As I wrapped my arms around my husband and comforted him, a plan slowly took shape in my mind. Something awful and magnificent, and so audacious it made me tremble. But there was nothing I would not sacrifice for Jason, no part of myself I would not be willing to lose.
And I already knew that everything worth having was paid for in blood.
Jason had asked for my help, and I would not stint on giving it. Yes, I would shape myself into his shield and sword, becoming exactly what he needed. It would have to be done with the utmost care, no margin for error. Hiring an assassin of my own was out of the question. Only decisive action would ensure our futures—Jason’s, mine, and those of our unborn children.
Later that night, after Jason had gone to sleep, I stood in front of the bronze mirror and looked at the woman reflected there.“Here is what you will do,”I said to her, severing myself from my actions, becoming ayourather than anI.
Here, now, is what you will do.
First come the preparations. You cast a glamour on yourself, taking on the appearance of an old woman. It reminds you briefly of Hekate, but you will not waste another thought on your absent mother.
You drape yourself in the finest clothing you possess—not very luxurious, since you are still newly arrived in Iolcus, but enough to give a look of otherworldliness. You take censers of incense and dangle them from your hands, causing wisps of smoke to rise. You include some of the same herbs you used on the beach with Talos—hempflower, aconite—but add fragrant sandalwood to intoxicatethe senses. You chant loudly in the Colchian tongue, which nobody here knows, to enhance your aura of mystery as you walk down the Iolcan streets.
Soon you are escorted before the king, who squints at you from his high throne. Pelias is a pathetic old man animated by the fire of greed, much the same as Aeetes. The stain of miasma hangs over him, and you recall that he killed his own brother, Jason’s father, Aeson. Pelias lives a cursed life, a shrunken one, subject to shadows and vague disappointments. It will be a mercy to put an end to it.
You tell Pelias that you are a wonder-worker and priestess of Artemis Hekate. This briefly evokes the bittersweet memory of Atalanta, but you push it away. You cannot afford to think of her right now.
To the king, you claim that among your abilities is the power to rejuvenate the body, a capacity granted to you by the goddess of the waxing and waning moon. To demonstrate, you bring forth a waterskin and wash away the illusion of great age that adorns you, revealing a young woman’s face.
Pelias does not recognize you because he has never met Medea, Jason’s wife. These Greeks have the unfortunate habit of shutting their women up in the house like fine pottery. But now this backward custom serves your purpose.
On the throne, Pelias leans forward as if to pounce, hungry for the possibility of rejuvenation. It is just as you thought; he fears death and debility, as all tyrants do. They have spent their lives crushing the weak and fear nothing more than becoming weak themselves.
You tell Pelias that the gods have seen fit to bless him, and they have chosen his daughters as the instrument of this blessing. His renewal will not be so simple as merely washing with holy water; he must be immersed in it, no part left out.
Pelias’s daughters are summoned from their chambers and ushered blinking into the courtyard where you have readied yourtools. A cauldron is propped up, an old ram tethered beside it. And though the women cannot see it, a young ram is hidden inside the cauldron, hobbled to keep it still.
Sacrifice is necessary for rejuvenation, you explain. Rebirth is a bloody business. He must be immersed in the sacred cauldron, no part left out.
You draw the elderly ram’s head back and slit its throat. Then you begin to cut, piece by piece, as the daughters of Pelias look on in wordless shock.
You deposit the dismembered ram into the cauldron, then chant a string of nonsense words and throw incense on the fire. Taking advantage of the smoke, you untether the lamb and let it dash off in a panic. To the daughters of Pelias, the elderly ram appears to leap out of the cauldron after becoming young again.
The women are utterly silent. You falter for a moment, wondering if they have seen through your ruse. But then they fall over themselves with eagerness, bursting with questions, and you have all the answers.
Here is how you restore your father’s youth,you tell them.Here is the magic cauldron, which restores strength and youth. Harden your hearts to the task, for you are the daughters of a king. You have seen it already with the ram. Go on, do your duty.
Obediently, the young women rush out of the courtyard. You do not see them do it, but you can imagine the scene. The daughters of Pelias will haul their aging father from his bed, long tendons standing out under his thin skin like tent poles. Pelias goes with them willingly, remembering the words of the priestess.
At least until he sees the knives.
There is a trial.
Guards grab you on your way out of the palace, clutching yourwrists and hauling you backward. You didn’t reckon with Pelias’s daughters recovering so swiftly from their shock and hunting for you, but here you are.
The court is housed in a lofty rotunda, the jury made up mostly of old men. Everywhere around you there are eyes: the disapproving eyes of the court and the prosecutors; the tear-stained eyes of the daughters of Pelias. They are citizen women and can speak in their own defense, while you, a foreign woman, cannot even open your mouth.
Everywhere around you there are eyes, and beside you is Jason. Your only comfort, your sole ally in this sea of hostility, but he will not quite look at you, and he moves his hand away when you try to take it in yours.
Eventually the sentence comes down: banishment. The court cannot exactly find you guilty of murder, but neither can you be allowed to remain in the city.
Next to you, Jason buries his face in his hands. You learn too late that Iolcan law recognizes the husband and wife as one person, her identity subsumed to his. A ruling against you affects him too. You will go into exile together.
The court further declares that Acastus, the son of Pelias, will ascend the throne in Jason’s place.
You and Jason are given one night—one single night—to pack all your worldly goods. As soon as you return to your little rented house and close the door, Jason gives vent to a cry of anguish, falling to his knees. And the flimsy wall you have constructed between who you are and what you must do collapses.
I am Medea again, simply Medea, kneeling beside my husband and trying to keep him from clawing his face in near-mortal grief.
