Sara Keating
Honour's dawn is breaking for woman's sex; no more shall the foul tongue of
slander fix upon us.
—Euripides,
Medea
Three beaten wires of gold supported five golden pendants, each enamelled with snakes and goddesses, all as brilliant and beautiful as the day the necklace been made. Cold water and soft underwater light closed over her head as the sun-warmed gold settled into her palm; laughter and music filled her ears instead of her own rushing blood.
It is night, and the feasting hall shines with torches and lamps, for the great celebration of the marriage of Jason of the Argonauts to the King of Corinth's daughter Glauce. Food and drink are passed around most generously, the men brag of their skills and tell stories of their battles, and the women laugh at them, trading stories of their own. Jason accepts his accolades merrily, pours wine with a flourish, and Glauce beside him is as gracious as the King of Corinth's daughter should be. And then the wind blows down the roar, and the sound of the angry sea rolls into the room.
Medea storms into the room, her hair wild, her face haggard, her clothes torn. Silence spreads behind her until it even the fire is hushed, and dread flows from the blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. Her eyes are fixed on Jason, and he rises to his feet at her approach.
The blankets are thrown open, the wide-eyed grey bodies of their sons roll to Jason's feet. Glauce looks down at the dead, and up at the husband who has not acknowledged them, and into Medea's face. Her fine gold necklace tarnishes in Medea's shadow.
"Did you think you would escape unscathed, Jason?" Medea cries, tearing at her hair. "Here is the reward of your betrayal!"
"Medea!" He cannot meet her eyes and he cannot look away; he has seen no-one else since the doors broke.
"This is my wedding gift to you, Jason! Your sons dead at your feet, your gains tainted, blood and bitter gall yours to drink!" Blood spills from the marks of her nails as she tears at her face.
"Murderer!" Jason shouts, and the words fall flat against her fury.
"Let the Furies follow me! To me they are the Kindly Ones, for I have nothing left to lose!"
Glauce kneels, heedless of finery, and covers the faces of the dead. Her voice is broken and hoarse as she cries the children to the River's shore. One by one the women join her, Jason frozen and the men stunned silent and still. Medea wails like a mourning goddess, turns her back on Jason and storms from the hall as the women fall silent.
Her voice and Glauce's voice shatter on a single bitter note.
She gulped air like wine, the necklace slithering to the table from nerveless hands. She told herself it was only the sunlight that made her eyes water.
Her sons did not understand the startlingly affectionate email they received that night.
Copr. ©2003 Sara A. Keating. This work will enter the public domain January 1st, 2032.