“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, andthe 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.”
47
Jason
Peleus catches Jason’s elbow as they leave the Phaeacian throne room. “You don’t have to do this,” Peleus whispers, face grave. Jason knows that his friend is thinking of his own travesty of a marriage to Thetis.
King Alcinous has dismissed all his guests until morning, giving them a brief reprieve. Enough time for Jason to make true the lie that he has spoken.
Back in the land of Colchis, when he sat locked in a room waiting to die, Jason made a promise to take Medea as his wife. The time has come for him to make good on that promise. He would shield her from the avenging Harpies with his own body, and it goes without saying that he will protect her now.
And truth be told, he isn’t sorry to claim this beautiful girl of manifold skill as his wife. Only one thing gives him pause: the divine decree that Medea should marry Achilles, repeated by Thetis but originating, if memory serves, from Jason’s own patroness, Hera. Jason has no wish to violate the will of the gods; in fact, he shies away in terror from the idea. He can imagine Thetis emerging from the sea to swallow him whole for the insult.
But Hera protects him, and if there was something she wanted Jason to know, she would surely have told him. As it is, Hera hasnot seen fit to appear before Jason since gifting him theArgo, when she judged him worthy of her favor.
It occurs to Jason that perhaps it is the will of Hera that he marry Medea, and Thetis unfortunately misunderstood. Yes, that must be it. Hera is the goddess of marriage, after all—how fitting that her servant Jason should save Medea not through strength of arms, but a wedding.
Peleus is looking at Jason, his face creased with concern. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he repeats.
Kind words, but useless. When has it ever mattered what Jason wants? He has a duty to uphold.
“Why would you think that I do not want this?” Jason replies, brushing off his friend’s concern. “I was born for it. Get the others, it is time to prepare for the ceremony.”
Torches bob through the nighttime forest, and the Argonauts sing half-remembered wedding songs off-key, hushing one another so as not to risk catching the attention of the Phaeacians. They head deeper and deeper into the forests of the island.
Jason glances at Medea, who walks beside him with eyes downcast. A single, slightly wilted flower has been hastily tucked behind her ear, and she wears the same dress she’s worn throughout the journey. There was simply no time to attire her like a true bride.
Her face is pensive, and Jason’s heart aches. Medea has been robbed of a proper wedding, the happiest day in the life of a young woman. She should have had days of feasting, not a hasty ceremony performed in the woods. But there is no choice, not if she is to survive.
Jason thinks of his parents, wishing with sudden, painful acuity that they could be in attendance here today.
Mopsus conducts the rites, making the sacrifices and overseeing the oaths that will bind them to each other.“In our lawful marriage chamber, you shall share my bed,”Jason and Medea say.“And nothing will separate us in our love until appointed death descends.”
After this is the cave, where the marriage will be consummated. Jason’s stomach does a flip of anxiety at the thought. He doesn’t entirely understand what consummation entails, but Peleus has assured him it all comes quite naturally.
The cave itself is dark and damp, lit fitfully by a few lamps, and Jason is touched to see a makeshift bed in the corner. The Argonauts have banded together to layer their blankets and make a comfortable spot for the newlyweds. On top of it all is the Golden Fleece.
Medea freezes when she sees it, and Jason feels a stab of horror. The Fleece belonged to her father; she won’t want a reminder of him on her wedding night. Chagrined, Jason reaches out to move the Fleece.
“No, leave it,” Medea tells him. “It was the Fleece that brought us together in the first place.”
She sits on the makeshift marriage bed, hands folded in her lap. Jason joins, studying her in the lamplight. She really is beautiful, with a lovely face and a curvaceous figure.
And now she is all his. The thought sends a thrill through him.
He leans forward and kisses her. Jason has never kissed anyone before, but he finds it quite pleasant.
Medea is trembling a little, and her mind seems elsewhere. Jason cups her cheek, comforting her with soft words. No marriage begins with love, but at least this one is based on mutual respect. A good foundation.
