Chapter 73
Jason
As he stands in the ruins of his life, it occurs to Jason that he should have expected this.
He’d always known what Medea was capable of, had seen it first with Absyrtos and later with Pelias. Medea is fluent in the
language of violence, and Jason has never been a native speaker of that tongue.
But even in his darkest imaginings, he never dreamed that something like this would happen.
Around Jason, the people of the city stumble into the temple courtyard. Some recognize Jason as the king’s foreign advisor,
others as the hero of the Argo, but to many he is merely a man in fine clothes making a spectacle of himself. They peer up at the sky where Medea ascends
in her dragon-drawn chariot. Favored by the gods, unlike him.
Jason falls to his knees, howling to Hera. “I went to the edge of the world for you, built a temple for you,” he cries to the queen of the gods. “Why have you forgotten me?”
But there is no answer.
Jason groans like a wounded man, hands reaching up to claw his face. Everything he worked for has been destroyed. His sons
are dead; his beloved Creusa is gone and so is his chance at the throne. Better for him to die now, before the bards who made
him famous can find out how his story really ends.
But Jason has clung too fiercely to life for too long to let go so easily. As he casts about for some kind of plan, his mind alights on a possibility.
There is a way forward. How did he never see it? Thessalus, his firstborn son, apprenticed far away on Mount Pelion. His legacy,
through which all other things become possible.
Yes! Jason will retrieve Thessalus, and together they will hunt down Medea. That lovely dragon chariot will have to land at
some point; the demigoddess will come back down to earth. And when she does, Jason will be waiting for her.
Thessalus will wield the knife, he decides. Medea killed her sons, and now one of her sons will kill his mother. There is
a pleasing symmetry to the idea.
The thought that Thessalus might balk at this never crosses Jason’s mind. All his life, Jason has tried to do his duty to
both his family and the gods. Now it is time to ensure that his son performs his.
And if Thessalus forgets, then Jason will make sure he remembers. By force, if necessary.
Down in the dust, Jason begins to laugh. It is a terrible sound, and the onlookers recoil from him.
Yes, yes! He has lived so much of his life under the thumb of women—first Alcimede, then Medea—wearing himself to a rag in
vain efforts to make them happy. Alcimede, Medea—he never noticed how their names echo each other, these women who have ruled
and ruined his life. Even the goddess Hera has used and discarded him. Jason loudly consigns them all to hell, heedless of
the horror his blasphemy inspires in the watching priestesses.
And then . . . what? What else might be possible, now that everything has fallen away? A thought jolts Jason to his feet,
sending him rushing out of the temple courtyard and in the direction of the harbor.
Iolcus!
He will retake the kingdom of Iolcus, city of his birth, and the throne of his father. Yes! The plan unfurls like a bright
ribbon, illuminating Jason’s path. First he will go with Thessalus to Phthia, where his old friend Peleus holds sway. Peleus’s
son, Achilles, has gone to fight in the Trojan campaign, and Peleus will be longing for an adventure of his own. The son will surpass the father, the prophecy goes. Peleus always wanted to achieve great things so that Achilles could accomplish even greater ones, and
he will listen when Jason lays out his plan.
The shopfronts of Corinth pass in a blur at the edges of Jason’s vision as he careens through the streets like a drunkard.
Jason has lived in Corinth for so many years, but it has never really felt like home.
What does that matter, though, when his true homecoming is imminent? Iolcus, his birthright. In his delight, Jason lets out
a bark of a laugh that startles a watching child, causing her to hide in her mother’s skirts.
They will go with an army to Iolcus. Why did Jason never think of this before? Probably because he was too focused on appeasing
Creon. With Peleus’s warriors they will drive out the usurper Acastus, butchering him in his bed. Jason will place his son
Thessalus on the throne of his forefathers and wrap the Golden Fleece around his shoulders.
This vision drives him on like an oxgoad, like a man on fire. All his life Jason has been looking for a handhold to a place
of greater glory, and yet he has never really felt like he was climbing, only clinging to a cliff bare-knuckled as the winds
buffeted him. Now, at last, the way ahead is clear.
There are no bloodless heroes, Jason knows that now. There are only winners and losers.
The Argo is in front of him, sails full of holes and hull festooned with barnacles, but still magnificent. Jason scrambles up the ladder and onto the deck, feeling a wave of nostalgia overwhelm him.
The great ship moves slowly as he races from prow to stern, readying it for the voyage. There are no hands at the many oars,
but the wind soon fills the sails. Jason closes his eyes as he feels the sea breeze in his hair, a sensation he had almost
forgotten.
As he looks out at the plumes of sea-foam struck into rainbows by the sun, it occurs to Jason that he has been carrying the
memory of the Argo on his back for a long, long time, just as he carried it in the Libyan desert. But it has not been a burden; rather, it has
been his greatest comfort. At night, he dreams of the wide blue sea and the shapes of unknown lands drifting into view.
Jason was accused of being a pirate during the Argo’s first journey, but now he can become one in truth, taking whatever he wants from whomever he pleases. Maybe he’ll get himself
a harem of captive women and spear-wives to breed more sons. Maybe he will make an empire, swallowing cities in blood. Cyzicus
was the first king whom Jason killed, but he needn’t be the last.
Never again will anyone call him Jason Amechanos, Jason the Helpless. He is done trying to please the world. Now the world
will have to please him.
So great is his excitement that he has forgotten about Medea’s prophecy. In his single-minded focus, Jason does not notice
that the beam above his head, blackened with age and rot, has begun to come loose.