Читать книгу Medea - Kerry Greenwood - Страница 22

On the day that we at last came down from the mountain, I lost Jason.

Dressed in our best tunics, with plaited horsehair bands confining our hair and supple sandals of sacred horsehide on our feet, we walked down through the flower-bearing bushes onto the ridge which led down to the city of Pelias the Usurper.

Then a mist bloomed, it seemed, out of the earth. It blanketed sight and damped sound. Jason, who had been ten paces ahead of me, vanished in the time it takes to blink an eye. I stood still, as I had been instructed. These sudden mists are not unknown on the heights, though they were not usually met with so far down the mountain and at the beginning of spring. A truism of mountain ways is that one does not walk where one cannot see. I crouched down, pulling my cloak over my head, and called, 'My lord?' but heard no reply.

There was nothing I could do and it might be fatal to wander. I could not see any path. So I sat still, picking flowers and weaving a garland. It was not cold, and I knew the mist would pass as soon as the sun rose higher. And I knew my way down the mountain to Iolkos, for had I not come that way so many years ago?

But I had lost Jason. When the rays of Apollo burned off the haze, he was nowhere in sight. I donned my garland and walked, feeling free for the first time. Free of the centaurs' domination, free of teaching or command, free to wander whither I would, although my feet were taking me ever downward, downward, and when I reached the ridge and saw the bright gleam and smelt salt, I sat down and burst into tears.

For sea-water is in the blood of Dictys' sons, the net-men of Iolkos. In all my time with Cheiron I had never forgotten the sea.

'Thalassa, thalassa!' I called, stretching out my arms to the immensity of the salt river Ocean, which spans the watery globe of the world. Horizons, constrained among the mountains by the next ridge or valley, had been abolished. There was only the arc of the sky and the sea, Poseidon's kingdom, azure, pellucid, and I swore never to leave it again, reckless of my lord and my teaching.

I ran and leapt, taking no care, from out-thrust rock to boulder to grass, down a path which only a goat might enjoy traversing, and I never stumbled. There in front of me was the immensity of Ocean, eager to embrace me. Down a sheer side I climbed like a squirrel. I reached the edge, stripped off my tunic, cloak and sandals, ran for the water, and dived full length into the arms of the Nereids.

The water was cool and salt and Poseidon bore me up on his bosom. I ducked my garlanded head and left the circle of flowers floating in homage to the Earth-shaker. My salt tears blended with the salt wave, and I surfaced and laughed and turned over on my back to float, secure as a babe in his mother's arms. The Master of Horses had forgiven me, most faithless of Oceanos' children, for leaving him for so long.

Then I was recalled to my duty. A long wave lifted me and deposited me in the shallows, and I rose from the sand and reclothed myself, for something was happening in the city of Iolkos, just across the bay. A crowd was gathering, and voices were raised.

It seemed that Jason had arrived.

As I walked around the rocky edge and climbed up the steps from the sand to the landing stage, I heard raised voices.

Iolkos was in festival. It was the most solemn day of the year. With the centaurs I had forgotten the calendar of life amongst the Achaeans. We had come - perhaps by chance, perhaps guided by a god - to Iolkos on the feast of Poseidon, when a bull was sacrificed to the Earth-shaker. All the neighbouring kings and princes would be there. I could see them, a gleam of gold and bronze, a glint of light off bracer and necklace and helmet.

A crowd of common people were gathered on the sea side of the market-place. I whispered to an old woman who was standing in front of me, leaning on a creel, 'Mother, tell me what is happening in Iolkos?'

'Young stranger, it is a prodigy,' she replied in a cracked undertone. Her garments and her hair smelt of fish, once a familiar smell.

'Surely the omen has been fulfilled,' she said. 'Here is come one with only one sandal - the one-sandalled man is come! See, there is Pelias, the Usurper,' she began pointing out each noble.

Pelias was staring in horror at someone I could not see. He was a tall man, carrying a considerable belly, dressed in the purple gown of a king. He was hung with jewellery and crowned with a golden crown, figured with bulls.

'There is Pheres, king of Pherae, a prosperous place, they say; him, in the rose-coloured tunic,' said my informant, stabbing the air with her kelp-brown finger. Pheres was big, with a beard like a brown bush. He reminded me strongly of a bear.

'The slender one is Amathaon, a young man for the kingship of Pylus, but a good king, they say. He fought off the Corinthian pirates, wading into the sea to board their vessel. Killed them all, and took the ship.' Amathaon was slim and young, wearing very little ornament, and had long dark hair tied back under a plaited gold band. His legs and arms were bare and sinewy, and his expression was guarded, giving nothing away.

'Mother, what are they all staring at?' I asked.

'You look lithe, young man. Climb to a height and you'll see. But I tell you, it's the omen. He's the monosandalos. They don't make prophecies without meaning, you know.'

I scaled the landing stage, perched on a pile of fish-smelling baskets and saw what Pelias was staring at.

In the market-place of Iolkos stood my lord Jason, son of Aison. He was still dressed in tunic and cloak, but one sandal was indeed missing. His brown foot was bare on the well-laid stone, and he was muddy to the hips. He was looking at Pelias, straight in the eyes, and the older man shifted uneasily under his blue-green gaze.

'Who are you, foreigner?' he demanded roughly.

'I am Jason, son of Aison,' said my lord evenly. 'I am come to claim my father's right.'

The commonality shifted and muttered. Such nobility and beauty was revealed in Jason, that Pelias made a gesture which sent back his household warriors. They retreated, sheathing their half-drawn swords. The kings looked at each other, but did not speak at once.

'If you are indeed the son of Aison, then you are unwelcome to me,' said Pelias. Perhaps he had once had a deep voice, but age had thinned it, and it was high and tremulous. 'Why have you come to this city?'

'I have told you why I have come,' said Jason, faintly puzzled.

'And what do you claim is your father's right?'

Jason had been well rehearsed in this matter and answered easily. 'You my lord are the son of Poseidon, and Tyro the queen. My father Aison was the son of Kreutheus the king, and Queen Tyro. Your father was not the king of Iolkos but the god, and therefore, my lord Pelias, I claim my kingdom in my father's right, as the only son of the king of this city.'

There was a stunned silence. Jason spoke gently, as he had been instructed. 'I ask only what is mine, my lord.'

Pelias did not reply. His son Akastos, standing by his father's side, stared at the stranger. There was a tense silence. I bit my fingernails.

'How did you lose your sandal?' asked Amathaon. Jason shook himself like a dog, flinging drops across the hot stone. He put back his golder hair.

'I lost my companion in the mist,' he replied civilly. 'Then as I came to the Enipeus River, an old woman asked me to help her to the other side. I picked her up - she seemed a light burden, being old and bent - but as I crossed her weight increased at every step, and I could hardly carry her. I turned my foot on a slippery stone and wrenched off my sandal - a pity, for it was made by the centaurs from sacred horsehide - but I staggered to the brink and put her down safely. Then I turned to search for my sandal, but it had been swept away. The stream is in spate. When I looked again for the crone, she was gone.'

At this the crowd shifted, enough to knock my baskets out of true. I jumped down and shoved through the crowd, hearing them mutter 'a prodigy!' and 'the omen,' as I elbowed my way through to the accompaniment of abstracted curses from the people whose feet were trodden or ribs bruised. I finally managed to thrust myself into the space between Jason and Pelias.

Intercepting the glance of that king sent a chill through my spine. He meant death to my lord. I stepped back to stand behind Jason's right shoulder, to show that he had a battle-friend, if only a fisherman.

'You have been fortunate,' said the bearlike king. 'You have met a goddess, for who else would have contrived that you should enter the city of Iolkos, in front of so many witnesses, with but one sandal, as the oracle foretold? Welcome, Jason, son of Aison,' said Pheres, and Jason bowed, the same graceful bow he had been taught by Cheiron.

'I acknowledge that you are Jason,' Pelias' words were forced through clenched teeth. 'What would you do, son of Aison, if you were king, and a stranger appeared who was destined to kill you?'

'I'd send him on a journey,' said Jason. 'To prove his rightful claim. I'd send him…' he paused for thought. I held my breath and so did the watchers. 'I'd send him to recover the Golden Fleece.'

'Done,' snapped Pelias.

I bit back a cry. That journey was perilous beyond belief. There was very little chance that the son of Aison, much less a net-man's son, could accomplish it, and we could never manage it alone.

'I will give you a ship, made by Argos, the best shipwright in Achaea, who stands beside you. I will give you a crew if you cannot find your own,' said Pelias. 'There is something I want you to do for me, and for Iolkos.'

'Uncle?' asked Jason, innocently, and I heard Pelias' breath hiss as this stranger claimed kinship with him.

'There is a curse,' began the Usurper.

The man beside me, knotted like an old tree by hard labour, nodded sagely and muttered, 'Ah, he's going to ask about the ghost.'

'Ghost?' I whispered.

The man had time to reply, 'Ay, boy, the ghost of Phrixos,' before Pelias announced, 'There have been apparitions of late.

'Phrixos, my glorious ancestor, died in far Colchis, and does not rest. Eight nights I have seen him, still in his bronze armour. He mouths but cannot speak. He wishes for burial in the land of his own birth. You shall fetch me not only the Golden Fleece but the bones of Phrixos. Then, young man, I will give you the throne, for I am old and the crown is a burden to my head.'

The crowd cheered. The kings laughed and agreed that it was a good judgement. Even the sacrificial bull dipped his head and lowed. Jason smiled his heart-stopping smile and the procession formed up for Poseidon's temple, with the fate of the disturbing and ominous monosandalos settled.

I felt ill. I walked along the quay and up into the town, listening to Jason talk about his ship to the gnarled man, Argos, the best shipbuilder in the whole of Achaea.

I did not think we could possibly succeed.

Then again, I cheered myself, the building would take months, long past the sailing season. We would be in Iolkos for some time. I could see my parents again, my brothers, and I could reacquaint myself with the skills of handling a small boat. Then I might be of some use to the hero on his quest, before I was lost in the endless ocean between Iolkos and Colchis, beyond the Hellespont.

I had underestimated the skill of Argos and his workers. I had also underestimated the fascination which the quest would hold for all the heroes who heard of it. As they were felling the trees to make Argo's hull, the word went out, and men of renown began riding into Iolkos, to lodge with Pelias at his expense and greatly to his displeasure. He did not dare object, as he had sworn before his neighbouring kings that he would pay for the cost of the expedition; but it did not make him like Jason any better.

We heard the fist comers before they appeared.

Iolkos' market is situated on and around the road, which passes through the middle. We have traders and sellers of every kind of food and drink - though, of course, we principally sell produce, sea-weed for fires, murex shells for dye, fish for food. The excellence of Iolkos' fish and diversity of its produce bring many traders with bread, flour, oil and cloth to trade. The market-place is always busy. There are women selling wine; men selling fish; net-weavers; spinners; and a constant cast of truant boys called by their mothers for some undone domestic task; lounging youths who have escaped their lord for an hour or so, leering after the girls and making satirical remarks and rude songs; and restless fishermen who know that for another day they dare not venture to wet an oar, not even as far as Skiathos.

After which they join the others at the tavern and order wine to assuage their disappointment. I found my father at this tavern, and he embraced me. He felt strong, as he always had, though we were of height now. He stared into my eyes, kissed my forehead in token of welcome and ordered me some wine.

'Nauplios, my dear son, you've come back, and your lord is embarking on a lunatic expedition. I suppose that you have to go?' I nodded. It had never occurred to me that Jason might go on a quest without me.

'Then spend the time wisely, my son,' said my father. He filled my cup to the brim and bade me drink. 'Come out with the boats, boy, we could use your hands. Always were a neat child with a net, and a strong one. Ah, Nauplios, I don't want to lose you again. You've heard about your brothers?'

I nodded. My two brothers had been lost, drowned, taken by Poseidon, on the same day. They had died together as they had lived together, and they lay in the same grave, as a merciful current had brought the bodies ashore. They had been mourned, and the correct libations had been poured and nothing remained of them but two intertwined locks of hair which my mother wore in her breast. This tragedy was four years gone, though I had not heard of it at the time. My father had one other son, a child of three years old, conceived to comfort my mother.

My father was aging and did not want to lose me. I did not want to be lost. But I was going with Jason. I was bound by an oath I had sworn when I first came up the mountain. I swore that I would not leave him until he was king of Iolkos, and I would not break my word.

It was a relief when we were distracted by two voices: one loud, one soft but steely. Two riders came into the market, arguing. I put down my wine cup as listened to them.

'And I say that with Idas on his side, the venture cannot fail!' shouted the first rider. He was of middle-size, dressed in a leather hunting tunic and leggings.

'And I say that you are the most pompous, over-loud donkey in Achaea, and I am ashamed to be your brother,' said the other middle-sized rider, also clad in a leather tunic.

Both men had shocks of curly chestnut hair. They were twins, identical in every respect except that of temperament. market woman directed them to the palace of Pelias.

The heroes were filtering through the countryside to join the crew of Argo. The next arrived in a group, such huge men that the market was amazed, until a fisherwoman called out, 'Look at the size of him! He'd have a phallus like an oar. I tell you, sisters; he's not putting that thing anywhere near me,' and they all laughed.

The heroes named themselves as: Oileus of Locris; Telamon, son of Aiakos; Ancaeas the Strong of Tegea, son of Poseidon; Erginos, with a knot of prematurely grey hair (the fisherwomen had a lot to say about which vices had bleached his hair so young); and Clytios, a bowman and runner, who looked like a child beside the bronze-clad Titans.

As the planks were cut and the keel of the Argo laid, I went fishing with my father, learning again the skill of managing a small boat. I had forgotten much. My mind did not remember, but sometimes my hands did. I was trying to tie a particular knot, one hot day as we lay on a sea which rocked like a cradle. The rope twisted in my grip and would not cooperate, so I closed my eyes and let my fingers work, and opened them to see the correct flat reef for securing the net.

My father said, 'Ah, Nauplios, Poseidon has not let you forget that you are a fisherman,' and embraced me.

Every day as we came in, dragging our heavy nets ashore, there were more heroes in Pelias' palace. Jason announced the names to me as I hefted a creel filled with shining shells through the loose sand. It was so heavy that I sank to the calf at every step.

'Tiphys has come to be our helmsman, Nauplios. They say he's the most beautiful man in Achaea. And Authalides to be our herald; the famous Authalides. Nestor, Honey-Voiced, rode in this morning. He will be very valuable - he can talk his way out of anything. Hermes gave him the gift of persuasion. My cousin Admetos is on his way, they say, and I think Akastos, the king's son, yearns for our adventure, though his father will never let him go. Meleagros and Perithous are coming, both strong rowers.'

I wrestled the basket onto the edge of the landing stage and leaned on it, out of breath. 'I don't know any of these people,' I objected. 'How many crewmen have you now?'

'I still need six more - no, five. Idmon the seer has agreed to come with us. Oh, Nauplios, don't look so worried!'

'I'm not worried, I'm out of breath,' I lied. 'Who's expected?'

'Alabande, he's a friend of Ancaeas, a quiet man, they say, but strong. Poseidon Earth-shaker! Who is that?'

I shaded my eyes. A slim girl dressed in a short tunic clasped at the neck with a bronze brooch in the shape of a bear was walking through the market with the confident, long-legged grace of a deer. She bore a bow and a quiver. She had a rolled cloak at her back and, unlike any but the boldest Achaean women, looked every man she saw in the face. She seemed to be asking questions.

'She's looking for me,' declared Jason hopefully, springing onto the landing stage and running into the centre of the square. I followed him, dragging my shells into a safe place, and we stopped in front of the girl and stared.

She was beautiful, but not desirable - by which I mean it seemed wrong to think of her as a woman, as she patently didn't. She had breasts, but she paid no attention to them… I am not explaining this well. All I can say is that Atalante the Hunter, favoured of Artemis, suckled by a she-bear and raised by the priestesses at Brauron, was no more a woman than I am. She was a virgin and a comrade.

She became one as soon as she grinned at Jason and me and said in her husky voice, 'I am Atalante of Calydon, and I wish to join the quest for the Golden Fleece. I can row and sail, and I can mostly hit a target with an arrow.'

I stared at her chest. Under the bear-brooch, she wore only one ornament. It was a necklace made of amber beads, strung with two boar's tusks. It must have been a gigantic boar. The one which had nearly killed me had tusks about a span long. This monster had borne armament fully the span of both my hands. The tusks had been polished and gleamed like ivory, extending from Atalante's corded, muscular throat to her nipples. I had heard of the hunt of Calydon. Atalante's arrow had killed that boar. Her knife had cut its throat. I was full of admiration.

So was Jason. He held out his hand, palm slapped, then Atalante the Hunter exchanged the kiss of brotherhood with Jason and with me. We sat down and bought some wine and watched the ships coming in.

It was darkening. I heard the thud of wooden mallets from the shore, where Argos swore at his men who cut thousands of pegs which would be hammered into the planks of the ship. She was going to be beautiful, our ship. She was narrow, with a high poop and stern, as yet undecorated. The woodcarver - heedless of the insults flying around from the shipwrights, whose language would have curled Poseidon's hair - was chiselling out a bow-post for the ship, though I could not yet see what it was meant to be. A bull, perhaps, for Iolkos and Earth-shaker?

Two men and four boys were stitching together our sail, patterned red and white as is the custom of Iolkos, from long strips of dense, perfect weaving. My mother had given me one length of bright red cloth, which she had been keeping for my wedding. I believed that she feared I would not return to be married to any fisherman's daughter.

'Have you the twenty-four?' asked Atalante, accepting a cup of wine and swallowing it in a gulp. She poured herself another.

I was fascinated with her. She looked female - her face would have been girlish if she had been a boy, but for a girl it was boyish. She had brown eyes and a complexion much damaged by the weather, not like any woman I had seen. She was a puzzle too complex for one of Dictys' sons to solve, so I sipped at my wine and watched the road.

We heard someone playing a stringed instrument. It was a sweet, trilling note, often repeated, as though the player was working on composing a tune. Without any announcement a man came into the market, head bent over his lyre, navigated his way to the tavern apparently by feel, and sat down with his back to us.

He was outlandish. His hair, instead of being of human colour, was as red as new copper wire. It curled over his forehead and flowed down his back, parting over his broad shoulders. He wore a green tunic, completely without decoration even in the weave, and there were no bracers on his wrists or rings on his fingers. He was utterly absorbed in his music. The tortoiseshell soundbox rested on his knee. One hand damped the strings from behind, the other plucked them from in front. His fingers were long and strong, the nails as hard as horn. I noticed that his well-shaped feet were bare as a beggar's, and he was as stained with travel as any farmer. But the music which he drew from the lyre had silenced all conversation in the market, and the people stopped packing up for the night and drew close, intent on the pure, plangent notes.

Atalante said, 'Stranger, your music is most welcome, but speak to us. Who delights Iolkos with such music?'

He lifted his head and smiled. 'Lady,' he said in reply. 'I am Philammon the bard, and I seek Jason, son of Aison, for I am ordered by my master to join this quest.'

'I am Jason,' said my lord eagerly, 'Greetings, Philammon. Who is your lord?'

'Ammon Apollo, of course, and through him Orpheus.' His voice was an instrument as thrilling in its way as his lyre. It was impossible not to listen to the voice of Philammon the bard, given the gift of song by Orpheus, the sweet singer. His smile was sweet, holding power.

I remembered that the cult of Orpheus had followers all over the Aegean - a religion of great mystery. I was about to offer him a cup of wine when Atalante said, 'I know that you may not drink wine or eat flesh, Philammon, but we have here spring water and wheat bread. Will you eat with us?'

He stared at each of us in turn. When his eyes met mine I felt that he knew all about me. It was most unpleasant. He held us all with his eyes - even Jason wriggled under his cool regard - then smiled again, picked up a flat loaf of bread, and broke it in four pieces.

'I will eat with you,' he said.

It was quite dark when we had finished our meal. The torches had been lit outside Pelias' palace. We could hear the sound of heroes feasting inside, the barking of their hunting dogs and occasional smash of crockery. Argos had taken his son Melas and one to his own house. The light caught the ribs of the uncompleted ship, which looked uncomfortably like bones.

But since the coming of Philammon my mood had improved. Just to be in his company was comfortable. He knew all about me. And he still liked me.

The market-place was silent, the road empty. Then I heard the sound of weary footsteps. A heavy tread, and light feet pattering on ahead.

'Here, my lord,' said a boy into the darkness. 'This must be the town.'

'Is this Iolkos?' asked a quiet voice.'

I called, 'This is Iolkos. Come and have some wine, if you come in peace.'

'I come in peace,' agreed the man, and he and his companion walked to our table across the empty market. The boy dropped a bundle of cloaks and cooking pots with a clatter and threw himself down next to Atalante, who clipped amiably at his ears for shoving.

The man sat down heavily and removed one boot, looking mournfully at a hole in the sole. He wiggled one finger through it, then dropped it and took the offered wine cup, draining it at one draught. He laid a silver piece on the table, and refilled his cup.

He was ragged and dusty and old. His tangled grey hair was receding away from a lined brow, and there was a bunch of blue flowers behind his ear. He had bright grey eyes, shaggy eyebrows, and some sort of cured skin over his shoulders. He was tanned by at least fifty years in the weather, and his thigh, next to mine, was iron-hard and seemed to be made entirely of whipcord and bone. A long scar ran down his bare arm, and he wore an amulet of the Mother Hera around his neck.

The boy was pretty and knew it. His black curls were threaded with a silver band. His ears were pierced and ringed, and his slender body had never borne heavy weight; exercise, perhaps, but not hard work. I wondered what such a slip of the nobility should do, travelling with this old farmer.

The old man laid his gentian flowers on the table. 'Look,' he said, touching them reverently with the end of one work-worn forefinger. 'I picked them this morning on the slopes, but they will not last much longer. They smell cold. The mountain folk call them snowflowers.'

'Beautiful,' agreed the bard. He plucked a few strings in honour of the blossoms.

Jason was tired and did not want further company, especially not a pretty boy and his deluded lover. 'May we know, honoured lord, your name?' he asked with elaborate and ironic courtesy.

The boy began to giggle, then extinguished his laughter in Atalante's wine, for which she cuffed his ears again. The old man looked up from studying the blue flowers.

'My name? Oh, yes. You are Jason, son of Aison, are you not? I am pleased to meet a comrade,' he reached out a hand which engulfed Jason's palm and half his forearm. My lord was rather offended by this familiarity from a peasant, which made the old man's next words the more crushing.

'This is Hylas, my squire. I am Herakles of Tiryns,' he said. 'And for some reason, the goddess Hera, who is my mistress, wants me to embark with you on the quest for the Golden Fleece.'