The King Must Die: A Novel

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SO I RODE A SECOND time down the Isthmus Road to Eleusis, and the people stood on the roofs to see; but this time, not in silence.

I put the Companions to lead the march, and rode myself at the head of the men’s army. The King of Megara had given me a riding horse, as a gift of honor. The Guard showed their trophies, and stepped out to the flutes, and sang. Behind us came the wagons of the spoil, the women and the herded cattle. Our tread was muffled in green boughs and flowers, flung down to us from the rooftops. At the hour when a man’s shadow is twice as long as a man, we came to the ramp of the Citadel; and the Guard divided, to let me ride in first.

As I rode under the gate-tower black with people, the gates groaned open, and the watchman blew his horn. The flags of the Great Court stretched before me, and between the high walls my horse-hoofs echoed. Upon the roof, the Palace people were thick as winter bees; but they were quiet; no bright cloths hung from the windows. There was only a deep slanting sunlight; the toothed shadow of the roof-edge, clogged with shadows of heads; and on the broad steps between the painted columns, a woman in a wide stiff skirt and purple diadem, tall and un-moving, throwing like a column a long stiff shadow in the sun.

I dismounted at the stair foot, and they led my horse away. She stood waiting, putting no foot down the steps toward me. I went up till I stood before her, and saw her face like painted ivory, set with eyes of dark carnelian. On her shoulders, combed and plaited with threads of silver and gold, hung the red hair I had seen mixed with blood and dust upon the earth of the Isthmus.

I took her cold hand, and leaned toward her with the kiss of greeting, for the people to see. But I did not touch her with my lips; I would not add affront to the blood between us. My mouth brushed the hair of her forehead, and she uttered a set phrase of welcome, and we walked into the Palace side by side.

When we were in the Hall, I said, “We must speak together alone. Let us go up; we can be quiet there.” She looked at me and I said, “Don’t be afraid. I know what is fitting.”

The bedchamber was in shadow, except for a sunset shaft against one wall. Some embroidery in white and purple was laced upon a stand, and a lyre with gold bands lay in the window. Against the wall stood the great bed, with its spread of civet and purple.

“Madam,” I said, “you know I have killed your brother. Do you know why?”

She answered in a voice as empty as the shore, “Who can give the lie to you, now he is dead?”

“What is the punishment,” I said, “for killing the King out of season?” I saw her lip whiten under her teeth. “Yet I killed him in battle, and have brought him back for burial, because I would not dishonor your kin. His men do not think I wronged him. As you see, they let me lead them home.”

She said, “What am I, then? The captive of your spear?” Now anger warmed the paint upon her cheeks; I saw her gilt-tipped breasts rise and fall. Yet at her words, my mind turned from her to the girl Philona, the leavings of a pirate and a thief, who had never lain with a man much better than a beast, and was ignorant of all gentleness but what I taught her. She had waked me from my first sleep with weeping, begging me not to sell her or pass her on.

“As always, Madam,” I said, “you are the Queen.”

“But now you are King, Hellene? Is that it?” I thought that for a woman in mourning, more gravity and less sharpness would have been seemly; but it was not for me to say it. The last sunlight on the wall had turned rose-red; and in the wicker cage the white bird was making its feathers warm for sleep.

“There will be time later,” I said, “to speak of that. Now I have blood on my hands you cannot cleanse me of, nor would it become me to ask it of you. When I am free of it, I will come back, and give the blood-price to his children.”

In the falling dark she stared at me and said, “Back? From where?”

“From Athens,” I said, hardly believing I could name it at last. “People say there is a temple of the Mother on the Citadel, and a shrine of Apollo with a holy spring. So I can be blood-cleansed both by the Sky Gods and the gods below. I shall ask the King to cleanse me.”

There was a bracelet on her wrist, of a coiled gold snake. She tugged at it and said, “Athens now! Have you not done enough at Megara? Now you want to be hearth-friend of an Erechthid. A fine house to wash you clean! You had best take your water with you.”

I had expected a different kind of anger from her. You would have thought I had put some slight on her, rather than killed her kinsman. “Don’t you know,” she said, “that his grandfather sacked Eleusis, killed the King untimely, and forced the Queen? Ever since then the Erechthids have lain under the Mother’s curse. Why do you think Aigeus had to build her a shrine on his Acropolis, and send here for a priestess? And it will be a long while yet before he washes the curse away. That is the man you want to cleanse you! Wait till your young men, who think so much of you, hear where you are taking them!”

“A suppliant does not come with warriors. I shall go to Athens alone.” She tugged again at the bracelet. She looked like a woman pulled two ways at once. “She is angry,” I thought, “that I am going. Yet she wants to have me gone.” She said, “I know nothing of this Apollo. When do you go?”

“When my courier brings his answer. Perhaps in two days, perhaps tomorrow.” “Tomorrow!” she cried. “You came here at sunset, and the sun is not yet down.” I answered, “The sooner away, the sooner returning.”

She paced to the window, then back to me. I smelt the scent of her hair, and remembered how it had been to desire her. Then she turned to me like the cat who shows her sharp teeth and curled tongue. “You are a bold boy, Hellene. Aren’t you afraid to put yourself into the hand of Aigeus, now he has seen what kind of neighbor you mean to be? He has fought for his slab of rock and his few fields between the mountains, like a wolf for its den; he has grown lean in war with his own kindred. Will you trust such a man, whom you never saw?”

“Yes,” I said. “Why not? The suppliant is sacred.”

The last dull stain of light was quenched upon the wall; the hills were gray, only the highest peak was flushed like the breast of a maiden. The bird’s feathers were as soft as wool, and its head was all hidden. As I looked to where already over Athens the night was falling, one of the Palace women came in softly, and turned back the great bed.

I was shocked at such unseemly folly; but it was not my place to rebuke it. I turned to the Queen. She looked at me with eyes I could not read, and said to the woman, “You may go.” As she left, I said to her, “Make me a bed in the east room. I shall sleep there till I am blood-cleansed.” The girl’s eyes opened, as if I had said something unheard-of; then she covered her mouth with her hand, and ran out of the room. I said, “That is a fool, and impudent too. You would do better to sell her.”

I shall never understand the Shore Folk. I had meant no slight to her household; I spoke quite civilly. I was amazed to see what offense she had taken at my words. She clenched her hands, and her teeth showed between her lips. “Go, then! Go to Aigeus the Accursed! Like to like.” She laughed; but my mind was in Athens already. “Yes, go to him, you who want to be greater than your fate. And when the reckoning comes, remember that you chose it.”

“Let Zeus judge me,” I said, “who can see everything.” Then I went out.

First thing next day I called for a pen and Egyptian paper. It was a year or two since I had written anything; so I practiced first on wax, in case I had lost the skill, or forgotten some of the characters. Not that there were secrets in my letter; but I wanted my first words to my father to be my own and not a scribe’s. I found the knack came back, and I could still write the fair hand my tutor had beaten into me. I signed it Kerkyon, and sealed it with the King’s ring; and sat listening to the courier’s hoofbeats fading on the Athens road.

It is only a two-hour ride, and all that day I looked for him. Though I had given my father no cause for making haste, yet, being young, I ate my heart out with impatience, and no reason for delay was too far-fetched for me to think of. But next day’s noon had passed before the man returned.

On the Lower Terrace was a black basalt seat, between pillars hung with yellow jasmine. Here I went apart, and opened the letter. It was shorter than mine, written in a good clerkly script. He welcomed me to Athens as his guest, touched on my victories, and agreed to undertake my purification.

After a while, I called someone to fetch the courier. I think it was in my mind, as it had been many times with this man or that since I came to Eleusis, to ask him what kind of man the King of Athens was. Yet now as always, there seemed something unworthy in it. So I only asked, as one asks any courier, for the news.

He recited to me various matters, which I forget, and then said, “Everyone is saying the Priestess will soon be Queen.”

I sat up, and said, “How is that?”

“Well, my lord, the curse has lain hard on him. Kinfolk claiming his kingdom, no son by either wife, and the Cretans won’t forgo the tribute for all his asking.” I asked what tribute. “Fourteen bull-dancers, due again next year, my lord. And they only take the cream. The ladies of the shrine say it’s a sign for him.” He paused, as if something stuck in his throat.

“This Priestess,” I said. “She came from Eleusis?”

“She served here, my lord, in the sanctuary. But she came first from some shrine up north, right beyond the Hellespont. They say she has the long sight, and can call the wind; the common folk in Athens call her the Cunning One, or the Scythian Witch. He lay with her before the Goddess a long while back, because of an oracle she had when the kingdom had some misfortune. They say the next thing will be that he must raise her up beside him, and bring the old customs back.” I saw why he had looked askance at me. He went on quickly. “Well, my lord, but you know what Athenians are for talk. More like it’s because of the two sons she’s had by him, he having no heir.”

I stood up from the basalt seat, and said, “You have leave to go.”

He scampered off into cover. I paced up and down the terrace in the yellow autumn sunlight, and saw people who had come to speak with me go away silent. But presently my mind grew cooler. I thought, “I sent the man off too shortly. I ought to reward him rather; a timely warning is divine. As for my father, what right have I to be angry? These eighteen years he has taken no wife, for my mother’s sake and mine. I should have been here sooner, if I had lifted the stone.” The sun was still high, the shadow short before me. I thought, “The man who sleeps on a warning does not deserve one. Why wait till tomorrow? I will go today.”

I went back to the Palace, and called the women to dress me. The red leather suit I had brought from Troizen was Hellene, and nearly new. I slung on the serpent sword of the Erechthids; and, to cover it till the proper time, a short blue cloak pinned on the shoulder, such as one can wear indoors.

I chose two body-servants to wait on me. A guard I thought unfitting to a suppliant; besides, I wanted to make it clear I came in friendship and in trust. Those two would have been all my company; but just as I was going, my captive girl Philona pulled at my cloak in tears, and whispered me that all the women were saying the Queen would kill her as soon as my back was turned. I kissed her, and said Palace gossip was the same everywhere. But she looked at me as the coursed-down hare looks at the spear; and when I thought, I did not trust the Queen entirely. So though it was an inconvenience, I made one of the servants take her up on his mule.

When my horse was brought, I sent the Queen word that I was ready to take leave of her. She sent back that she was sick, and could speak to no one. I had seen her walking on her terrace; however, I had fulfilled the forms.

So I mounted, and in the court the Companions cheered me, but not quite as before; now I was War Leader, I was not so much their own. It would have made me sad at another time; but now I saluted them cheerfully, and soon forgot them, for in my face blew the breeze from the Attic hills.

The road followed the shore, and then swung inward. The autumn grass was parched and pale, the dark oleanders were dusty. At the border guard-tower I had to tell the Athenians who I was; they had not looked for me till morning. I felt my haste had been boyish and raw, and that they would take me lightly.

But they were very civil. As I rode on, one of their couriers posted past me to Athens.

Suddenly, at a turn of the road between the low green hills, I saw standing huge before me a great flat rock, like a platform raised by Titans to assail the gods from. Upon its top, glowing bright in the westering sunlight, stood a royal palace, the columns russet red, the pink-washed walls picked out with white and blue squares. So high it stood against the sky, the guards on the ramparts looked as small as goldsmith’s work, and their spears as fine as wire. I caught my breath. I had guessed at nothing like this.

Before me, down on the plain, the road led to the city wall and the gate-tower. Its roof was manned with javelin-men and archers; on the teeth of the battlements their bullhide shields hung like a frieze. Here no one asked my name. A massive bar dragged through its wards; the tall horse-gate swung open, turning on its stone trackway; within were a guard saluting, the market place, and little houses huddled under the rock, or climbing its foot slopes. The captain of the Guard sent two men at my horse’s head to guide me to the Palace.

Everywhere the cliffs stood sheer, except to westward. Here the road tacked back and forth up the steep slope, flanked for defense with a great curtain-wall. The way was ridged for foothold, but soon grew too steep to ride, and they led my horse. A guardhouse topped the curtain-wall; the men touched their spear shafts to their brows, and passed me through. Far below me I saw streets and walls, the Attic plain stretching to the sea and hills; and on the hilltops the violet hues of evening, like a crown of purple and gold. Before me was the upper gate of the Citadel; the lintel-stone was painted with bands of blue and crimson, and with the royal device, a serpent twined round an olive tree. The late sunlight was like yellow crystal, brilliant and clear.

The place overawed me. Though I had heard tell of it, I had pictured only a hill such as any king or chief will build on. I had not dreamed my father the master of this mighty stronghold. Now I saw why he had held out so long against all his enemies; it might be kept, I thought, against all the world in arms. I understood what I had heard in tales: that since King Zeus made men, there was never a time when a king did not live on the Acropolis of Athens; that even before men were made it had been a fortress of earthborn giants who had four hands, and could run upon them. You can see the great stones they set together, time out of mind.

I passed through the inner gate upon the table of the Citadel. There were the pacing sentries, men now not toys; and before me the Palace, with its terrace looking to the north. If my father had been on it, I thought, he might have seen me on my way. My breath came faster than if I had scaled a mountain, and I wet my dry lips with my tongue.

I passed between the houses of the Palace people, and a few hardy trees, pines and cypresses, planted as windbreaks and for shade. Before the king-column of the great door, a chamberlain stood with the cup of welcome in his hands. After the long ride and the climb, the wine seemed the coolest and best I had ever tasted. As I drained it, I thought at last I had reached the end of my journey; with this draught I became my father’s guest.

My horse was led away, and they brought me through the courtyard to the guest rooms. The women had filled the bath already, and the room was soft with scented steam. While they brushed my clothes, I lay in the water and looked about me. Coming up, I had been dazzled by the splendor of the Citadel. But once inside, you could tell this was a war-pressed kingdom. Things were quite well kept up, the wall paintings retouched and fresh, the bath things polished, the oils well blended. But the women were few, plain mostly and past their youth, and on the furniture were empty rivet-holes, where gold had been taken out. I said to myself, “He has carried his burden too long alone. Now he shall want for nothing.”

I was dried and oiled and dressed and combed. At the door a baron waited to bring me to the Hall. I walked along a colonnade, over a floor of tiles painted with dog-teeth and waves; on my left were columns of carved cedar, on my right a frieze of gryphons hunting deer. Servants whispered and peeped in doorways as I passed. My boots threw an echo, and the rattle of my sword hilt against the studs of my belt seemed loud. Now I began to hear the din of the Hall ahead of me, voices talking, cups and plates rattling, stools and benches scraped on stone, a lyre being tuned, and someone scolding a slave.

At the far end of the Hall was a step up between two columns. Beyond on this low dais sat the King. They had just brought up his own table and were putting it before his chair. All I could see from the doorway was that he was dark-haired. This I had guessed, from my mother taking him for Poseidon. Approaching, I saw that the brown was streaked with gray, and that he was indeed a man whom trouble had set its mark on. The skin about his eyes was dark and drawn, and the folds beside his mouth were as deep as sword cuts. His beard hid his chin, but his shaven mouth had a settled weariness; it was wary too, a thing I might well have looked for. I had thought to see in his face the mold that had stamped my own; but his was longer, the eyes not blue but brown, set deeper and not so widely; his nose was a little beaked where mine is straight, and whereas my hair flows backward from the temples, his hung down beside them, narrowing his forehead. Wherever he had sat in Hall, you would have known he was the King; but the man who had felt Poseidon’s breath and swum rough water to the Myrtle House, I could not see. Yet he it was, and I had known he could not but seem strange to me.

I walked forward between the staring benches, with eyes for him alone. At his right hand was an empty chair crowned with two hawks; and on his left sat a woman. As I came near, he rose to greet me, and came forward. This made me glad; I had not been sure if he would receive me as a king. He was a little taller than I, about two fingers.

He said what custom ordains for such occasions, making me welcome, and bidding me eat and drink before I troubled myself with talking. I spoke my thanks, and smiled. He smiled back, but only a little; not sourly, but stiffly as if his smile had fallen out of use.

I sat, and they brought my table, and he showed the carver the best bits to give me. My trencher was loaded, almost more than I could eat, though I was hungry. He only picked at some sweetbreads himself, and most of those he slipped to the white boarhound by his chair. On the way I had had some harebrained thought of discovering myself to him in Hall before the people; now, seeing him in his state, a king and still a stranger, I had more sense of seemliness. Besides, I wanted to know him first.

As we ate, I saw out of the side of my eye the woman peeping across him. Before I sat, I had saluted her and seen her face. She was neither of the Hellenes nor of the Shore Folk; her face was broad, the nose a little flat, the eyes narrow and slanted outward. She had a subtle mouth, curving and closed on a secret smile. Her brow, which was low and white, was crowned with a diadem a hand’s breadth deep of gold flowers and leaves; gold flower buds on golden chains fell down each side among the streams of her strong black hair.

The chamberlain with the wine came round again. I was not ready, but the King had emptied his deep gold cup and motioned to have it filled. As he raised his hand, I saw my own beside it. The shape, the fingers, the turn of the thumbs, the very nails were the same. My breath caught; I looked, sure he would see it and stare amazed. But the woman was speaking to him softly, and he had not seen.

My dish was empty. When I had shown I was full and would take no more, he said to me, “Royal guest, by your looks you are a Hellene. And it seems to me that before ever you came to the Palace of Eleusis, there was some king’s house where you were not a stranger.”

I answered smiling, “Sir, that is true. What blood I come of, there is no man I will tell so gladly as you. But excuse me from it now, and I will tell you the reason later. The favor I came to ask, you know already. As for the man I killed, I fought him fair, though he had tried to have me murdered.” And I told him how it was, saying, “I should not like you to think I am a man who works in the dark.”

He looked down at the cup in his hand, and said, “First you must make an offering to the Daughters of Night. This is the Lady Medea, who will perform the sacrifice.” The woman looked across at me with her slanting eyes. I said, “One must always appease the Mother, who takes slain men into her lap. But, sir, like you I am a Hellene. I ought to go first to Apollo, Slayer of Darkness.”

I saw her look at him, but he did not catch her eye. “That shall be as you wish. The night is cold; let us go up, and drink our wine by my chamber fire. We can be easier there.”

We went up the stairs behind the dais, with the white hound padding after. The room stood over the northern terrace. It was almost night, and a low autumn moon had risen. One could not see the town so far below, only the circling mountains. A fire of sweet-scented wood burned clear on the round hearth; there were two chairs before it, and near by another before an embroidery-stand. A lamp of green malachite stood on a carved pedestal; there was a deer hunt, with many horsemen, painted round the walls. The bed was of cedar-wood draped with red.

We sat; a servant set a wine-stand between us, but brought no wine. The King leaned forward, and held his hands to the fire. I saw them shaking, and thought, “He has drunk enough in Hall, and would rather wait.”

Now my time had come. But my tongue stuck fast; I did not know how to begin. “He will say something,” I thought, “which will start me going.” So I only praised the Citadel and its strength. He said it had never fallen to an enemy, and I answered, “It never will while it is held by men who know it.” For I had seen one or two places where troops used to mountains could scale the sides. He looked at me swiftly; and I thought I had been ill-bred to scan his walls so closely while he only knew me as a guest. So, when he spoke of the Isthmus war, I was glad to talk of that. Indeed, I had rehearsed on the way the story of my victories, as young men will. I wanted him to think me nothing he need be ashamed of.

He said, “And now you are King in Eleusis; the thing as well as the name. All this in one season.”

“Yet,” I said, “it was not to do those things that I crossed the Isthmus. That was a chance on the way, if such matters are ever chance.” He looked at me searchingly under his dark brows. “Is not Eleusis the place of your moira, then? Do you look beyond?” I smiled and said, “Yes.”

I thought, “Now I will speak.” But as I drew breath, he rose from his chair and paced to the window. The tall dog heaved itself to its feet and strolled after. Not to sit while he stood, I got up too and joined him on the unlit terrace. Moonlight streamed over the land; across the pale fields far below the rock cast its huge shadow. I said, “The hills are dry. I should like to see them in springtime, and white with snow. How clear it is! One can see the ghost of the old moon. Is it always so clear in Athens?” “Yes,” he said; “the air is bright here.” I said, “As one climbs up, it meets one; as if her stones breathed light. Strong house of Erechtheus, the harpers call her. Truly they might call her Stronghold of the Gods.”

He turned, and went indoors. As I followed, I found him standing with his back to the lamp, which shone into my eyes. He said, “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” I said. The lie came pat to me, after so much use. Then when I remembered whom I spoke to, the drollness caught me and made me laugh. “What is it?” he asked. His voice sounded weary, almost old. “I have good cause,” I said. But before I could go on, the door swung open. Medea came in, and a servant with a tray of inlay-work. Two gold winecups stood on it, ready filled. The wine was spiced and mulled, and the rich scent of it filled the room.

She came in gently, with downcast eyes, and stood beside him. He said, “We will drink presently. Put it on the table.” The servant put it down, but she said, “It will spoil with cooling,” and offered it him again. Then he took his cup in his hands, and she brought me the other. It had beaded handles with doves perched over them, and was tooled with lions stalking through long leaves.

The wine smelt good, but my manners bade me wait until he pledged me. He stood with his serpent-handled cup between his hands; Medea waited silent. Suddenly he turned to her and said, “Where is the letter that Kerkyon sent me?”

She looked at him surprised, and went to an ivory coffer on a stand. I saw my letter in her hands. He said to me, “Will you tell me what it says?” I put down my cup, and took it from her. His eyes looked keen; I had not thought that his sight was thick. I read the letter to him, and he said, “Thank you. Most I could read, but a few words I was not sure of.” I looked at it puzzled, and said, “I thought it was written fair.” He said, in the harassed way of a man with half his mind elsewhere, “Yes, yes, a good fair hand. Your scribe can write Greek; but he spells like a barbarian.”

I put down the letter as if it had bitten me. Not my face only, but even my midriff felt hot, so that I tossed my cloak back from my shoulders. Unthinking, rather than stand there like a fool, I picked up the winecup and lifted it to drink.

As my mouth touched it, I felt it plucked from my hands. Hot wine spilled on my face and splashed my clothing. The gold cup struck the painted floor tiles ringing, and made a spreading pool. A thick lees trickled from it, darker than the wine.

I stared at the King astonished, wiping my face. His eyes were on me, as if they saw death itself. No dying man could have been paler. The sight brought back my wits to me, and I saw the sword uncovered at my side. “I should have spoken,” I thought. “How ill I have done all this! The shock has stunned him.” I took his arm and said, “Sit down, sir. I am sorry. In one more moment I would have told you everything.”

I drew him toward his chair. He grasped the chair back, and stood there out of breath. As I leaned over him, thinking what more to say, the white boarhound came padding in from the balcony, and licked at the spilled wine. He started forward, and dragged it back by the collar. I heard the rustle and chinking of a woman’s ornaments; the priestess Medea, whom in her stillness I had forgotten, was shaking her head at him. It was then that I understood.

Hemlock is not so cold, nor verjuice so stinging, as the touch of that knowledge was upon my heart. I stood like stone; when the woman led the dog to the door, and slipped away with it, I let her go without raising a hand. The King leaned on his chair head, as if only that kept him from falling. At last I heard his voice, harsh and low as a death-rattle. “You said nineteen. You said you were nineteen.”

The sound awakened me. I picked up the cup from the floor, and sniffed the dregs, and stood it before him. “No matter,” I said. “It might have been enough that I was your guest. As for the other, that need no longer concern us.”

He groped round the chair, and sat, and covered his face with his hands. I undid my sword sling, and laid the sword beside the cup. “Keep it,” I said, “if you know it, and have some use for it. It is not mine. I found it under a stone.”

I saw his nails dig into his forehead, pitting the flesh. A sound came from him, such as a man makes as the spear is pulled from his death-wound, when he has set his teeth trying to be silent. He wept as if his soul were being torn out of his body, while I stood leaden, wishing I might sink into the earth or melt in air.

Not till he wept had I felt he was my father; and now I felt it, it was only to be cold with shame at seeing him brought so low. I was ashamed as if it were I who had done the wrong. The floor was puddled with trodden wine stains; the dregs in the cup smelled sickly-sweet and sour. A movement drew my eye; across the room stood the servant gaping. At my glance he tried to creep into the wall. I said, “The King gives you leave,” and he scurried away.

The fire fell in on a glowing core; its heat oppressed me, and my own dumbness, and the King’s fingers tangling his gray hair. I turned my back on it all, and went out between the painted columns to the balcony. Now of a sudden there was stillness, and a great space of moonlight. Shadowy mountains closed it round, the color of dusky amber. Below on the ramparts two sentries passed each other and crossed their spears. Some singer, faint in the distance, chanted a tale and softly plucked a lyre. The Citadel stood between earth and sky in a still radiance that seemed to come out of itself; and dark below it the titan rocks plunged to the plain.

I set my hands on the balustrade, and looked along the walls whose roots were mortised in living rock. And as I stood, it was as if all this flowed into me, with a singing sea-surge, and filled full my heart, and lay there like still waters. And I thought, “This is my moira.”

My soul leaned out to grasp her. All else, in this moment, was as passing dust-clouds or a summer shower. I thought, “What was all that clamor within me? She has known a thousand kings. Who can tell how many have hated their fathers or their sons, or loved false women, or wept for this and that? Such things were their mortality, which lies in the grave with them and withers. Only this lives, that they were kings of Athens, who made her laws, or widened her boundaries, or strengthened her walls. High city of the purple diadem, whose stones breathe light, your daimon led me here, when I thought it was my will. Feel my hand, then, know my step, receive me; I will come when your gods summon me, and at their sign I will go. A child I came to you, stronghold of Erechtheus; but you shall make me a king.”

After a while, I felt a new quiet about me. Yet the drone of singing still stirred the air. The sound that had ceased was the sound of my father’s weeping. I saw him, in my mind, standing where I stood now, looking out over the Citadel, when enemies beset her, or the fields were gray with drought; or when word came that there was a new king on the border, for whom Eleusis was not big enough. Only because he had kept her well, I stood here tonight. I thought of his hard struggle and his endless shifts, and of the long-held hope turned now to poison in his belly. The bitter anger left my heart, and I felt compassion, understanding his grief.

I went in. He was sitting in his chair, his elbows on the table, his face between his hands, staring dully at the sword. I knelt down before him and said, “Father.”

He creased his eyelids, as if he were sure neither of sight nor of hearing. “Father,” I said. “See how true it is, that fate never comes in the shape men look for. The gods have done this to show us we are mortal. Let us leave off grieving, and start again.”

He wiped his eyes with his hand, and looked me over a long time in silence. At last he said, “Who can say what they have done, or why? There is that in you which never came out of me.”

He brushed his hair from his face, and moved forward a little, and then drew back. I saw that after what had happened, it was for me first to embrace him. So I did, though I felt shy of it, and was afraid besides it might start him weeping again. He commanded himself, however, and we both felt, I suppose, that next time would be easier. Then he went to the door, and clapped his hands, and said to the man who answered, “Take a guard of four, and bring the Lady Medea, whether she consents or not.”

As the man went, I said, “You will not find her.” He answered, “The gate is closed for the night, and the postern too. She is here unless she can fly.” Then he said, “What is your name?” I stared at this, and we almost smiled. He said, when I told him, “It is the name your mother and I chose together. Why did you not sign your letter with it?” I told him what I had promised her, and he asked me about her, and about my grandfather. But he had one ear for the sound of the guard returning. Presently we heard their feet. He broke off and sat thinking, chin on fist, and said to me, “Do not look surprised at what I say, but agree.”

When they brought her in, she stepped out before them like a woman who wants to know why she is wronged. But her eyes were wary.

My father said, “Medea, I have had a sign from heaven, to take the King of Eleusis for my hearth-friend. His enemies are mine. Do you understand?”

She lifted her black brows. “You are the King. If that is what you have decided, so it will be. Did you have me dragged here like a thief to tell me that?”

“No,” he said. “The King my friend, before he came to Eleusis, sailed north beyond the Hellespont, to Colchis, where you were born. He says you are blood-cursed; that you killed your brother. What have you to say?”

Now her surprise was true. She turned to me in anger, and I began to see my father’s mind. “Everyone knew,” I said. “You fled south to escape vengeance.” She cried out, “What lie is this?” but I was watching her eyes; they were confused, not innocent; she had done some evil there. My father said, “He has told me all, and taken his oath upon it.” At that she cried out in anger, “He is forsworn then. He never set foot outside the Isle of Pelops in all his life, until this year’s spring.”

My father looked in her eyes, and said, “How do you know?” Her face set like a mask of clay. He said, “You are a wise woman, Medea; they named you well. You can read pebble-cast, and water, and men’s hands; you know the stars; you can make the smoke that brings true dreams. Perhaps you know who his father is?”

She said, “I did not see that. The mist hid it.” But her voice had lost truth and caught fear. I saw my father was a prudent judge, who knew his business, and had much to teach me.

He turned to me. “I was not sure. She might have done it ignorantly, from misreading the omens.” He turned to the captain of the guard. “Where did you find her?” The man said, “On the South Wall. She had her two sons there, and was trying to make them climb down with her. But the rock is steep and they were afraid.”

He said, “Now I am satisfied. Theseus, I give her into your hands. Do what you think fit with her.”

I thought it over. Clearly, while she lived, men somewhere on earth would be the worse for it. I said to my father, “What kind of death do you give here?”

Suddenly like a snake she slipped through the guards (I could see they were afraid of her) and stepped up close to him. I saw in their faces, despite themselves, the nearness of man and woman who have shared a bed. She said quietly, “Is it worth it to you, what you are doing?” He said only, “Yes.” “Think, Aigeus. These fifty years you have lived with the curse of Eleusis, and felt the weight of it. Have you chosen well?” He answered, “I have chosen with the gods.” She sucked in her breath to say something; but he cried loudly, “Take her away.”

The guards closed round her. But she turned to the one who looked most in fear of her, and spat on his arm; his spear dropped clattering, and he stood dead white, clutching his wrist. While the rest shifted about, making to take her but afraid to touch her, she cried out, “You were always close-fisted, Aigeus. What kind of bargain did you think you had made with us? To be free of the curse, and nothing to pay but the life of some foot-loose stranger? Gold for horse dung! Is that what you thought?”

My father looked at me, as one compelled to it unwillingly. Now I knew what words he had tried to silence. I felt a coldness in my belly; a kind of shock that was not amazement. I saw in mind the pearl-white bird that whistled at sunrise, the painted walls. I wondered how often I had lain with her, since first she conceived my death.

Seeing my father’s hand move to an order, I said, “Not yet.” Then there was quiet, except for the chattering teeth of the guard who had dropped his spear. “Medea,” I said. “Did the Queen of Eleusis know too whose son I am?”

I saw her eyes search my face to see what answer I wanted. But I had grown older this last hour, and kept my thoughts to myself. Her voice grew spiteful. “In the beginning, she only wanted you put down, like a dog that bites. But when her brother failed, she sent me something of yours, and I looked in the ink-bowl.”

My father said to me, “Your wife sent warning me that you had vowed to rule in Athens. I would have told you, but not so soon. You are young, and perhaps you loved her.” I did not answer, for I was thinking. He said, “She would have freed me of my grandfather’s guilt, to make me my son’s murderer. You serve a gentle mistress, lady.”

I had finished my thought now, and looked up. “Never mind it, sir. This comes as a good to me. It makes my way straight.”

On that she whipped round at me. Her slant eyes narrowed and shone, her mouth thinned and widened; and I found I had given back a pace before her, for I saw it was true she had the Power. “Oh, yes!” she said. “Your way is straight now, Hellene thief. Follow that long shadow you throw before you. Your father will feel it soon. Ten years he cut off his life-thread, when he took the posset from your hand.”

Beyond her the guard stood with dropped jaws and stretched eyes. My father was pale, yet had not forgotten to watch how they took the news. But it was me she fixed her eyes on, swaying a little, as the snake does to freeze his prey. The guards had edged up air together; but I was alone.

“Theseuss,” she said softly, as if her hissing tongue were forked. “Theseuss of Athens. You will cross water to dance in blood. You will be King of the victims. You will tread the maze through fire, and you will tread it through darkness. Three bulls are waiting for you, son of Aigeus. The Earth Bull, and the Man Bull, and the Bull from the Sea.”

Cold on my life I felt the touch of her evil wish, and ghosts with covered faces answering. I had never been ill-wished before. It was like the dark chill when the Earth Snake bites the sun. As the guards backed, my father stepped between her and me. “Do you want a good death, you bitch? If so you have said enough.” She answered coldly, “Don’t raise your hand to me, Aigeus,” and it was as if she were taking the secrets of their bed to make witch-power, instead of his nails or hair. “Do you think you can cheat the Daughters of Night, you and your bastard? He will pay your debt; yes, and the interest too. You saved the son of a night, who came to you a stranger. But the son he kills shall be the fruit of his dearest love, the child of his heart.”

I was young. I had got children here and there, but not yet begun thinking about a son of my house, or what I wished him to be. Yet, as a man may stand by night upon a cliff, and feel below him great depths which he cannot see, so I felt breathe upon me from far off the anguish which cannot be conceived before it comes, and, after, must not be remembered.

I stood a stranger to myself. The guard were muttering. Before my face my father’s hand was held up in the sign against evil. She had made her moment well. Doubling like a hare, she was through them all and running to the balcony. I heard the rustle of her spangled flounces and swift feet; then only the scramble of the guard, making haste slowly.

I felt for my sword; remembered where it lay, and snatched it up. A sentry ran in from along the balcony, alarmed by the noise, and crashed into the guard within. “Where did she go?” I called. He pointed, and I ran outside. A breeze had got up, blowing in from the sea. Wet mist chilled my face and clung to the flagstones. The moon was like a handful of wool. I remembered what they said of her, that she could call the wind.

The balcony was empty. I ran in at a doorway, and fell over an old man asleep in bed. While he stuttered I picked myself up and found my sword. There was an opening covered with a curtain, which swung as if just moved. Beyond was a little stairhead, with light coming up from a lamp below. I started to run down it; then I saw against the turn of the wall the shadow of a woman, lifting her arm.

Without doubt it was the witch, for she put a charm on me. This was the nature of it. My hands grew cold and sweated. My knees lost their strength, and I felt them tremble. My heart leaped to and fro so that it shook my breast, and my breath came thickly panting; I almost choked with it. My skin crawled upon my flesh, and my scalp upon my skull, and the roots of my hair stood upright. And my two feet were fixed to the floor; they would not take me forward.

I stood rooted by this charm, my entrails working as if with sickness. The shadow moved, and left the wall. This loosed the cord of the spell, and it began to leave me. I ran down the stairs, but their steepness made me slow. They led me to a passage, and that to a court. It was dark, and full of a clammy mist. Nothing else moved there.

I turned back, and heard clamor above me. The old man I had tripped on was rousing everyone, shouting that a huge warrior had run out of the King’s chamber with a drawn sword in his hand. The Palace was in uproar. A crowd of House Barons came running, naked behind their shields, and would have speared me, but my father came out in time. New-lit torches, damp with the mist, made stinking smoke; old men coughed in it, women ran about screaming, children cried, men yelled rumors across the courts. At last they found the herald, to quiet the din with his horn. My father led me out on the balcony, not to tell them who I was but to make sure that no one killed me. He calmed their fears and promised them good news tomorrow; then he said that Medea had done what is abominable to gods and men, and till she was taken the gates must not be opened.

When things were quieter, he asked if I had seen the witch when I ran after her. I said no, which was true; for I had not seen her, but her shadow only. And this I did not wish to speak of; for the charm she put on me was very evil, and if you talk of such things you give them power. Paian Apollo, Slayer of Darkness, send that I never feel the like again.