Jason's Quest

Medea Beckons

"I shall not cower before your tests after the unspeakable trials I've faced to come here. I intend to leave here with that fleece." Jason arched a defiant brow. Turning to leave, he caught the twinkle in Medea's eyes. Her gaze gripped him, melting his heart like the smith god Hephaestus' volcanic fires. Jason reciprocated her smoldering stare a moment too long before continuing his pivot to exit the palace. When Jason returned to his camp, where Pollux roasted a stag that Castor killed, the Argonauts riddled him with queries.

     "What are these tests you face?"

     "What if you fail?"

     "You would put the entire band of us at risk?"

      "Enough!" Jason roared, gesticulating wildly. "Not one of you was chosen for this quest because of your timidity. Neither did you join for lack of confidence in me!"

     "Yet, we are at the edge of the world, many dawns from our families," Castor pointed out.

     Pollux added, "Yes. And the Moiraé Fates dangle our very life strings above honed blades, lest you complete three unknown labors?"

     Jason snapped, "Any of you who wish to leave may do so right now! And without the use of the Argo."

     The following uncomfortable moments were wrapped in silence. Eyes shot around the camp. Fists clenched. Tension swelled. Waves drummed the shore behind them, filling the empty space. Jason walked away from the madding crowd toward the ebbing water line. Rise. Recede. Rise. Recede.      Watching the waves crest and break against the shore helped to clear his mind and cool his head. Brooding, he glanced over his shoulder to witness a heated discussion criss-crossing the campfire like snarling wolves negotiating a freshly killed feast. Tents in the foreground rustled in the gentle wind, absorbing the distant voices. Then Castor's hand shot up from the pack's center, beckoning Jason's return.

     Jason walked into the den of flushed faces. Castor stepped forward. "We are with you. Every man."

     Jason looked into everyone's eyes to confirm. Then a voice fell out of the hills, approaching the Argonaut camp, "Jason?"

     Jason wheeled around. His eyes scanned the landscape cautiously.

     "Jason of Iolkos?" The male voice drew closer. An emissary of the Colchian kingdom.

     Seeing the man had no followers, Jason engaged him, "I am Jason. Who's asking?"

     The emissary approached, a scroll clutched tightly. Handing it to Jason, the man offered, "Here is a message from princess Medea."

     "What does she want with me?"

     "I am but a servant of the palace. I ask no questions." The emissary turned to leave.

     Jason unfurled the scroll. The parchment crinkled in his hands. It read:

Jason of Iolkos

I am Medea, the one whose eyes

Held your gaze in the palace today.

My father leads you to certain slaughter,

For, he has no intention to concede

The Fleece.

I will help you, but you must do

Exactly as I instruct.

Meet me by the palace walls

At daybreak.

Alone.

     Jason took the scroll to his tent, and read it again. The dark haired lovely to the king's rear requested to meet me? Why? Has the king set a trap, luring me to peril? How do I know this letter is genuine? Then again, after the vivid dream in which Hera all but promised me the throne, perhaps this meeting is simply the next stepping-stone on the path. In any case, I shall faithfully honor the gods and go to meet Medea. Hera would not guide me wrongly, would she?