Chapter 46
Atalanta
When she came to change my bandages, Medea did not linger. Her touch was quick, clinical, all efficiency. As if I had never
felt her lips on my own. When she was finished, I peeled away, finding her presence intolerable despite my craving for it.
Three days had passed since the Argo’s departure from Crete, and still she had not given an answer to my invitation.
Run away with me into the forest . . .
I hovered on a knife’s edge of uncertainty. She said she’d think about it, hadn’t she? I’d sworn I wouldn’t do this again,
this falling-in-love business, yet I could not seem to help myself. I wished I could draw the words back into my mouth, swallowing
them before they ever had a chance to be spoken. But the die had been cast, the spear thrown, and who knew where it might
land?
The Argo drifted into the harbor of Phaeacia, our last port before Iolcus. The thriving town was located in a natural lagoon formed
by two promontories like open arms, rising into hills half-obscured by the masts of ships at anchor, thick as a forest. Small
fishing boats, big-bellied merchant vessels, even warships sleek as wolves.
A few of the latter drifted through the water. I thought little of their presence until I saw the emblem adorning their flag:
a golden eagle within a sunburst. Seal of the royal house of Colchis.
A cry came from the lookout, and I spun around. The way to the open sea was also blocked now . . . by two similar ships bearing the same sunburst crest.
I glanced at Medea. On her face was the horrified look of a woman whose past had caught up to her.
Medea
The Colchian soldiers and the Argonauts stood across from each other in the throne room like a fractured reflection in a nightmare
mirror.
Above us sat the king and queen of Phaeacia. King Alcinous was a man in the late summer of life, barrel-chested and strong.
His hair and beard were streaked with silver, and his eyes shrewd as they raked over the crowd in front of his throne. Next
to him sat his wife, Queen Arete, observing the proceedings silently.
Jason was speaking to Alcinous, displaying his most winning smile, saying something about the duties of xenia. But I could
not concentrate on his words. All I could see were the cold eyes of the Colchian warriors, burning into me like brands.
Though they were my countrymen, these soldiers were loyal without question to the memory of my father. While the rest of the
Colchian fleet tarried to gather the severed limbs of poor Absyrtos, their ships had followed the Argo. After losing our trail on the open sea, they lay in wait until we passed through Phaeacia, knowing it was the best way to
catch us on our way home.
King Alcinous spoke. “One might say I have the greater duty of xenia toward the Colchians, since they were here first.”
Jason protested, but Alcinous held up a hand. One of the Colchian soldiers stepped forward. He wore the plumed helmet of a division captain, and I did not recognize him. “We come for the princess Medea. That is all we ask,” he said in accented Greek.
I was nauseated with fear, my body as tense as a closed fist. These men had seen what I’d done to Absyrtos and would show
me no mercy. Even if Chalciope and her sons ruled Colchis now, I was under no illusions that I would survive the journey back
there. I was a traitor and kin slayer, and if I went with the warriors, I would meet with some unfortunate accident on the
trackless seas where even my witchcraft would not save me.
“I will not go back to Colchis,” I said, my voice shaking. “I will die first.”
“You heard her!” Jason cried. “She will not go back. And we will not let you take her.”
The cry was taken up by the other Argonauts. “You can’t take her! She’s ours!” This was accompanied by the rattling of spears
and swords. Their protectiveness heartened me, but the Colchians were not easily dissuaded.
“If you do not return what was taken,” the Colchian captain said with quiet menace, “then we shall assume it a declaration
of war and take it back by force.” His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
I thought I might weep with terror. On his high throne overlooking the scene, King Alcinous rubbed his chin.
“What am I to do,” Alcinous said, “when one of my honored guests makes a demand that the other cannot meet? Phaeacia is a
small island, and I do not wish to bring war upon us, but neither do I wish to insult loyal warriors or a courageous band
of heroes. You see my predicament.”
“Certainly I do,” Jason said smoothly. “But surely you understand that we cannot simply give up one of our own. Perhaps there
is a compromise to be made . . .”
A movement at the corner of my eye: Atalanta, spear in hand. Ready to defend me no matter how things stood between us, regardless of her half-healed injuries.
Oh, Atalanta, I thought. We should have run away when we had the chance.
But that moment had been snatched away from us, if indeed it had ever been a real possibility at all. I needed to think of
a way to save both myself and the Argonauts.
My gaze fell upon Queen Arete. She was only a few years older than myself, younger than her husband as brides often were.
Her fall of auburn hair was topped by a silver circlet. She said nothing but took in everything. Her nose crinkled slightly,
as if she found this bickering over my life to be distasteful.
There was no time to think. I ran forward, skirts flying, and fell to my knees before the queen, ignoring the gasps of shock
this evoked from the observers. I rested one hand on Arete’s knee and used the other to cup her chin, adopting the pose of
a supplicant.
“Great lady,” I said, “have mercy. Please do not send me back to Colchis, defenseless and alone, with no city walls or battlements
or arms for protection. Show compassion to me, a woman just like you.”
If Arete was ruffled by my sudden intimacy, she hid it well. Her face softened in compassion. “Oh, girl of many worries,”
she whispered, “I will do what I can for you.”
Arete turned to confer with her husband, and I could see Alcinous nodding along to whatever she said. When Arete finished
speaking, she lowered her eyes and folded her hands in her lap as King Alcinous stood.
“There is no easily resolution,” Alcinous began. “And Phaeacia must be an impartial judge. So here is my decree: If Medea has remained a virgin, she will be returned to her father’s people, and the Golden Fleece shall go with her. But if she has taken a husband, then I will not divide their love.”
I bit my tongue on a cry. Queen Arete had shown me mercy, but all for nothing. I was still a virgin, which meant my certain
death.
A voice rang out across the room. “I am Medea’s husband,” Jason said. “I am her husband, and she is my wife.”