Medea. Kerry Greenwood

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      NAUPLIOS

      I opened my eyes on a horse's face.

      Hands were busy about me. A weight was on my body, a crushing weight which lifted and I felt myself groan, though I yet felt no pain. A spurt of warm liquid spattered my face, and I lifted a hand to wipe my eyes.

      I still had hands, which meant that I still had a body and I was still breathing. I chuckled, pleased. The masked priest of the centaurs, Hippos, their holiest and most learned man, was feeling over my body for injuries. Suddenly, everything hurt. I felt as though I had been flattened in a wine-press under the stone.

      Tears came to my eyes, but I made no sound. To distract myself from the sharp stabs shooting through my bones at every touch - though Hippos was clever and gentle - I looked around.

      I was lying in the clearing. Beside me lay a giant boar. It had taken four of the centaur hunters to lift and drag the corpse off me. I shivered at the memory of the ravening mouth, the brute strength of the beast, its murderous weight on my body. I shifted a little, biting my lip, to catch sight of the head. Its red eyes were open and glazed. It was, somehow, miraculously, dead.

      And I was alive. Although all my limbs felt like they had been broken, I was not, by the feel of it, badly hurt. I looked for my lord. Jason, dyed with blood to the elbow, was cleaning his knife in the grass. He must have dived for the boar and cut its throat while I lost consciousness. I blushed, ashamed of my weakness. I had fainted.

      The horse priest made a pleased sound, then struck me lightly on the chest three times with his horse-tail switch. 'Rise,' he commanded, and I rose, grunting with pain. Jason did not come to me to help me walk. Instead, Cheiron himself mounted me on his favourite horse, and I clung on with both hands as it paced down the slope and through the stream and then up the worn path to the camp.

      There I was laid down in fern, while a steam bath was prepared. Beside me lay a centaur youth. It was always hard to read their dark faces, but he was sweating with agony. His shoulder had been dislocated, and his elbow, and although they had been replaced by the skill of Hippos, he was in considerable pain and could not speak without disgracing himself.

      I wanted words, a friendly face, a friendly touch, but Jason did not come to me. I had been so close to the dark angel Thanatos, who is Death, brother of Sleep, that Morpheus took me unawares, and I slept.

      I woke again in darkness. I smelt the pungent scent of the purifying herbs, hyssop and rosemary. I was lying in hot water in the caves of Dictes, the cave of never-failing hot springs. The centaurs had carved out a basin to catch the mineral-rich water, wide enough to hold three men and deep enough for me to float, steadied by someone's hand under my neck. On a ledge sat Hippos, in robes and mask; beside me lay the centaur youth whose name I did not know.

      'You will lie here for one quarter of this night,' said Hippos. 'I will tell tales to you, young men, and this shall be your manhood ritual. Then you shall rise, being healed, and go to the meadow where the centaurs sport with their mares. There Jason waits for you, son of Dictys. He who hesitated long enough to kill you then acted fast enough to save your life. You will forgive him.'

      'Horse-priest, there is nothing to forgive,' I said. The warm water bathed my hurts. I could feel my bruised limbs slackening, relaxing, and almost cried with relief. I heard a sob beside me as the centaur boy experienced the same blessing.

      Hippos was masked so I could not see his expression, but he made a tongue click which in the centaur's language means vexation. I wondered how I had offended him, but he said nothing more of the matter; instead beginning a story in the centaur's deep, rich voice, which could make the driest matter fascinating.

       These caves belong to Hephaestos, smith of the gods, husband of Aphrodite. He is crippled by a fall, but he is the greatest metal worker that has ever been. His son is Talos, who made the bronze giant. When this part of the world was formed, Hephaestos forged the doorposts СКАЧАТЬ