haze. The great snake appears, flicking his tongue, and I stretch out my arms to him: I want to cast my spell again, dance for him again, in the glowing emptiness. But the dragon surges forward, coils himself smoothly around me, and holds me in a dangerous, gentle embrace that only a deadly creature can give. My heart beats again with the strange thrill of those dances long ago, beneath the golden fleece...
 
Then the dragon lets go, and I wrap my limbs around his scaly body in turn. How smoothly polished the scales feel against my skin...  The dragon swirls his body around me again, and we dance a silent, slow dance of coiling and uncoiling, in the midst of a glowing fire in which things have no weight and past has no remembrance.
 
* * *
 
When I came to, I was lying on the floor next to my cauldron and tripod, curled up on the side, my arms wrapped around me as in an embrace. I must have laid there a long time, because the fire under the cauldron had burned out, and all was dark, except for that broad streak of stars, which they say is Hera's milk, splattered across the empty sky outside the window. My body was sore but my thoughts were clear, even as a stubborn orange glow shimmered in the back of my mind... Fumbling in the darkness, I found a torch, lit a fire with some flints, and went to work.
 
Common people fear your arts, goddess; they fear the oily, sticky drops of poison which the sorceress dispenses, they recoil from the pungent smell of the healing potion. But I, your disciple, I know that true sorcery comes from the dark depths of the soul, from pains never atoned for, not from beakers and vials. I poured my potions into the bowl, stirred and mixed; I watched as the contents changed color and acrid fumes wafted from it. But it was the hands that held the bowl that poured the real magic into the reeking mixture: all the hurts meted out by unwitting torturers with pudgy faces; the terrible awareness of the frailty of the body, in pleasure and in pain; all of it streamed into my bowl. And above everything, giving my charm its awful potency, was the dragon's fire; the fire and the venom with which his sinewy tenderness had imbued my body that night.
 
The day was breaking. The fumes had wafted away, and the boiling colors in my bowl had faded, leaving behind a milky, shimmering-white liquid. I got up from the tripod and, searching through my finery, I fetched a most exquisite white robe with a gold trim. I spread the robe on a cloth-covered table and, using a ladle, I carefully smeared the milky liquid over it, until I had used it all up. Once the robe had dried, I wrapped it in a cloth, making a neat, tidy bundle. Carefully, I gathered all the rags that had come in touch with the potion, took them outside and set them on fire. I threw the mixing bowl into the fire as well, and I watched as the hot blaze cracked the clay vessel into shards.
 
In mid-morning, as the sun was climbing into the sky, I sought out my children. They had already been groomed and fed, so I called them to my side:
 
"Boys, I want you to go to the King's palace; do you know how to get there?" They nodded.
 
"Good. Take this bundle to princess Glauce, and tell her that this is a gift from your mother. Tell her that I send her good wishes, and that I am her father's obedient subject. Mermeros, will you remember all of that?"
 
"M-hm," he nodded gravely.
 
"Good. Pheres, you carry the gift. Go now, boys, and come back right away! Don't tarry around the palace. And one more thing: do not unwrap the bundle or stick your hands inside! Understand?"
 
"M-hm."
 
The children trotted off. I watched them go, in a daze from a missed night's sleep, while the cicada rasped spitefully in my ear: "You won't be the last one suffering, Medeia, you won't be the last one..."
 
But I must hurry! I shook myself. Goddess, how does one prepare for exile? I had been a fugitive once before; a younger woman, I had thrown myself into exile headlong and without regret, for the sake of a man, but now? I have children to care for... Almost as if preparing for a pleasure trip, I gathered clean clothes for the boys, packed some food for the road. When they come back, there will be no time for preparations... It was foolish, I know... I dressed in travel garments, gathered my box of charms, and strapped the dagger to my waist. Then I stood by the window, waiting for the children to return.
 
By the time I saw the boys in the street, ambling back unhurried and carefree, smoke was already billowing from Creon's court some distance behind. I picked up the bag and ran out to meet them:
 
"Hurry, children," I said, as they looked at me with uncomprehending faces. "Just follow your mother; I will explain everything to you in a little while." And we left the city of Corinth, on foot, in broad daylight.
 
I had sent the boys to the court because it was a good ruse, but I wish I had been there to see for myself. I only overheard angry Corinthians talk about it... They said that Glauce had unwrapped the gift shortly after my boys had left, and was taken by the beauty of the garment right away. She dressed herself in the exquisite robe, foolish creature, and struck vain poses in front of a mirror.
 
The warmth of Glauce's skin awakened the potion, as I knew it would, and the garment burst into flames. They said it burned with a sticky, unquenchable fire, like oil or pitch — as I also knew it would. The melting robe even dribbled shimmering, burning droplets of white pitch on the floor... It did not take long before Glauce was a smouldering corpse. But then Creon, her father, threw himself onto her — to save her, or to mourn, I don't know which — and the white pitch clung to his body, and the fire consumed him as well. By the time the blaze had burned itself out, the entire wing of the palace was a charred ruin.
 
My revenge succeeded beyond all my hopes, but our escape did not. Slowed down by Pheres' little legs, we only reached Hera's temple, a little distance out in the countryside, before the crowd of enraged Corinthians closed in on us. How strange, my Hekate, that the priestess of your dark arts should seek refuge in the temple of an Olympian, the very goddess who had brought Jason into my life! But Jason was dead to me, and outside a mob of Creon's faithful subjects was baying for my blood and the blood of my children.
 
I looked at my boys. They were frightened and miserable: at this time of day, they would have been playing, given their daily schooling; they would have been doted on by the servants. Instead, they were huddled against the stone of the altar, perhaps in need of relieving themselves, staring with children's wide eyes into my own bewildered face. This harried woman with a weapon on her side was their mother, the mother they had only known as a fine lady and a hero's wife!
 
You are doomed, children, I see that now. Should we escape this mob, somehow, in the darkness of the night, what then? Three of us, alone on the road... The fiercest she-wolf of a mother could not keep you safe for long, and you will end your lives abjectly, as slaves, separated from one another. At best, perhaps you will become squires, pleasure toys of wealthy men... And the mob outside? Even if I pleaded with them, offered my life to save yours, they would take you anyway: me for Creon, and you for Glauce. The fire I ignited will burn all three of us...
 
I reached for my potions, and I said in a husky voice, my heart beating in my throat:
 
"Here, boys, drink some of this, both of you. It will make you feel better. Go on, Mermeros, have another swig, like your brother."
 
Mermeros drank up and handed me the empty beaker. I hugged the children and held them close to my chest; soon their eyes closed and their little heads rolled to the side in deep sleep. It is good, they will not feel anything... Two quick stabs with the dagger, carefully, in the right place... They each gave only a little sigh in their sleep, as their hearts ceased beating, and then they were still. I placed their bodies on the floor next to the altar.
 
Later, when they are found, people will argue about it, appalled, and say that perhaps Corinthian men had killed them... For how could a mother do such a thing? Let them argue, appalled as they well may be. You and I, my goddess, we know the truth.
 
* * *
 
I escaped once more, goddess, when the dark night fell, under the noses of the Corinthians and into this wilderness. I am not your witch for nothing, my Hekate...
 
Indeed, Medeia. You walk through the night as sure of foot as I.
 
I escaped alive, but my boys are dead, and I had killed them. No, I do not mean the dagger; the dagger was just the last, inevitable thing I had to do at the end of our run. They died because of a revenge I was lusting for but did not think through. They died because the night before, in dragon's weightless embrace, I had forgotten everything: I was a virgin once again, a maiden open to a thrill yet untried, oblivious of the cares of motherhood.
 
I do not regret the embrace with the dragon; he is just a big snake, lovable and loving in his simple, dangerous way... But I resent Elpis with my entire soul, goddess. She has always been around, luring me with visions of bliss, urging me on and barring the exit... And in the end, when all her lies had gone to pieces, she had left me only the lust for vengeance.
 
I am a clever woman, goddess — clever even to my own surprise — but I see now that Elpis has used my cleverness to her own ends, seduced me to chase after her mirages of joy. I have served her, thinking that I was pursuing my dreams, always clever to injure only my enemies. Until now. In the pursuit of that last mirage, crafting Glauce's death in smouldering white pitch, my foresight slipped. And now my boys are dead too, my quest as futile as the journey of the Argo.
 
But what is Elpis, really? A demon, an immortal? No one hopes to sway her with prayers, no one builds her a shrine, yet she is there, ever present, drawing out mortal lives as on a string. Why do you, blessed gods, suffer her among you?
 
Ah, do not blame us immortals, priestess, we are not as free to change things as mortal men imagine... But in truth, Elpis is not a goddess, nor a demon, not even an immortal. No one prays to her because Elpis is no one: she is part of you, Medeia, as your hunger and thirst are part of you. She is born and dies with every mortal, only as immortal as the race of men itself. She draws out your lives with her illusions because that is the way your race endures, the only way.
 
If that is so, my goddess, if that is the only way, then I plead for reprieve. This is my purpose tonight: I will banish Elpis from my being, every part of her, and forever. I call upon you, merciful Hekate, allow my charm to succeed!
 
You wish to live as a shadow, Medeia, expecting nothing and fearing nothing? You are courageous, my disciple, braver than any mortal alive. But why not descend into the Underworld forthwith?
 
Goddess, I know that shadows in Hades are past Elpis' reach, but the world is past their reach too. Nothing is theirs any longer to desire or to hold, and all they have is an unending now of their memories. Is there a now, a present still to grasp here on Earth, forthrightly, without fears and hopes? That is what I want to know.
 
You are dear to me, brave spirit. You have always been dear to me, so may it be as you wish. But when you have banished Elpis and her lies, you will have banished the gods, too, for it is through the mortal hope and fear that you know us. It is strange, my priestess, that a god and a mortal should say goodbye, but that is how it is: you and I will never meet again.
 
Never again? Then do not think this a betrayal, my Hekate, because I could never betray you. Let the mortal say goodbye to the god in friendship, even as all friendships come to an end some day. That is a price I accept.
 
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