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Authors: Robert Holdstock
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not.’
Tisaminas crouched down beside me, lifted Jason’s battered head. Jason opened his eyes, then reached out to grab me by the shoulder. ‘Why didn’t you stop her?’ he whispered.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I warned you she was more powerful than me. I tried, Jason. With all my heart, I tried.’
Jason’s look was grim, tearful, but he acknowledged my words. ‘I know you did. I’m sure you did. You’ve been a good friend. I know you would have tried.’ He groaned as he attempted to move. ‘Come on, help me up! Tisaminas, help me up. And fetch horses! We have to follow…’
‘The horses are on their way,’ I told him.
‘She will run to the north, Antiokus. I know the way she thinks. She’ll run to the shore, to the hidden harbour. We can catch her!’
‘We can certainly try,’ I said, though in my heart I knew that Medea had slipped away for ever. She had always outwitted Jason.
As I watched the man struggle to regain his composure and organise his thoughts, I suddenly felt very sad. The sadness quickly became overwhelming. I might even have murmured aloud, ‘Oh no…’
Jason sensed that something was wrong. Dark, moist eyes watched me through their pain.
‘Antiokus…’ he said softly. ‘If you think it’s vengeance that directs me, you’re wrong. It isn’t Medea I’m after. Not yet, at least. It’s my boys.’ He was shaking violently as he reached to embrace me. ‘I will need to grieve for them before anything. But she has taken their bodies! Antiokus—stranger to this land that you are, you are not so much a stranger here that you don’t understand this: how can I grieve over just their memory? I must have my sons back. In my arms! They belong to me, not to her. ’ His grip on my shoulders was crushing my flesh, his face close to my own. ‘My good friend … Antiokus. Don’t be sad. Help me!’
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t tell him what I was thinking. How could I tell him that it was time for me to move on, that I would soon have to leave him? He knew that something was upsetting me, and being Jason he was trying to instil courage in me. But he had misunderstood the cause of my sorrow, thinking I was angry that he would pursue Medea so soon after his loved ones had died.
Orgominos rode up, with five horses on tethers.
Bruised and battered, bewildered and clinging to his reason by the narrowest of grips, Jason drew away from me, flung himself on to one of them, called for us all, called for me in particular with a long, hard look, then led the pursuit of his fleeing wife, through the open gates of the palace.
I rode with him, but for a few hours only.
* * *
At that time, in Iolkos, we could hardly believe what we had seen. Such an abominable murder! And yet we had had to believe. It had happened before our eyes.
But now, in the grove of the skogen, Medea’s actions became transparent, and at last I saw the way we had been deceived. As the scenario unfurled I could not bear to watch Jason as he witnessed Medea’s conjuration, but I heard the thunder of his heart and the quickness of his breath as the truth at last came home to him.
One nick to the throat on each boy, drawing blood as a powerful drug was passed into the flesh. The boys collapsed in seconds. Pig’s blood shocked our senses as it seemed to spurt from their necks. Medea stooped over their bodies and from beneath her skirts pulled heads made of wax and horsehair, wrapping them in strips of her veil. She threw them to Cretantes, then summoned her strength and dragged her sleeping sons to the horses, letting us see only their trailing legs.
So fast, so clever, so persuasive!
Jason’s heartbeat, as he relived the truth, was like the drumming of a war galley in full attack.
* * *
All day we had pursued Medea. Her chariot of oak and wicker sped across the hills, its wheels turned more by her will than by her horses. At some point she escaped the pursuit. We found ourselves
Tisaminas crouched down beside me, lifted Jason’s battered head. Jason opened his eyes, then reached out to grab me by the shoulder. ‘Why didn’t you stop her?’ he whispered.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I warned you she was more powerful than me. I tried, Jason. With all my heart, I tried.’
Jason’s look was grim, tearful, but he acknowledged my words. ‘I know you did. I’m sure you did. You’ve been a good friend. I know you would have tried.’ He groaned as he attempted to move. ‘Come on, help me up! Tisaminas, help me up. And fetch horses! We have to follow…’
‘The horses are on their way,’ I told him.
‘She will run to the north, Antiokus. I know the way she thinks. She’ll run to the shore, to the hidden harbour. We can catch her!’
‘We can certainly try,’ I said, though in my heart I knew that Medea had slipped away for ever. She had always outwitted Jason.
As I watched the man struggle to regain his composure and organise his thoughts, I suddenly felt very sad. The sadness quickly became overwhelming. I might even have murmured aloud, ‘Oh no…’
Jason sensed that something was wrong. Dark, moist eyes watched me through their pain.
‘Antiokus…’ he said softly. ‘If you think it’s vengeance that directs me, you’re wrong. It isn’t Medea I’m after. Not yet, at least. It’s my boys.’ He was shaking violently as he reached to embrace me. ‘I will need to grieve for them before anything. But she has taken their bodies! Antiokus—stranger to this land that you are, you are not so much a stranger here that you don’t understand this: how can I grieve over just their memory? I must have my sons back. In my arms! They belong to me, not to her. ’ His grip on my shoulders was crushing my flesh, his face close to my own. ‘My good friend … Antiokus. Don’t be sad. Help me!’
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t tell him what I was thinking. How could I tell him that it was time for me to move on, that I would soon have to leave him? He knew that something was upsetting me, and being Jason he was trying to instil courage in me. But he had misunderstood the cause of my sorrow, thinking I was angry that he would pursue Medea so soon after his loved ones had died.
Orgominos rode up, with five horses on tethers.
Bruised and battered, bewildered and clinging to his reason by the narrowest of grips, Jason drew away from me, flung himself on to one of them, called for us all, called for me in particular with a long, hard look, then led the pursuit of his fleeing wife, through the open gates of the palace.
I rode with him, but for a few hours only.
* * *
At that time, in Iolkos, we could hardly believe what we had seen. Such an abominable murder! And yet we had had to believe. It had happened before our eyes.
But now, in the grove of the skogen, Medea’s actions became transparent, and at last I saw the way we had been deceived. As the scenario unfurled I could not bear to watch Jason as he witnessed Medea’s conjuration, but I heard the thunder of his heart and the quickness of his breath as the truth at last came home to him.
One nick to the throat on each boy, drawing blood as a powerful drug was passed into the flesh. The boys collapsed in seconds. Pig’s blood shocked our senses as it seemed to spurt from their necks. Medea stooped over their bodies and from beneath her skirts pulled heads made of wax and horsehair, wrapping them in strips of her veil. She threw them to Cretantes, then summoned her strength and dragged her sleeping sons to the horses, letting us see only their trailing legs.
So fast, so clever, so persuasive!
Jason’s heartbeat, as he relived the truth, was like the drumming of a war galley in full attack.
* * *
All day we had pursued Medea. Her chariot of oak and wicker sped across the hills, its wheels turned more by her will than by her horses. At some point she escaped the pursuit. We found ourselves
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