Читать книгу Medea - Kerry Greenwood - Страница 15

I could read and write - and how inkstained I got, and how Chalkiope scolded me for the black blotches on the clean white tunic worn by all princesses of the royal house! - so I must have been nine years old when Trioda summoned me one hot morning.

It was sizzling as I crossed the white marble pavement. The sun had heated the stone, so that even my hard bare feet were uncomfortably warm. I wondered where I had left my sandals when I went fishing with my half-brother Aefialeus and my sister Chalkiope's sons: Cytisoros, the eldest and leader; Argeos, the bully; Phrontis, the trickster; and Melanion, my friend.

My sister was fifteen when I was born. She had lain with the foreigner, borne his children and wept over his grave while I was growing up. I remembered him, a tall man with a loud voice. He had died eight years ago and the stems of the ivy around his grave were as thick as hawsers. I thought my sister old, of course, old and stern. And she disapproved of me, though we could have been close. Both of our mothers had died at our births - and she certainly interfered in my life as much as any mother could have done. Trioda said that there was a curse on all women associated with my father, Aetes.

Chalkiope had been pretty, I vaguely remembered, though now her brow was furrowed and her lips pinched. She did not like my friendship with her children, though the youngest was the same age as me. Melanion had smooth skin and eyes like the most expensive Kriti honey, and I was another boy to him, a playmate, not a princess.

I could not marry. I knew that the priestesses of Hekate are always maidens. I did not see, however, that I could not be friends with Melanion because of that. He was my nephew. No one could object to amity amongst close kin, surely. Possibly, however, it might have been a good idea not to get quite so dirty while demonstrating this.

Trioda eyed me. She stood in her black garments like a crow in the brightness of the strong sunlight, her arm raised against the light. I surveyed myself.

I had skinned one knee on the edge of the landing stage, and I had fallen in - once my mistake and the second time because I was already wet and going to be scolded, and I liked the feel of the water. The shallow river-pond where we harvest shellfish had been as warm as blood, and I had already dried on my run from the banks. My tunic was crumpled and stained with tar and altogether I was a spectacle - an object lesson in what a princess of the royal house of Colchis should not look like.

I raised my chin and waited for a slap, but she did not hit me, or even seem to notice my disheveled condition. Instead, she gave me a potion and watched as I choked it down. It was bitter. Then she took my hand and led me into the grove.

I had been feeling defiant; now all my courage drained away. There was something in that grove - something new. The wind in the cypresses sang loud and shrill, though the day outside was as still as death. My mud-stiff hair stirred at the back of my neck. I could smell, suddenly, a reek of strong perfume, rank and fascinating, like a mixture of incense and rotting flesh, and I coughed, pulling against Trioda's hand, not to retreat but to run into the scent, into whatever was forming in the darkness under the trees. Something was pulling me. Trioda grabbed me by the shoulders.

'Speak,' she ordered. 'Pray. Listen!'

'Lady of Darkness,' I began. My words were blown away in the rising wind. 'Lady of Forests, Protector of the Newborn, Lady of the Three Ways, hear me.' Then I was guided or prodded to add, 'I am Medea. You called me. I am here.'

All utterances directed to the lady Hekate must be tripartite, or she will not hear them. The wind rose to a howl and we stood in the calm centre of it, untouched, though the pine-needles whipped past, hissing.

'Child,' said a voice. I fell to my knees, my mistress beside me. Trioda covered her face, but I stared into the pine needles, green and brown, as they began to form into… something.

A woman, ten cubits high, wreathed in snakes, flanked by two black hounds. Owls flew about her head. Her face was forming, dark eyes, black hair which fell below her waist and writhed and curled. The vegetable hands were open, she held out her arms, and an irresistible yearning drowsiness took me, folded me close and warm and safe.

She said 'Daughter,' and I fell asleep on her breast.

I woke in the dark. She was gone. The world was hollow, comfortless. I wept inconsolably. I cried for hours, refusing all attempts at reassurance by a shaken Trioda, until at the flux of the night, when Trioda says that the goddess Hekate is strongest, when the tide is ebbing and old men die, I heard it again.

A sweet voice, saying, 'Daughter.' It vibrated through my bones and I shivered with fear and delight.

I slept then, and did not weep. I was the daughter of the great goddess, and the next day two black hound bitches were beside my bed when I woke, and Trioda said that I was to be taught the lesser mysteries of Hekate.

They did not, at first, seem to be very intriguing. We searched through the beech woods for a certain fungus, scrabbled through endless grasses for a certain dark-leafed herb, and plucked little purple berries from a tall, fronded, meadow plant. These three things, fungus, leaf and berry, Trioda gathered into a basket made of ferns, which had taken me a whole day and considerable damage to my fingers and patience to construct. We did all this in silence. I was scratched and bored.

'Mistress,' I ventured, following her erect back along the path toward the palace. 'Mistress, what are we doing?'

'Tell me, Medea, what do you see in that basket?' she asked, her voice quite even, but with a strange undercurrent which I could not identify.

'Berries, Mistress, a flat red mushroom and a handful of dark green leaves.'

'That is what you see, is it, acolyte?'

There was some trick to the question, and I considered the things again. I strained my eyes, hoping for another vision, but all I could see was a badly made fern basket - my next one would be much better - and some wilting herbage.

'That is all I can see, Mistress,' I said crossly.

She knelt down so that she could look into my eyes. I will never be tall. I saw inside the hood she always wears in daylight. Trioda with her pale boney face, her beaked nose, her bright eyes and a straggle of coarse white hair. She was almost smiling. She smiled very seldom.

'Medea,' she said softly, 'these are the mysteries of Hekate, queen of phantoms. What you cannot see in that basket, my daughter, is death. You hold death in your hands. With what you carry, you could kill twenty strong men, even if they be heroes in the first flush of their manhood and strength. What you cannot see in that basket, little Princess, is power.'

I stared. Her face was soft, like a woman looking down at a newborn against her breast.

'It is like this, little daughter.' She motioned me to sit down, and I folded into the beechmast, smelling the sharp scent, appreciating the springy softness. 'Men rule the world, as was not the case in the beginning, when Hekate was the Triple Goddess, maiden, mother and crone. Men stole her, fragmented her, bent her worship to their purposes. Have you never wondered why the pine grove is called "Sacrifice Wood"?'

I had wondered, among many other things, and nodded. She shoved her hair carelessly back from her face, letting the hood fall.

'Once, when Hekate ruled and men were recognised for what they are - mere providers of the seed, useful for a space, but of no value in the nurture and feeding of the world - the Summer King walked into that wood every autumn, and there he met… someone. There he died, and his blood drained into the fertile ground. There he was buried, and a new king was found for the next spring. For we do not need men, little daughter, except for one purpose and for a short time.'

I was a little taken aback. I had often played in the Sacrifice Wood with Melanion. He did not like it, saying the wood was too dark and cold. I had always found it cool and soothing.

Trioda spoke quickly, as though she had a lot to tell me in a short time. 'But then men conquered us, Medea.'

'They conquered the goddess?' I gasped.

'No, no, She Who Meets cannot be conquered by men. She who was a Titan before the Cronos-children came and there was war in heaven. Latecomer Zeus gives her all honour, and the ability to grant any wish, if she pleases. She is as powerful as ever, but we are not. Women were conquered here, by stronger arms, more brutal laws. Women belong to men, to dispose of as they please. They are our masters. They forbade the sacrifice of the summer king, took away Her worship, thinned our blood, bound our limbs. They break us, kill us, sell us like slaves. But this they cannot steal. They cannot take away our knowledge, Medea. This I will teach you, all that I learned from the priestess who was my mother. Which herbs will heal. Which herbs will kill.'

'But Mistress,' I caught at her sleeve, 'my father holds Colchis in right of Aerope, my mother, that is the Colchian succession. To be king, you must marry a woman who is next in line for the throne - that is, Chalkiope, when my father is dead.'

'And Chalkiope has no daughter,' said Trioda. 'Therefore if she is to confer the kingship, she must attempt conception again, with a stranger. She must bear a daughter, and that will be hard. She is old for child-bearing, and the penetration of the male will hurt her.'

'It will hurt?' I gasped.

'Men are stronger, harder, cruel. She will accept it in hopes of bearing an heir, as all women do. Except the virgin acolytes of the goddess, most favoured of women, who need not endure the weight and the intrusion and the pain. You will never suffer it, Medea. Be joyful, and remember what I have told you.

'Now, this is called hemlock,' she touched the green leaves. 'It is deadly if it is made into an infusion - we will consider how such a death may be delivered. Mixed with wine it needs a lot of honey to disguise the taste. This is the red fungus,

Mycis Kokkinos. Grind it to powder when it is dried, and sprinkle it over food. It numbs the mouth on contact, so you must serve it in a savoury sauce. This is nightshade. The whole plant is dangerous, but the berries are most poisonous. Mix them with bramble and other berries and they will not be noticed. Do you understand?' she asked in her usual voice.

I said, 'I understand.' I didn't, of course; but I resolved that I should.

The palace of Aetes, my father, was spacious, made of white stone figured with frescoes and inlaid with tesserae. I lived in a small room off Chalkiope's chamber.

I had a fresco. It was of strange trees and brightly coloured flowers such as I had never seen, and in the centre coiled a golden serpent, bigger than life size, with green stones for eyes. I flung myself down on my bed and heard the leather straps squeak as they took my weight. It was tending towards autumn and the nights were cold.

Chalkiope called from her room, 'Is that you, Medea?'

I muttered something, and she appeared, wrapped in a fleecy cloak, her hair unbound and falling to her shoulders.

'What's the matter, Medea?' she asked.

'Trioda says…' I began, then stuck. I could not repeat to my sister, who was not a virgin, what the priestess had confided to me.

'What says Trioda?' asked Chalkiope, sitting down beside me. 'Come into my cloak, you're shivering.'

I was, I noticed. I allowed her to wrap the cloak around both of us and leaned my head against her shoulder.

'When Phrixos…' I felt my way towards a question, not knowing how she would react. She smelt lovely, of skin and sleep and perfumed oil. I sniffed appreciatively and she stroked my hair.

'When Phrixos?' she repeated.

'Did he hurt you? When you lost you maidenhead?'

'Hurt me? Of course, at first.' She felt me nod, and added, 'Only at first. I submitted to his desire, which is proper. And lying with a man is the only way to conceive, Medea.'

'I will never do that, never,' I said into her shoulder.

'Not if you follow the goddess,' she agreed. 'But you are too young to decide such matters, little sister. You are only nine. There is time for the Maiden and the Mother as well, you know.'

'No, there isn't,' I argued sleepily. 'Once virginity is lost, it is lost forever. So says my mistress.'

'And she is correct,' she laid me down in my bed and covered me with the luxuriant fleece. 'But we are women, sister. We have no voice in our own fate.'

'It's not fair,' I heard my voice trail away, lapped in warmth.

'No,' she said softly, taking the light away. 'But it is the way of the world.'