JASON, MEDEA AND I follow Pelias to the palace. The people who had been on the verge of an exuberant celebration, now offer meek welcomes as the mourning bells’ clanging fills the city.
“Who are the bells tolling for?” Jason asks.
“There has been a death, but we’ll discuss that later. You must tell me all of your deeds. We’ll have a feast tomorrow in your honor,” Pelias says with a cheeriness that rings as true as a poorly tuned harp. As he makes this offer of welcome, he twists a ring with a jewel that is far too large to be real.
“My deeds don’t matter. Who has died?”
“You are getting yourself worked up. The exhaustion from your trip has caught up with you. It happens.”
Jason storms away from his uncle to hurry toward the palace. The bells tolling from the tower in the west lawn of the palace send waves of apprehension through my gut. We should have sailed faster or ditched the boat and hired the swiftest horses, whatever it took to get here sooner. Medea falls in beside me. Although I can feel her questioning me with her eyes, I do not speak to her or look her way.
Once we are inside the foyer of the palace, Admes steps forward; his face droops grimly and his eyes have the red tinge of someone who has recently been crying but who is now bravely attempting to fight back tears. The doors leading from the foyer to the atrium are shut and this small detail puts me on edge; the doors are never closed and I wonder what Pelias is hiding behind them. Admes is about to greet Jason when Pelias cuts him off.
“There is news I should tell you. Your—” Pelias says, but this time it is Admes’s turn to interrupt.
“Your father is dead.” The tears brim over his eyes as Admes casts a suspicious look on Pelias. Pelias’s tanned features turn ashen and he stumbles as if his legs have lost all strength. He pushes past the servant and through the doors calling his brother’s name. His choking sobs sound strangled within his throat. Jason hurries after him, following the echo of Pelias’s sorrow. My own heart lurches in my chest with a fearful certainty: Pelias had been about to announce another death; he did not know about Aeson’s passing.
Again, Medea falls in beside me. Combatting against the sympathy I feel for my cousin and the heartache at the loss of Aeson, is an utter dislike of the woman next to me. Ignoring my disgruntled sneer, she puts a hand on my arm as if to stop me from following Jason. I pause and she speaks quietly.
“Look, I know you do not like me, but I want the best for him.” I remain silent. Her tone is that of someone about to make a proposal. I’m torn between abandoning her to go after my cousin and eagerness to hear what is ticking through the mind of this conniving woman. I wait for her to continue. “Do you trust this Pelias?”
“I trust him less than I trust you.”
“Well,” she says with a laugh, “that’s saying something. At least no one can fault you for honesty. “
“Pelias is an Arean and part of the Osteria Council. Regardless of his warm greeting, he had something to do with that mob at the harbor. He is trying to take over this polis by subtle force. If it is Aeson for whom those bells toll, I hold strong doubts that Pelias bears any intention of handing over the Staff of Dionysus to Jason.”
Before she can respond, the sounds of Pelias and Jason arguing surge from the atrium and echo against the foyer’s dome. I rush through the doorway, hand on my sword hilt. I’m stopped firmly in my tracks at the sight in the atrium and nearly fall to my knees in shock. Polymele’s body rests in state on a stone plinth that has been placed at the edge of the pool in the center of the vast room that is brightened by warm evening sunlight that seems too cheery for the room’s current purpose.
Dear gods, not both of them.
“Jason’s mother,” I say when Medea comes to my side. “The bells must have been for her.” I step forward, moving cautiously as if I will wake my aunt from her slumber. At her neck someone has wrapped a black scarf embroidered with a grape leaf motif. I shift the scarf and my teeth grate together with the force of my clenched jaw. Four purple-black marks snake along her throat, the throat of the Queen of Illamos Valley, granddaughter to the god Hermes. At the center of her neck, I find a single bruise where a thumb had squeezed the life out of her. I turn away. “I don’t believe Pelias is a good enough showman to fake his reaction to his brother’s death, but this,” my words tremble from grief and anger, “he certainly had a part in.”
“He should be gotten rid of. I can assure it.”
Her face is painted with a determination and disgust that match my own feelings. I turn back to Polymele and brush my hand over the queen’s black hair.
“Do what you must,” I say flatly.
“And then will you think I’m worthy of your cousin?”
I turn to look at her. I know what she is capable of and I want her to use her heartless cruelty on Pelias, but I can’t help but blame her. If not for her joining Jason, if not for the murder of her own brother, if not for our delay in Portaceae, we may have made it home in time to prevent this tragedy that has fallen upon Salemnos.
“I don’t make those kinds of promises.”
Before she can respond, Jason enters the atrium from the steps that lead to the lower levels of the palace. In his arms he carries his father’s body. Tears flood his eyes and I wonder how he can see through them.
“Suicide.” His choking words tug at my already aching heart. “He hanged himself.”
Pelias, breathing heavily from having jogged up the steps, jerks to a stop when he enters the atrium. His cheeks too are wet and he makes no attempt to dry them. Jason spins on him, his face red and strained with rage.
“How long did you let him hang there?” he shouts, his voice more guttural than I have ever heard it.
Pelias stammers but no words come from his lips as he fumbles again with the ring on his finger. Jason turns from him, his chest and shoulders shudder as he places his father next to Polymele. Medea goes to her husband, slips an arm around him and whispers words in his ear that I hope will soothe him. When he sees my attention focused on him, Pelias stops fidgeting with the ring and collects himself, standing tall and proud as would be expected from a vigile. He fingers his waist pouch and I ease my hand to my sword, ready for any action he may try against Jason. But instead of a weapon, he brandishes a piece of parchment.
“He left a note. He knew of Polymele’s death.” To his credit, his voice breaks on saying the queen’s name. “He also thought you to be dead. He apparently didn’t want to live without either of you.”
Jason, having entwined the hands of his mother and father, storms over to Pelias and grabs him by the front of his tunic. I stand my ground, but draw my sword, ready to fight if Pelias dares make any move against my cousin.
“And why did he think me dead?” Again, the guttural roar of grief rumbles under his words.
“Rumors?” Pelias says and I recognize the nervous, raised pitch of a lie.
“Rumors from where? He was locked in a cell of his own palace’s prison.”
“Vigile guards have a terrible habit of talking amongst one another.”
Another lie. I know the rigors of Arean training and the unquestioning obedience of Arean vigiles. These stern and serious men would not gossip, they wouldn’t even talk to one another unless expressly ordered to.
With a flick, Jason releases his hold on Pelias who staggers back then brushes himself down as if cleaning crumbs from his tunic. Jason snatches his dropped satchel from the floor and unfurls the pelt. Pelias eyes go wide, like a greedy boy who’s just caught sight of a steaming blackberry pie. Jason lays the golden pelt over his parents and kneels before the dais with his head bowed.
“Thank you for keeping such good watch over Salemnos,” I say to Pelias as I guide him out of the atrium so my cousin can be left to his grief. Despite my desire to, I cannot force Pelias out. Even from the brief glimpses I got, I know Salemnos swarms with Arean vigiles. Without the certainty of where their loyalty lies, I cannot rely on the people of Salemnos to fight the Areans at this moment and know I may have to call up troops as I did in Portaceae. I hope Pelias will leave on his own accord, but I know this hope is as useful as wishing away the clouds on a stormy day.
“I believe there are matters that must be attended to,” Pelias says. “And Jason will be in no state to rule just yet. It’s best I stay.” Again he twists the ring at his finger. I move in close. He tenses and takes a half step back before holding his position. I lean in to his ear.
“If any harm comes to my cousin, you will be paying Charon with that ring.” I stand upright and, without meeting his eyes, stride back into the atrium to grieve for my aunt and uncle, my queen and king.
* * *
Despite the bright autumn sun and brilliant reds and yellows that decorate the trees, the following two days in Salemnos are sorrowful ones filled with mourning for the royal couple. People don the deep maroon of death and tie maroon ribbons throughout the city. I cannot bear the confines of the palace and choose instead to wander through the agora trying to understand the state of the city through its gossip. Confusion reigns as people wonder who will be king: Pelias or Jason. Most hope for Jason, but do not see how they will rid themselves of the Areans. Bolder people discard the color bands the Areans – so I’ve learned – forced everyone to wear to segregate and control the population, and at least a couple neighborhoods have torn down the screens Pelias erected. The Areans remain ever watchful, but make no obvious threats as their commander grieves. Throughout it all, the mourning bells toll every hour of the day.
On the third day, the bodies of Aeson and Polymele are placed in the Illamos River on a funeral barge. The pelt drapes over them and I do hope to see it burn along with their bodies. It is a cursed thing that has caused too much trouble, too much sorrow and should be removed from this world. I have discussed this with Jason and he agrees that the prophecy is a falsehood; pelts do not make men leaders, only good sense and wise counsel do.
“Do you not think we should keep it?” Pelias asks.
“It is no longer needed,” Jason says bluntly.
“But it is very valuable.”
“I would prefer poverty to taking wealth from that object. I never want to see it again. That pelt is worth nothing but trouble. It became an obsession to Aeetes who has impoverished his kingdom to protect it, and it kept me away from Illamos Valley when my father needed me. It is a thing of the gods; it should be returned to them.”
I keep a close watch on Pelias for his reaction. The man twitches his hands, looking ready to snatch the pelt off the bodies. He holds his tongue, but his nostrils flare with the effort to contain his frustration. Medea, who was never around when Jason and I discussed the pelt, also appears to be debating over something in her own mind.
“It has a value,” she says softly to her husband. “It brought us together. It would be nice to pass it on to the children.” She places his hand on her belly and his eyes soften as they fill with tears. With that softening, I see all my advice float away like the fallen oak leaves drifting down the river we stand beside.
“If you think we should keep it, we will. But keep it out of my sight. Keep it locked up where no one can see it.” He nods to me. I cannot argue with him here, not now. I pull the pelt off the bodies and hand it to Medea who quickly folds it and stuffs it into Jason’s satchel.
Jason again nods to me. I push the barge and it catches the current. As part of Illamosian tradition, the new king gives the signal for the archers to release the flaming arrows that will light the tinder on the funereal barge of the old king. Jason raises his arm, but before he can make the swift downward arc to send the arrows flying, Pelias shouts, “Fire.”
Medea and I look to each other as the arrows arc through the sky and then down to the barge that bursts into flames. Jason watches his parents burn as they take their final voyage down the river. Once it is out of sight, he walks away ignoring the others around him and oblivious to the sympathetic well-wishers lining the streets.
I step nearer to Medea as Pelias, who has hidden in the palace with his grief since our return, now greets everyone with a gracious smile as if trying to win them over anew. I am glad to note that most meet his smile with scorn and that all sympathetic looks are saved for Jason.
“Do what you will with this usurper,” I whisper to her before slipping back to where I will be within ear shot of Medea and Pelias’s conversation.
“Pelias, will you walk with me back to the palace?” Medea asks holding her belly protectively.
Pelias gives a scornful glance at her still flat stomach, but then quickly puts on an agreeable face.
“Of course, one mustn’t be too careful in your condition.”
Or in your position, I think, realizing the threat the babes inside Medea are to this man’s ambition.
“Will you be king now?” She asks with an innocence that borders on stupidity. Before Pelias can stumble over the right answer, she continues more quietly, so quietly that I have to strain to hear her. “Because I have been told to offer you a gift if you do plan to keep power.”
“What kind of gift?” Pelias asks suspiciously.
“A gift from the gods. The gift of the gods.”
Pelias gives a knowing sneer. “You are of a kingdom. The kingdoms do not worship the Twelve. There is no way a non-believer could pass on a message from the gods.”
Medea does not miss a beat. “I do not like or respect my father. I have always hoped to leave Colchis and join one of the poli of Osteria. I have secretly honored the gods since the time I was old enough to understand their power. For that devotion, they speak through me. They see your true potential. They see you could be the man to unite the poli. If you had time. With their gift you could have that time.”
Although still maintaining a proper degree of mourning, Pelias’s face perks up with evident curiosity. “More time?”
“My husband wouldn’t like this, but we both know he isn’t fit to rule. He’s not a leader like you. That’s why I don’t feel it’s a betrayal. You will keep Illamos Valley safe and strong for my children.” Her hand drifts again to her belly. “If I have a daughter, which I’m certain I will, she will be betrothed to you.”
Although I find her troublesome, I have to admire Medea for being a quick judge of politics and character. From what Jason tells me, Medea holds all certainty that she carries twin boys. However, promising Pelias the hand of a girl of Polymele’s line would seal his legitimacy over Illamos Valley. Even if it was accidental, even if Pelias carried his anger too far, I have no doubt that Polymele died for her refusal to accept him. Now Pelias has a new chance at his aim. Pelias, all pretenses at mourning gone, speaks agreeably to Medea.
“You are a wise woman. So, what is this gift?”
“Youth,” she says with a salesman’s flourish.
“Youth?” Pelias scoffs. “No one can trick the titan Cronus.”
“If you doubt me then you don’t know Aeetes’s true age. How old do you think my father is?”
“Middle of his fourth decade, I suppose.”
Medea stops and stares at Pelias who has also halted his progress. I hurriedly turn to accept condolences from an elderly woman who reeks of the distinct scent of too many cats kept in a confined space. As I avoid inhaling too deeply, Medea says, “Does it not seem my father has ruled Colchis for an incredibly long time?”
“Now that you mention it, yes.”
“He is in the middle of his ninth decade. Through my skills he retains the vigor, the appearance of a man half his age.”
“You can make me young?”
They begin walking again and I have to pry my hand away from the woman. I take a deep breath once clear of her.
“Young with the wisdom of your age. A very powerful combination.”
“How?”
“Circe is my aunt. I’ve trained with her. If you doubt me I can give you a demonstration that will prove to you my skills.”
“When?” Pelias asks eagerly.
“Midnight, in the servants’ bathhouse. If you like what you see, you can accept your gift tonight. If not, well, I’m sure you have another decade of good living ahead of you.”
They enter the palace and Medea gives Pelias a curt goodbye as I linger at the doorway before passing into the foyer. Pelias climbs the west stairs whistling a joyful tune to himself. Jason is nowhere to be seen, and Medea now strides through the atrium owning the open space as if she has lived here for years rather than days. She turns and beckons me with a quick hand gesture indicating I should follow her. We tuck into one of the servants’ halls off the atrium.
“He still needs convincing, but not much. Jason will be far too distraught to be of any use. I’ll need your help. Will you give it?”
“I can’t believe I’m partnering with you, but yes.”
“You’ll see I’m not all that bad once you get to know me.”
I doubt that. I’m certain the more anyone gets to know Medea, the more danger he is in.
“What is it you need?”
Medea explains the plan and, as if I am her servant, sends me to the agora to find a ram and a lamb. The ram proves an easy task, but lambs in fall are a rare thing and, once I find one, I end up paying triple the drachars one of the bleating creatures would have cost in springtime.
* * *
Although the servants in the Salemnos palace are treated well, they are not allowed to share in their masters’ private bathhouse. Instead, they have a windowless room off the kitchen and a large tub in which to bathe. None complain. Most servants in Illamos Valley are expected to wash outdoors in cramped stalls. During the chill of winter, a bathed servant is a rare thing.
As instructed by Medea, I have asked Admes to tell his charges to stay away from their bathing room and the kitchens this night. Like any servant with decades of experience, he does not question the request and assures me that, as the meeting time will be late, all the help will be far down the hall sleeping.
Not wanting to add extra labor to the servants’ duties, I carry bucket after bucket of water in from the kitchen to fill the tub. Working by the dim light of only a few candles, I thank Dionysus that good water flow is essential for winemaking and that the majority of Illamosian homes including the palace have running water. The thought of having to drag endless pails in from the well outside the kitchen doors sends an ache through my back as I dump the final bucket.
Once I’ve filled the tub, I bring in the ram from the kitchen side yard. The lamb sleeps in a box of hay in a corner of the bath room. I tickle its chin and it gives a drowsy bleat. At the same moment, Medea steps in.
“Keep him quiet,” she whispers angrily. “And get his box out of here.”
“Thank you for helping me, Odysseus. I truly appreciate it,” I mutter as I drag the box into the kitchen.
When I return, the lamb is gone, but before there is time to ask what she’s done with it, Pelias enters with two guards flanking him. His eyes hone in on me. “Why is he here?”
“Why are your guards here?” Medea shoots back. “I need his help. You simply don’t trust me,” she says indicating the large men lingering in the doorway.
There is a moment of tense silence and I’m certain Pelias will insist his guards stay. I’m unsure if Medea can pull off what she needs to do with so many eyes on her. But a heartbeat later, Pelias flicks his hand dismissively. “Wait outside.” The guards fall back and I give a mocking wave as I shut the door behind them. “Now, what is this all about?”
“You have to trust,” Medea says, sounding quite mystical. “To be born anew you must die, but this—” She produces a cube the size of a playing die. It glistens in the candlelight. “This will make it so instead of traveling to pay Charon, instead of sailing the Styx, instead of entering Hades’s Chasm, you will reform, new, young, fresh. But to die you must trust the one who kills you. Do you have someone you trust?”
Pelias works this over, seems to be at a loss, but eventually shrugs. “Yes, someone I trust well enough.”
“A woman?” Medea asks with a judgmental tone to her voice. The protective tone of a woman questioning the fidelity of the man to whom she has recently promised her daughter.
“Yes.”
Medea watches him a moment longer then tilts her head indifferently as if his faithfulness is an argument she will take up another day.
“When you’re ready you will go with her to the baths.” She strokes the ram’s wooly head. “This is what she must do.” She feeds the ram the cube which it gobbles up without hesitation. Then, still stroking the creature, Medea takes a blade I have ready for her. In a smooth, almost imperceptible movement that looks no different from the strokes she has been giving, Medea slits the ram’s throat. The animal’s eyes widen with dazed fear just before collapsing to the ground.
“Odysseus, quick before too much blood spills.”
I lift the ram to the freestanding tub. Earlier I argued that the ram should be placed in the tub before the neck was slit, but Medea insisted dunking the ram after would have the effect she needed. With the ram in the tub, water sloshes out and, as Medea had said he would, Pelias inches back from the wet as if it is as foul as the deadly waters of the Styx.
Medea waves her hand over the tub chanting words I cannot understand; they may just be noises for effect, but they make my skin crawl. At the end of her incantation she plunges her hands into the tub, using the knife to slice the ram’s belly open. She pauses, breathing heavily. In the silence she hunches over, placing her hands on her knees as if exhausted. She stands straight, dives her hands in again and splashes them about as if fighting with something. More water splashes from the tub and Pelias creeps back further. Her hands go still and Medea leans over the tub. When she stands once more, she holds a lamb. The poor thing is dripping wet and stained with the ram’s blood, but it is a healthy lamb that now bleats with annoyance over being woken so rudely. She hands it to me and I wrap it in my vigile cloak, cooing to this expensive piece of trickery.
“You may come closer, examine it.”
Pelias stands his ground, his eyes wide with amazement as if he dares not step into the bloody water oozing across the stone floor. “I believe you,” he says, his voice awestruck and greedy. “What do I need to do?”
“When you bathe next, take this.” With a flourish of her hands, she produces another glistening cube and hands it to him. Medea has told me the cube contains a strong sleeping draft so that even if Pelias’s woman fails to play her role, he will fall asleep and drown in the baths. Either way, we will be rid of him. “Your woman must slit your throat and she must do it swiftly so you fall from this world faster than Hades can catch you. She must then cut you open, cut away your old self from neck to groin. Only then will your new, your younger self emerge.”
“It’s too simple. What of the incantations?”
“The most powerful magic is often the most simple. The ram has no understanding of youth, no comprehension it can return from death, no Charon waiting to take it up the Styx. The incantations are necessary with lesser creatures to convince them to come back. A mortal, a human needs no convincing to encourage it to hold onto life.”
Pelias clutches the cube to his chest and goes to the door. Medea, her gown wet and bloody, sees him out. The room carries the whisper Pelias must have hoped to keep between himself and Medea.
“This time tomorrow, you will be my advisor. You will serve me. We will be a powerful team.”
“I’m honored,” Medea bows her head.
Pelias leaves the room with a jauntier step than that which he entered it.
Medea had told me some of what she was going to do, enough that I wouldn’t be too shocked to perform my role, but she did not inform me of all the details. My curiosity is near to bursting as I make sure the guards and Pelias are heading up the stairs before I ask, “How did you do that? No magic can restore the dead.”
“I had the lamb hidden under my skirts. It’s why I couldn’t move much and needed your assistance. Harder than Helenian steel though to keep that lamb quiet. That was the only magic tonight, a silencing incantation. Everything else was deft hands. When Pelias was distracted by the water I was able to shift the lamb to the tub.”
“And the cube?”
“Honey candy. Sheep love sweets. Still, since people tend not to believe something delicious can hold power, Pelias’s has some bitter herbs mixed in. It should knock him out soon after he eats it.”
“And you think he will go through with it? Should you not have volunteered to cut his throat rather than trust this woman of his?”
“And be charged with blood crime? No, let his woman face the charge. After all, she’s not innocent herself.”
“What do you mean? Pelias hasn’t been seen with any woman.”
“No, he’s too smart to be seen with the person he has been using to trick the Illamosians. With Jason moping in bed, I’ve made my rounds of the city over the past few days and I recognized the woman who has convinced everyone that she’s an oracle. She’s just an actress. I saw her once when my father allowed Aby to have a play performed for his birthday. She’s changed her hair, but not her acting skills.”
“And what does this have to do with Pelias?”
“I’ve watched her coming and going from the far tunnel to the palace. She’s residing here. Now, do you think Admes is hiding an actress in his bed, an actress that happens to make predictions that validate Pelias’s mission and harm Jason? I’ve asked around, trying to understand the people’s reaction to our arrival. It had been the words of an oracle that matches the actress’s description and the goading of Pelias that made them believe an impostor was coming to Salemnos. The people would have killed Jason because of her false prophecies. Our guards will watch for Pelias to go to the baths. When only this woman emerges, they will seize her. She deserves the blood crime sentence she will face.”
“You are a very frightening woman, Medea,” I say and hug the lamb tighter to me. She offers no response as she departs the room leaving me a long night of cleaning the mess our trick has created.