Читать книгу Medea - Kerry Greenwood - Страница 23

My father owns the most ferocious bulls in the world. There are two of them, a matched pair of oxen. They stand almost sixteen hands high at the shoulder, and their horns and hoofs are shod with bronze. No woman may go near them or touch them, and every year the king yokes them and ploughs the first furrow, in honour of Ammon, the god of the sun, at the equinox when the year turns.

It had been as hard a winter as we had ever seen. Even the old women of Hekate's worship could not remember a time when the snow lay so long or so deep. I had piled all the wood we had onto the temple fire, and wrapped myself in so many layers that Trioda said I needed wheels, not feet, but even sleeping before the fire with a hound on either side, I had always been cold.

The goddess tried my body hard, making me into a woman fit for her purposes. My second bleeding came early and with much pain, and then the interval to the third was longer than a moon. But on the day that the priests proclaimed that the king would plough with the bulls, I felt the familiar trickle of blood, and bound my loins with pads of cloth, as is the custom of Colchis.

We stood in a row, the priestesses of Hekate, to one side of the field. I was shivering in my ceremonial mantle, figured purple on black with the three-legged cross of the Black Mother. The air was sullen and chill, with no signs of spring. Kore leaned on one side of me, Scylla on the other, panting. Their breath steamed in clouds. The surface of the River Phasis was as flat as a sheet of metal, unbroken even by ripples. The floods had passed, leaving rubbish and bodies caught in the willows. The sky was also grey, heavy with more rain. The plain of Ares looked desolate, untidy, and heavily cold. The ground was no longer stone-hard with frost, but I doubted whether even the great bulls could turn a furrow.

The whole populace of Colchis was gathered to watch this magical ritual. Women with babies, such small children as had survived the icy nights, old people waiting hopefully for another spring - when, according to my knowledge of medicine, they would also let go of their grip on life - all the able-bodied, farmers and traders and their women, even a group of Scyths, garish in their red, blue and green felt clothes and scandalous in their leather breeches. Everyone had been alarmed by the tenacity and cruelty of the winter. Everyone - even the Scyths - was relying on the ritual of the ploughing to restore the sun on his journey through the sky. I could see all faces, pinched by the cold, turned hopefully to the town, as trumpets announced the arrival of the king.

Aetes, my father, came, attended by many priests of Ammon. I reflected that they must be even colder than I was. At least I wore a hood. They were shaven and clad in one layer of thin saffron linen, and I could hear the chattering of their teeth half a stadion away. They carried the litter with the king - for his feet may not touch ground except before the bulls, lest his magic be lost - and he stepped down.

The plough was laid next to the beasts. It was of a strange metal, silver-coloured, and forged all in one piece. This being men's magic, I had never approached it, but I did wonder what it was made of. Hephaestos, the smith god, had given it to our ancestors. By the king's side stood my half-brother, and behind a little to the left, the four sons of Phrixos. Should the king fail at this task, then his kingship would pass. His son would attempt and, if he failed, the next heirs, one after another, until some man could tame the bulls and plough the furrow which would ensure a good harvest. Trioda grunted that this was the last vestige of the good old custom of sacrificing the summer king.

My father looked old. He coughed, wiped his mouth and walked heavily toward the bulls, who turned to survey him, horns down. I held my breath. If this did not work, if my father failed at the bulls and my half-brother Aefialeus managed to tame them, then he would marry me by force, and I would have to kill him. And myself. No priestess of Hekate survives her own rape. The goddess has obviously withdrawn protection from her for some sin, or such a thing could not happen. Aegialeus, of course, would die first. And, if I had anything to do with it, painfully. Though perhaps She Who Meets would prevent it. I hoped so. My hand dropped to fondle Kore's ears and I felt better. While I had my guards, my half-brother would only get to me after he had been thoroughly chewed.

The king approached the bulls. They seemed to wind him. I saw their muzzles lift. Nostrils flared. Aetes held out both hands, the ceremonial red and gold cloak billowing around him as a little breeze picked up.

The bulls snorted and plunged, backing away a step. I thought that my father looked puzzled. He wiped his hands on the ground and held them out again.

I saw Aegialeus smile, as though pleased. That boded ill.

At my side Trioda cursed by Hekate under her breath.

'What's the matter, Mistress?'

'Someone has changed the ointments,' she muttered.

'Ointments?'

'Prepared by us to allow the king to approach those great beasts. I haven't told you about it - but you shall learn how to compound it. Now what shall we do, daughter? Rescue the king, or let events take their course?'

'What will happen?'

'If he approaches those beasts unanointed, they will either stampede or trample him to death.'

I thought about it. I knew no great evil of my father - though no great good either - and I certainly distrusted my half-brother Aegialeus. He might be the cause of my death. On the other hand, if we did rescue Aetes, he would kill whoever had made this substitution, and that would probably be my brother. Thus my brother would die if we rescued the king.

Better him than me. I said to my mistress, 'How shall we rescue the king my father?'

'Take this, daughter,' she handed me a small clay pot. 'When I distract them, run to the king and smear his hands. Then return fast - this must appear divine.'

The king was standing amazed. The bulls had sidled close to each other, heads lowered, dreadful bronze-sheathed horns lowered. Suddenly there was a bang and a bright flash and everyone turned.

I ran for the king. He had been looking at the flash and was blinded. I slathed the ointment onto his wrinkled hands and fled back to the crowd as the common people turned back to the field. The bulls sniffed deeply and ambled to the king, and he smiled as their soft muzzles nuzzled his hands.

They lowed, nudging him, as he laid the yoke across their backs - he had to stand on tiptoe to reach - and then they lumbered into a walk. I saw each red and white flank move as smoothly as a stone in a water-mill as the bronze hoofs slogged through the mud. The plough leaned, then was righted, and the metal blade cut a wet, heavy furrow in the wake of the bulls.

Trioda said, 'Neatly done, daughter,' and I breathed out.

'Who changed the ointments, do you think?' I asked, knowing the answer.

'You have only to look at him,' spat Trioda with satisfaction. I looked. My half-brother was crestfallen, his fine smile wiped away, and the beginnings of fear were crossing his face.

'One day a cock, the next day a fly-whisk,' said Trioda, quoting a Colchian proverb.

'What will my father do to him?' I wondered aloud.

'We shall see,' said my mistress.

The furrow was completed. The king loosed the bulls, which wandered away to their pasture, and walked the furrow, dropping barley seeds behind him. The people cheered; he was carried, shoulder high into the city, and we followed at the end of the procession, curious to see to which doom he would put his betrayer.

A fine, sleety rain stung my skin as we walked through the narrow streets to the palace, where the men would feast. Sweating slaves had been preparing bread and roasting meat since early morning. Trioda placed the other papyrus packet into her sleeve.

This was a mystery of the priestesses of Hekate; a combination of powders derived from mining, a yellow mineral, ground charcoal, dog dung, and a pale silvery powder would explode with a bang and a flash if they were lit and thrown. In such a way had the city been impressed with the power of Hekate when the common people had raided the shrines, some twenty years ago, after such a hard winter as this. It was the discovery of the priestess Althea, three generations ago, and she brought the secret from the Black Land with her. The ingredients were scarce and seldom found, and it was by the special intervention of the Lady that Trioda had been carrying a couple of them - or perhaps it was not. My mistress had a way of knowing most things. Now she was walking grimly beside me. I asked, 'What do you think will happen, Lady?' and she grunted.

'The king your father has no sense,' she said flatly. But she would not tell me what she feared.

The crowd had come into the precincts of the palace, where the feast was laid out. We walked through the throng of men, who were laughing and tearing chunks off fresh loaves, following the king into the inner palace and into the audience chamber. The noises of the feast faded behind us. My mouth watered. I seemed to be always hungry since the goddess made me a woman.

Aetes climbed out of his litter. A broad gesture dismissed the priests of Ammon, who scurried away. Facing the king as he sat down on his throne were the four sons of Phrixos and my half-brother Aegialeus.

Aetes surveyed them in silence.

'Someone tried to kill me this morning,' he said. There was no reply from any of them.

'The man who did so must have had the ointment on him,' he said.

No one moved.

'Turn out your pouches,' roared the king. Kneeling, trembling, the five young men did as they were bid and the king searched through the contents. Knives, letters, a piece of bread - that would be Melanion, my old companion, who was always hungry - a sharpening stone, a lump of wax, an ivory comb.

No little pot of ointment which could tame the bulls.

'Confess!' screamed the king. He was purple, and Trioda whispered to a slave to prepare the draught for apoplexy. He was working himself into another fit.

'Lord, we did not plot your downfall,' said Cytisoros, the eldest son of Phrixos. 'Not I, and not my brother Argeos or my brother Phrontis or my little brother Melanion.'

'You are the sons of the stranger,' snarled the king. 'You are foreigners, bearing foreign seed.'

'Lord, we would not harm you,' said Argeos.

'Who, then?'

Cytisoros made a fatal error. He did not speak, but he looked aside at Aegialeus, and the king caught the look. I have never heard human voice rise to such a shriek.

'You dare to accuse my own son; the son of my loins?'

Cytisoros backed away from the incandescent king.

'No, Lord…' he stammered.

'Exile!' Aetes called for his counsellors, and they ran into the room, tablets at the ready. 'I cannot kill you, sons of the stranger, for you are my kin, after this my own son. But you shall leave my kingdom. I will give you a ship and you shall leave - all of you. Forever.'

'Lord, give us leave to say goodbye to our mother, your daughter,' begged Cytisoros. He was shocked, but he was still thinking.

I could not bear to look at the renewed smirk on the mouth of my despicable half-brother. It was desperately unfair. The king was making the wrong decision. I stirred, but Trioda caught my wrist.

'The errors of men are not ours to mend, daughter of Hekate,' she instructed.

'But he's exiling the wrong ones!' I protested.

'He's a man,' said Trioda in a vicious undertone. 'Of course he's wrong.'

I was forced to stand and watch as Phrixos' sons, with whom I had played as a child, were marked with red paint to signify that they were exiles. Chalkiope, my sister, was brought in to receive their farewells. She wept painfully, crying out on my father that he was mad, so that he struck her across the face and the slaves carried her away.

Then my playmates were gone, and I could not avoid looking at Aegialeus. He was sitting at the king's feet. Aetes' old, veined hand rested on his curly black hair and he was as smooth and self-assured as a wolf.

He was smiling that smug smile, and I felt sick.

It was just before dusk on the next day that Trioda announced that I was to travel with the Scythians for the spring and summer.

It was not unknown for Hekate's priestesses to travel with the nomadic, or royal, Scyths. They did not camp, except for the winter, and they travelled on many roads where the sacred places were unattended. Every ten years or so, one of the daughters of the Dark Mother would go along on the circuit with the tribes, to clean and re-sanctify the temples and altars, to advise on medicine and to learn, for a priestess is always learning, until Hekate gathers her to her bosom.

Trioda was sending me to keep me out of my half-brother's grasp, and I was grateful.

I had no opportunity to speak with my father, and Chalkiope would not confide in me, even when I went to tend her bruised face. I gathered my belongings - precious few - and called Kore and Scylla. Trioda took me to the Scythian camp. We walked in amongst the noisy, colourful crowd and for the first time I felt different in my black robes.

'Little Scyth,' said a voice from above me. A woman sitting comfortably on a wagon tossed one plait back across her shoulder and grinned. I groped in my memory. I felt a strong hand, and remembered the street.

'Lady,' I replied. 'It is a long time since I ran under the hoofs of your horse!'

'You travel with us, priestess?' she asked, and I nodded.

'Excellent,' she said. 'Ride with me, if you can. My name is Anemone,' she added, as Trioda dragged me onward by the sleeve.

We bowed before a fat man, slouched on a pile of cushions in the corner of a sumptuous tent which stank of curdled milk. I had seen him before. He was the Scythian king, Idanthyrsus. His bulk did not preclude his excellent horsemanship, and he was reputed to have three wives - though that may have just been gossip. The Scythians were little known in Colchis, and out of ignorance comes fantasy. He was very dark of skin, with long hair arranged in two plaits, and was hung with gold jewellery. Like most Scyths, he had a broad face, with high, flat cheekbones, a wide nose, and eyes so black that their expression was impossible to read.

'Princess,' he nodded to me. 'Trioda. This is your acolyte?'

'Full priestess now, and very acute.' Trioda was even more short of speech than usual. 'You travel the usual way?'

'The usual way, yes. Unless you have some seeing for us?'

'Fair weather and good fortune,' said Trioda, spitting out the words as though she was cursing, not blessing. 'But if Medea returns unvirgin, then disaster and plague.'

'The women will care for her,' he said. 'She cannot take a man until she kills an enemy in battle - and that is not likely to happen. She will return to you as virgin as she is now. Come here, Princess.'

I approached him warily. His hand shot out and pinched my breast. It hurt. I struck the hand away. He chuckled, revealing rotten teeth in a cracked mouth.

'She's virgin enough,' he said. Trioda bristled.

'I wish to ride with Anemone,' I announced haughtily. The king raised his eyebrows.

'You have made a powerful friend in a short time, priestess,' he said, and made a sign which might have been to ward against evil. 'By all means, Princess Medea. If Anemone will have you, you may ride with her.'

The dogs accompanied me out of the tent. Once in the open, Trioda dusted me down with her hard hand, then gave me a bag of medicines.

'Remember your teaching,' she chided. 'Do nothing until you must, then act surely and swiftly. The goddess will aid you. Preserve your maidenhood against all force; rather die a maiden than live dishonoured. But in that case make sure that you take your attacker with you to Hekate's judgement. Speak politely to all women, they are your sisters, however strange their ways are. I will see you at the end of autumn, daughter.' She did not kiss me. She turned and walked away.

I stood clutching the leather bag, feeling a little at a loss - she could at least have told me that she wished me well - when a lazy voice at my elbow commented, 'Old witch. Come along, sister. Anemone sent me to guide you, guessing that Trioda would just leave you. This way,' said a young woman, taking my arm.

I was minded to resent her dismissal of my mistress like that, but she smiled at me. Her teeth were like seeds in her red mouth, and she had a wealth of beautiful chestnut hair. Kore and Scylla leapt up on her, licking her face. The dog's confidence decided me. Whoever she was, I liked her.

'I am Iole,' said the young woman, following a twisting path through a maze of caravans and tents. The Scyths live in wagons, which are drawn by oxen or horses. They are lofty, with wide axles, difficult to overturn. They stretch thick hides over high lattice-work sides, making a kind of upturned basket. In them they travel long distances, taking their houses with them like snails. Each Scythian lives alone. The men have their own wagons, and the women theirs. The children live with whichever parent has time to look after them. They are a warlike people, and are much feared.

They are also averse to washing and not given to hygiene, possibly because water is scarce in the desert and they do not stay in one place for long. The camping ground was filthy with slops and droppings of animals and humans. I was glad we were leaving on the morrow. I gathered up my robe and picked my way through, trying to listen to what Iole was saying. Kore and Scylla, overawed by all the new smells, kept close to me and did not reply to challenges from the Scythian hunting dogs.

'The last priestess who came with us hated Scythian ways,' she said, avoiding a woman who was washing a recalcitrant child in a shallow dish.

'Indeed?' I said.

'She thought we were all barbarians. But Anemone says you are a Scyth in Colchian skin, so she is pleased that you are coming.' Iole turned the corner of a wagon and passed a naked man. He was sitting on the edge of his wagon and mending his breeches. Iole did not give him a second look and I tried not to stare. We skirted an uneasy mare who was suckling her foal.

'Who is Anemone?' I asked, recognising the painted wagon on which the woman had been perched when she had first hailed me. It was patterned with stripes and spots in various colours, mostly red and orange and yellow.

'She's the priestess of Ares, our own god, and the wife of the king,' said Iole.

I halted. When the woman appeared, I bowed. She waved her hand amiably and then extended it so that I could climb aboard. She was very casual, for a queen.

'Priestess,' she greeted me. 'Sling up that bundle, Iole. Good. Now, little Scyth, we shall have some drink, and you shall settle into Scythian ways which, as you will have seen, are more relaxed than the ways of the court of Aetes. How is he, by the way? Still having fits?'

'He has banished the sons of Phrixos,' I said, ducking under the woven hanging to come into the wagon.

It was dim inside. The hides which kept out the weather were not visible. The inside of the basket was hung with patterned cloth, cleverly painted with little horsemen and the animals they hunted: deer with elaborate antlers, oxen and boar. On the walls hung weapons, several bows and full quivers. A basket held clothes, and a pile of carpets and blankets made the queen's bed. It was close and comfortable, after the glare and the dust outside, and I sank down on the bed. Scylla and Kore flanked me, sitting close and nervous, ears back.

Anemone sat down opposite me. She was wearing breeches of light deerhide and a leather corselet over a linen tunic. Her feet were bare. Her necklace of gold coins chimed as she moved. She was very exotic to a princess who had worn black garments since the cradle.

'Drink,' she instructed, handing me a wooden cup. I sipped. It was strange but refreshing, tasting a little like fermented apple juice. 'That's kermiss,' she added, 'mare's milk. So, banished Chalkiope's sons, has he? Yet I would have said the threat came closer from his own heart.'

'Possibly,' I murmured. She gave me a sharp look.

'Wait until we know each other better, Princess,' she said and smiled. 'Meanwhile, we leave in the morning. I must go to the king directly, but I shall be back soon, and Iole will keep you company. She has no man yet - we really need a battle, or some of our young women will die maidens.'

I felt that travelling with the Scythians was going to be very interesting.