“I must think on it,” he tells Creon, and flees.
Having nowhere else to go, Jason heads to the temple of Hera.
It is a beautiful place, with soaring marble pillars and colorful frescoes. The priestesses incline their heads respectfully as he passes. Jason is well known here; he was the one to spearhead the building project that replaced the old wooden temple with this marble magnificence. He did this to show his appreciation to the goddess Hera, who helped him survive the journey of theArgo, and also to impress Creon with his organizational abilities. Although Jason’s plan earned him the favor of the king, the goddess has remained stubbornly silent. Hera has not graced him with her presence since that day more than twenty years ago on the docks of Iolcus, when she gave him theArgo.
“Help me, Hera,” Jason whispers, looking into the great face of the statue that soars up near the ceiling. “Patroness, lift me above this roil of indecision as I once lifted you over a great river in flood.”
He keeps his voice soft, though it is customary to speak loudly to the gods. Jason does not want one of the worshippers to catch what he is saying and spread rumors through the city. He has fought so hard for his good standing here, slowly earning the trust of the king and the people. If he rejects the king’s proposal, he might lose everything he has gained.
Silence, interrupted only by the ordinary sounds of the temple: The voices of worshippers, the music. The air is laced with the spicy smoke of incense.
Suddenly a gust of wind blows through the temple, flutteringthe priestesses’ robes. The small lamps that illuminate the sanctuary are snuffed out, and darkness rolls in. Not frightening but lush, like the darkness of a wedding night.
All around Jason are cries of surprise, but he feels only exultation. Most human beings hesitate to interpret the will of the gods, but not Jason. His heart is serene; the sign is clear. Hera approves of his choice, quieting all his doubts like the wind snuffing out the lamps. Once Hera guided Jason to save Medea’s life through marriage, and now she is going to use another marriage to give Jason a kingdom. Yes, all of this is the will of the goddess.
It’s only a coincidence, really, that the princess Creusa is young and beautiful, and will make a far better wife for him than Medea.
Jason unfurls his stiff knees and rises to his feet. He and Medea have been like old furniture in each other’s way these past twenty years; it is better for them to part. Besides, he has never really rested easy around her since the death of Pelias.
Jason makes a gesture of reverence to the statue of Hera. Though he will fight the decision a little longer, this is the moment when he makes up his mind.
68
Medea
After Atalanta left, I took to my bed and did not rise. Eirene looked after the boys, shooting me resentful looks, and Jason was a familiar absence.
Not that it mattered. I lay there insensible, wandering in a labyrinth of memories.
You would never have had to chase me. I wouldn’t have run from you.
What had she meant by that? I searched Atalanta’s words for hidden meaning like a treasure seeker panning river silt for gold. And what about that parting statement, about her camp on Mount Geraneia?
She’d said she wouldn’t run from me, but she left me in the dust all the same. She’d chosen the forests over me, as I’d once chosen Jason over her. There was a grim beauty in the symmetry of it.
I was not free to follow her, as she should well knew. A thousand responsibilities tied me here; after all, I had two young sons. Besides, I was no more suited to a life in the woods than I had been twenty years ago. If Atalanta wanted to be with me, she could have stayed here in Corinth. But she hadn’t.
Anger filled me, and I was driven at last from my bed. It was nighttime by then, and I was the only one in the house still awake. I went to the central hearth fire, nothing but glowing coals at this hour, and stoked it into a blazing fury. Then I fed it with the letters taken from the bottom of my clothing trunk, years upon years of letters from Atalanta. The flames consumed the stilted words that I could picture her shaping so carefully, her noble form bent over the papyrus. How easily they burned. Soon there would be no memory of our bond, no physical sign of it. Maybe then I’d be free from this longing.
When my grim task was finished, I ran back to bed and threw the blankets over my head. I stewed in darkness, emerging only when Jason opened the door.
69
Medea
It surprised me when Jason said he wanted to talk, since we spoke so little these days. Perhaps he wished to discuss a new tutor for our sons or announce that the king had ordered him on a long journey.
Instead, Jason linked his fingers together in an arch and said, “There is no easy way to put this. I am taking a new wife.”
The earth dropped away beneath me and turned to sky. For a moment I was certain that I’d ceased to understand Greek. I was going mad, hearing things, because I thought I’d just heard my husband say he was taking a new wife.
“So I am to have a co-wife?” I asked through lips numb with shock.
Jason looked away and rubbed the back of his head. It was a familiar gesture, and it betrayed him. He did this when he had to deliver news that he knew would not please the hearer. He had done it often over the long years of our marriage.
“No, you are sending me away,” I said, incredulous. “You are divorcing me. Why, Jason? I could understand if I was barren or a bad wife, but I’ve done my duty. We have three sons.” My voice turned shrill at the end, and my hands began to shake. So much had I given up for him. So painfully long had been the years of dishes, diapers, and darkness.
Jason sighed. It was a separation, yes, but he insisted it didn’thave to be an ugly one. He would set me up with a house and gold and anything else I could ever want, and make sure I lived like a queen in any city I desired. As long as it was not Corinth.
