Читать книгу Medea - Kerry Greenwood - Страница 17

I was still pondering the nature of the relations between men and women when I went into Colchis for the autumn festival.

My two black bitches, Scylla and Kore, were well trained, silent mouthed, and watchful. They were sometimes just hounds, of course, but they had the ability to receive the goddess; they could become avatars of She Who Meets, and speak with her voice. They never left me. The priestess of Hekate is known by her black garments, her pale skin, her dangerous gaze and her fanged escorts. I was eleven years old, still unwomaned, but the crowds made way as I walked through the streets, and men and boys avoided my eyes. Women gazed hopefully on me, presenting me with their squealing offspring to bless, and although I disliked their sour, milky smell, I always kissed them with Hekate's kiss, She of the Newborn. I had duties now, and power. I had seen the goddess and felt her influence.

And alone in my bed I still yearned for that safety, rocked in the arms of the Dark Mother, cradled against her cloudy breast.

Colchis was crowded with foreigners. It is a small but rich city, Colchis Phasinos. When they came from Egypt, our ancestors brought with them seeds, tinctures and skills, and they used them, making a small island of civilisation in an ocean of barbarians. Colchis was built in a square, protected against strong winds and assault by high walls of dark local stone in which there are four gates. Scythgate looks towards the south and the plains. Eastgate towards the curve of the river which embraces the town at Rivergate, and west is Mountaingate.

Very high and cold are the peaks we see from Mountaingate, and there is always snow on them. There men search for gold, Colchis' reason for existence, together with the poison and medicine and dye we produce from the yellow flower, colchida. The flower blooms in spring, making the sedge and the river banks golden. It is the preserve of Hekate the Triple One, and can only be culled by her priestesses. When we have stocked our own temples, we sell the remainder to the traders, who come from many lands to Poti at the delta and thence down the Phasis to the landing stages of Colchis, for it is a precious and sacred herb. Some parts of the plant will save those whose heart fails them. Some parts will dye cloth golden as sunshine. Some parts will flavor food with an unsurpassable savour; and some parts, correctly distilled, will kill a man with one drop in a bowl of wine.

Autumn brings the colchida harvest, and I was on my way home to the palace of my father, my tunic overflowing with the precious flowers, the Princess Medea's share. The mist was coming down, as it does, in the marshes which surround watery Colchis. The elderly priestesses were already eyeing the weather doubtfully and ordering stores moved up from the cellars and away from all riverbanks, even from small trickles which bear water only in winter. I was charged with informing the king that the winter would bring flood and exceptional cold, so I would have to request audience of him.

I very seldom saw my father, Aetes. He had never forgiven my mother for dying without giving him a male child, though I would have thought that the birth of my half-brother, Aegialeus, would have mitigated his wrath. I had seen him only in state, never in private, though they said that he had held me when I was two days old, when Trioda showed me to Hekate and said, 'Lady, your priestess is born.'

The palace is the only building in Colchis made wholly of stone. Stone does not grow in the marshes. It must be brought with great labour from the mountains, floated on rafts. Only the palace is built of it and has stone floors and interlocking courtyards all of marble.

One reaches the audience chamber of King Aetes by passing through a great door, along a passage figured with little gold rams, under the lintel of bronze and the lowering ram's head in the centre, and into the main courtyard.

No women are allowed here but, as a priestess of the Great One, even a minor acolyte, I could pass anywhere. Hekate's priestesses are not women like other women. Through doors and corridors I went, standing straight under my burden of golden flowers, my hard bare feet slapping the marble. The guards looked away from me as though I had the eyes of Gorgon, which turned men to stone.

The courtyard was built for a previous king by an architect who came from the Black Land, and was so pleasing to the eye that I paused, rubbing one sole against the opposite shin where one of Colchis' myriad mosquitoes had bitten me. Kore sat down on one side of me, Scylla on the other, licking paws and panting. They were beasts today, not goddesses, and I liked their warmth and their doggish disdain for the majesty of the king to whom all men bowed. I spared a hand to stroke Kore's warm silky ears and she nuzzled my palm.

The courtyard was square and had four fountains. The water flowed from bronze ram's heads, made marvellously by an Achaean called Daedalus, who contrived that at festivals one ran with oil, another with wine and a third with honeyed milk. The fourth was always supplied with water which was warm when the Pleiades set, but at their rising in summer bubbled up as cold as ice, wonderfully refreshing. No woman could drink of it, but I was not a woman. I cupped a hand and sipped the warm water. Kore and Scylla rose on their hind legs and lapped at the basin.

Vines interlaced the sky in the courtyard of the king, heavy at this season with Colchian grapes, almost black. Into the silence came the sound of wings. A raven dropped from the heavens and landed on the basin, almost on my wet fingers. She was as black as the grapes, with a blue bloom on her feathers, and she dipped her beak and drank three times, heedless of the dogs and of me. Then she cocked her head, examining me with her marigold eye. Swift as a flash, she took wing, plucking three golden flowers from the harvest in my skirt.

Then she was gone, gaining height in a flapping rush.

'Surely you are favoured of Hekate,' said a man's voice.

I turned, spilling flowers. A man in bronze armour stood at the doorway to the audience chamber. The crown of Colchis was on his head and I knelt and the dogs sat down beside me.

'Father,' I said.

I heard him approach. His boots rang on the stone floor. I heard the creak of the harness and smelt him; leather and maleness, wine and oil. An old hand laden with the rings of kingship reached down and raised me to my feet, leaning the while upon my shoulder.

'Daughter,' he acknowledged. 'What have you been gathering?'

'Colchida, Lord, the princess' portion. I bring word to you, Father, from the women of wisdom in the temple of the Dark Mother.'

'What word?' he motioned me to sit down. He had one hand on the fountain coping and one on me. He was heavy. Now that I saw him closely, I noticed that he had aged. He had always seemed god-like to me, strong and tall. He was still ten spans above my height, but deep lines cut into his face, and his hair was thin under the heavy crown. The hand which gripped me had a faint tremor. His slaves said that his temper had become ungovernable lately; that he was willing to strike and to order slain any who displeased him. What I had to say would not please a king, and I tried not to wince at the bite of the coronation rings on my shoulder.

But I was a priestess of the Triple Goddess. I took a deep breath.

'Master, they say that there will be floods this winter. They bid me to tell you that the cattle should be moved to higher ground, towards the mountains, and they that tend them should be warned to expect early snow and long enduring. The sinking of the Seven Sisters this year will bite hard on tenderlings.'

'I am old,' said my father. 'I have seen many hard winters, and we have weathered them. But there is a change coming, Medea. They call you Medea - of good counsel - do they not, daughter?'

'That is what they call me, Lord,' I agreed.

'Counsel me,' said the king.

I became alarmed. He seemed unsteady on his feet. Using all my strength, I lowered him to the ground, but he held my wrist in a hard grip and would not let me call his attendants.

'In what can I counsel you, Father?' I asked as evenly as I could. His face had become purple and breath wheezed through his lips.

'They are all plotting,' he whispered, dragging me close to the blubbering mouth. 'All plotting against me. The sons of Phrixos the Foreigner, they conspire to rob me of my throne. They must die.'

'Lord, I am sure that they do not so; and I must tend you. Kore, Scylla, guard,' I said, and spilled my flowers into a pile so that I could run.

Into the audience chamber I fled, but it was empty; no counsellors stood beside the bronze throne of Colchis. I skidded straight into the king's only son, Aegialeus. He was taller than me and stronger, a warrior, wearing armour and newly come, judging by the mud, from practise.

'Medea?' he asked, pushing me aside, so that I grabbed for a bench to regain my balance. 'Why are you here, Hekate's bitch?'

'Lord Brother, our father is ill, and I am seeking aid. Where are his men?'

'He sent them away, flogging them from his presence with a flail.'

'He needs them, summon them,' I said imperiously. The dark eyes laughed at me and I lost my terror and stared at him. He was considered beautiful, this only son of the king. I had heard women say so. He was rounded and smooth and his skin had the gloss of oil and exercise, but I found him abhorrent. He put back his hair and said casually, 'In due time, priestess.'

'In due time we will mourn the death of the king,' I snapped. 'Let me pass.'

'Then Colchis will celebrate the accession of a new king to the throne,' he continued smoothly.

'No, lord Brother, there is no daughter of Aetes for you to marry, to confer the kingship upon you.'

'Medea,' he said, his hand sliding down my breast and further down, 'there is you.' And then he smiled.

I was outraged. My flesh cringed away from his contaminated touch. Furious, I screamed, 'Scylla!' and heard the thud of pads as the hound raced to my side, teeth bared, hearing the fear in my voice. Her sharp bark dropped to a low growl, and the king's son stepped away from me.

'Summon the men, tell them to bring the herbs I need,' I shouted. Scylla snarled at him. His face frew white under the mud and he turned and ran from my presence.

I laid a hand on Scylla's neck where the hackles rose. I stood where I was until a gaggle of frightened slaves appeared, bearing - thanks be the Triple Goddess! - warm wine and a decoction of the correct herb. I carried it to where the king lay, Kore standing over him as I had bidden her. She was licking the sweat from his face. I lifted him on my arm and dripped the decoction through the drawn-back lips and he swallowed, which was a good sign.

'Time to wrap me in oxhide, daughter,' he whispered.

It is our custom to inter the bodies of men in an untanned hide, wrapped about with ropes, and suspend them in the willows at the river's edge, so that neither earth nor fire are contaminated with their death. They dessicate in the air as the oxhide shrinks, until only dry bones are left. Only women, givers of life, may lie again in the womb of the Mother.

'Not yet,' I replied. He tried to smile, I think. I supported his heavy head against my breast, feeling a gush of some emotion as I saw the decoction begin to take hold. His breathing deepened. Under my hand his heart, which had fluttered wildly, began to beat regularly, a slow, strong pulse. His flesh, however, felt loose and dry.

'The blessings of the Triple Goddess, Maiden, Mother and Crone, be upon you,' I said, as I had been taught. 'Not yet will you be buried in air, Lord. But your attendants should be about you, Father. Has this fit come upon you before?'

'It has,' he said, sitting up and wiping his brow with the edge of my peplos. 'That is why the potion was prepared and ready. Your mistress Trioda made it, little acolyte of Hekate.'

'My Lord!' wailed a voice. Sandals scuffed and a fragrant white arm jiggling with heavy bracelets displaced mine to support the king. Eidyia, the queen of Colchis, braving the courtyard where no woman might go, had come and I would not remain. I relinquished my father to her scented breast and knelt to gather my fallen harvest.

'My Lord, my Lord, you should not banish your attendants!' wailed the queen.

He grunted and shifted in her embrace and called to me, 'Medea!'

'Lord?' I had secured all my flowers and called my hounds.

'I thank you,' he said painfully, as the slaves lifted him to his feet. 'Come and speak with me again.'

'Father,' I agreed.

I resolved that before I ventured into the king's presence again I would have words with my half-brother, the beautiful prince of Colchis.