“There is no time,” Medea cried, and it was clear to all that she was not only spiteful but again truly frightened. “We cannot wait until Orpheus goes back to the town and then comes back here with—with her. It will not take long for my father to recover and rouse himself to follow us. We must be already at sea when he comes here. I cannot hold him off, not with the strength he will gather from his rage.”
“It will do Eurydice no good if we are all dead,” Jason said to Orpheus. “She is clever, and a lot more powerful than she would ever admit. She will do well in Colchis.”
“But I will not,” Orpheus said coldly. “Aietes will not have forgotten me, and I will not go without Eurydice.”
“Then stay behind with her, with my good will,” Medea snarled. “I tell you we cannot wait while you fetch your whore.”
“That is enough, Medea,” Jason said sharply. “Eurydice is no more whore than you are.”
Eurydice was surprised by his defense, but as soon as he continued speaking, she realized that he had done it to pacify Orpheus because he was not going to wait for them. Not that she minded. Nothing was going to drag her aboard the Argo while Medea was there, not even if she had to bespell Orpheus to keep him from trying to sail with Jason.
“But she is right about Aietes too,” Jason continued, turning to Orpheus. “What we will do is this. You go back to fetch Eurydice, but do not bring her here. Go north along the coast of Colchis to the first rivermouth that will take a ship and wait for the Argo there.”
Orpheus nodded but asked, “What if that mouth is not to this river?”
“No harm done. That is the river the Argo will have sailed up. If it is the wrong river, we will have to go down this one to the coast and send scouts out to find the ship. You will see us or we you—there cannot be very many navigable rivermouths. And if we board the ship before you come, we will wait for you until midnight—unless we are threatened. If Aietes realizes the Argo is gone from the bay, he may not pursue us here but take ship at once.”
Orpheus glanced up at the sun and Eurydice did too, much surprised to see that it was already westering. It did not seem possible that so many hours had passed since Mopsus had come for her, but so much had happened that she had not been aware.
“I believe there will be time enough for me to bring Eurydice to the rivermouth,” Orpheus said. “But if you are pursued, seek your own safety and do not worry about us. Eurydice and I will find a way to escape.”
“We will seek you on the riverbank—” Jason reached out and clasped Orpheus’ upper arm while keeping Medea hard within his grasp and on his other side. “But if fate should keep us from meeting, you are free of your oath to me, Orpheus. You have fulfilled it most nobly. I could never have succeeded without you—and I will not forget. If ever you are in need, come to Yolcos.”
Orpheus blinked, stared for just a heartbeat, then nodded and turned away, Eurydice following and trying to blend the sound of her footsteps into his. She chanced one glance behind as Orpheus reached the path back to Colchis and saw that she could save her effort to be inconspicuous. Jason had turned back to the golden fleece and had drawn Medea with him. As soon as they were well out of sight of the clearing and she felt sure muted voices would not be heard there, she ran a few steps, whispered, “Thialuo” and laid her hand on Orpheus’ arm.
He jumped nearly out of his skin. “Eurydice?” he cried.
“Hush!” she whispered, clapping a hand to his mouth because she knew how Orpheus’ voice carried.
“How did you get here?” he asked in a lowered voice, then closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, I do not believe it. You are an illusion to keep me from going to the real Eurydice.”
“No, I am not,” Eurydice denied instinctively, realizing in the same moment that denial was useless and that she had proof. “Here, I am wearing my amulet. Medea knew nothing of those or she would have had yours off—or tried to have it off.”
Orpheus gazed at the amulet, but his face showed no relief. In fact his scowl grew even blacker. “So, how did you get here?” he repeated.
“I have been here all along,” Eurydice said blandly. “I followed you and Jason and Medea.”
Orpheus’ face flushed red although he managed to keep his voice down. “I told you to go back to the inn. I told Lynkeus to take you back, by force if necessary.”
Eurydice giggled. “Lynkeus thinks he did take me back to the inn. If you ever see him again, please do not hold it against him.”
“Why will you never obey me? What did you think you could do here?”
The laughter disappeared from Eurydice’s Face. “What did I think I could do?” she repeated angrily. “Exactly what I did do, you ungrateful dog, protect you while you protected Jason. Why do you think Medea tripped before she plunged a knife into your back? Sticks of wood do not fly miraculously out of the forest and tangle a person’s feet. And as for obeying you, I will obey you when an order you give makes sense, not when it is a mere bawling out of male vanity.”
“But now you are here, you stupid bitch, and we can just go along with Jason instead of being too late—”
All Eurydice’s bad temper vanished and she burst out laughing. It seemed that Orpheus wanted to sail with the Argo as little as she did and had been arranging an excuse to be left behind. She should have realized. Orpheus had known all along that the ship was supposed to sail up the river and meet Jason. Thus, he had known leaving Eurydice behind at the inn would be very impractical.
“There is nothing to laugh about,” Orpheus went on, grabbing her and shaking her. “Medea will have us both overboard in the first high sea—”
“And Jason will not look for us very hard.” Eurydice’s laughter choked, and she pulled one of Orpheus’ hands from her shoulder and drew him down the path again.
No, it was best that she had not realized. If she had been less intent on her own plans, she would have been certain that Orpheus had intended to sail off with Jason, leaving her behind. Now she had the comfort of having heard him defend her, say they were pledged and he would not go without her—and all when he was certain, she could not hear him.
The knowledge softened Eurydice’s heart to the whole world. “No, of course he would seek us,” she said, although she had to smile at Orpheus’ shocked expression, “but I assure you there is no need to go with him. He does not know I am here, and he does not want us aboard now that he has Medea. Sometimes, my love,” she pointed out, “you lie to yourself. Do not tell me you did not notice how quickly he freed you from your oath.”
Orpheus looked aside. “I did notice. I was surprised. I have been very useful to him. I thought he would want me on the voyage, even if Medea did not. I noticed, too, that he did not invite me to Yolcos for the pleasure of seeing me, only if I were in need.”
There was pain in Orpheus’ voice, and Eurydice squeezed the hand she still held. “That, I think, was for your own good, dear heart,” she said softly. “You said yourself that Medea would rid the ship of us, if she could. And if Medea is queen in Yolcos, would you be safe if you guested there? Jason would try, but he cannot be with her every minute of every day, and she is a powerful sorceress.”
Orpheus did not answer immediately. He lifted her hand as they walked and stared at it, as if he had never seen it before. After a moment he said, “And so are you, Eurydice. You have done your best to hide it, but you are every bit as strong as she. You have lied to me, too. You were invisible in that clearing.”
“No. I told you about the look-past-me spell before. I was not invisible, I was repulsive. You would not look at me.”
Orpheus dropped her hand. Quickly, she invoked the look-past-me spell and for a moment became so cold and dizzy that she had to clutch Orpheus’ shoulder to keep to her feet. She was at the lowest ebb of Power in many years. When she was steady, she let go and looked quickly at Orpheus, wondering if the spell had taken. Clearly it had. He had been staring straight ahead when she gripped his shoulder, not looking at h
er as would be natural, and now, when she deliberately crossed his line of sight, his eyes flinched away from her.
“See?” she said. “You are looking at the trees to my right, now at the sky, now at the ground. You hear my voice. You know I am here before you, but you will not look at me. If you could make yourself look at me, I would be here. What I have done is no great magic, no bending of light or changing the structure of flesh.” Her voice faltered. She had invoked the spell and held it this long, but could do no more. Even the tiny drain of Power that had taken was making her vision dim. “Thialuo,” she breathed. “And you are willing to look at me now, and here I am.”
He shook his head. “There are other things. The amulets. They broke Medea’s spells and those of her father.”
“Yes.” Eurydice shivered and hugged herself against her inner cold; at least it was not growing worse. “But such great spells are complicated things. If my amulet only interfered with one little strand, the whole could easily be made ineffective.” She sighed at his grave expression. “I am not trying to make myself less to you Orpheus, only to explain. I am stronger than I was willing to admit to Jason, but you know the reason for that. But it is also true that I would not wish to match myself against Medea or Aietes. I do not understand their magic, and I am afraid of it. Besides,” she added bitterly, “I am drained out, and I do not know whether I will ever be truly strong again.”
Orpheus said nothing, only stared at her. Eurydice could see he was shocked, but she suspected that he would not be sorry if her Gifts were crippled. Tears came to her eyes. That was a Greek, no, a man! He loved a woman better when she was diminished. She would not be glad if his music lost its Power.
“It is your fault as much as mine,” she said, and told him how she had been emptied by bespelling the amulets and that the warmth and Power had not flowed back into her, as they usually did, since that hate/love coupling the night before. “There are gods that revel in that kind of offering—I think Medea feeds off the pain and lust she and Jason share—but not my Lady. She can be cruel, but not in that way, and She was disgusted and has drawn apart from me.”
Now Orpheus looked concerned, but he shook his head. “I know your Lady. I felt Her when I played to the priestesses in the garden of the temple. She is not unforgiving. She listened to me indulgently, I think.”
She looked up at him. That was true. The Maiden, was the least forgiving, yet She, who did not in general approve of males and mating, had poured out Power in abundance to her when Orpheus sang. Perhaps the withdrawal was only a brief punishment. She shook her head. It was too complex a matter to settle now.
“What will be will be,” she said, but less bitterly, starting down the path again. “We will have time enough to think about that later. Just remember that I have no more Power to expend. What we do we must do with our own strength and cleverness.”
“Yes,” Orpheus agreed, “and the first clever thing I suggest is to get off this path. If Aietes sends an army, it will come this way.”
“Good enough,” she agreed and followed Orpheus into the trees. As they walked she said, “But I do not know whether Aietes has an army anymore,” and told Orpheus what Mopsus and she had experienced in the palace and about the deaths—if what was never alive could die—of the inhuman guards.
“That might be good for us,” Orpheus said. “Those who guarded the doors and passages knew us, and we were told that what one of them knew all knew. But if Aietes raises a new army, whether from the dragon’s teeth or men from the court, none of them will know us. Well, a few might know me because I sang at court, but they will not know you.”
“I hardly think it matters. Even if Aietes recovers at once, with all the guards dead, there is bound to be great confusion. And even if his first thought is to stop the crew from reaching the Argo he will learn immediately that the ship is already gone. Once he has that news, he will not waste time scouring the town for any of Jason’s crew who remained behind.”
Orpheus nodded. “The only danger is my cithara. It draws attention to me.” He hesitated, then added with clear reluctance, “Perhaps I should leave it somewhere…”
“No,” Eurydice said at once. “And I have not strength enough to bespell it, but if we wait until dark…yes, why not? We are not in any hurry, and if there is a flurry of searching it will have died down by dark.”
“True. On the other hand, if there has been a search, the innkeeper will have been alerted.”
“That would be better than walking into Colchis while a search was in progress. Besides, no one would be searching for me. If I get back to the inn at my usual time, no one will pay any attention and I can soon discover whether it is safe for you to come in also.”
Orpheus nodded agreement to that, then said—again with some reluctance, “I think we must be at the rivermouth before midnight to tell Jason that we have decided, since Medea does not want us, not to sail with him.”
“But—” Eurydice began, falling silent when Orpheus shook his head at her.
“You must remember how Jason was about Heracles. He wanted to go without him, but his conscience pricked him and he would have waited if the crew had not urged him to go.”
“But—” Eurydice began again, stopped on her own, sighed, and then laughed ruefully. “Yes, we will have to be at the rivermouth. Unfortunately, the crew will not urge him to leave without you, far the contrary.”
“Nor without you either, Eurydice. You are a great favorite.”
She did not answer but smiled at the remark. Most of the crew did like her and even when they were startled by what she did, seemed to accept her. Orpheus put his arm around her and they wandered idly along, roughly parallel to the path, in the direction of the palace. Eventually Eurydice recognized a spot she had passed when she was following Orpheus, Jason, and Medea on the way to get the golden fleece. It was within a quarter candlemark’s walk of the palace. She had noticed it because it was so ideal a place to lie in concealment that she had almost expected Jason’s men to be waiting there by the time she and the others had passed and had walked over to see if she had guessed right.
It turned out that the little glade hidden behind the thick screen of brush was too small for twenty men to hide in comfort. But it would be perfect for herself and Orpheus. There was a trickle of stream if they wished to drink, and they were close enough to the path, although completely invisible from it, to hear if a large group passed along it toward the river. Eurydice pulled Orpheus by the hand.
“Come, we can wait for dark here,” she said, and explained.
The last of the sun was just touching the glade and after having a drink, both settled into the patch of light and warmth. They were very tired, having hardly slept the night before and undergone much exertion during the day. Away from the little stream, the grass near the brush was thick and dry, and after a little while Eurydice lay down with a sigh. In a moment, Orpheus lay down beside her. She turned her head sharply to tell him that after their last coupling she had no taste for renewing the experience, but although he took off the cithara, it was only so he could lie flat on his back.
Eurydice closed her eyes, then snapped them open. They could not afford to fall asleep lest they sleep too long. If she arrived at the inn too late she would arouse suspicion. As if the same idea had troubled Orpheus, he began to talk, asking Eurydice whether she thought it better to seek a ship going west or simply hire a little boat to take them across the river, buy horses, and travel overland.
Buying horses was a wonderful idea, Eurydice exclaimed, her heart lifting. She was well aware, and knew that was also, that travel by horseback was much slower than taking a ship. Perhaps Orpheus was not nearly so intent on taking her back to Greece as he had seemed. And even if he still thought about it, during the many months, years, that such a journey might take, they would surely find a place they both liked well enough to call home. They talked idly about the trip, about where to buy supplies and whether they should try to find a caravan or c
hance traveling on their own.
When the sun slipped behind the trees, the chill of autumn became noticeable and they moved closer, glad of one another’s warmth. The sky was still bright and both knew there would be an hour or more before the sun set and it began to get dark. After another few minutes, Orpheus undid his cloak pin so he could spread the cloak over both of them, and when he leaned over Eurydice to tuck it in, he kissed her forehead and her nose.
It was so innocently affectionate a gesture, that Eurydice smiled and stroked his neck. Orpheus slid down with care not to disarrange the cloak, pressing himself tightly against her. Her arm slid around him to hold him close, went down his back to determine whether he was covered. The cloth was not perfectly square and it fell short over his buttocks and the back of his thighs from which the tunic had rucked up. The flesh was cold. Eurydice rubbed it gently. Orpheus moved his hips closer, not sensuously, but to enable her to pull the cloth of his cloak down farther.
She managed to cover his behind and thighs, but the tucking that had held the cloak securely over her was pulled loose. Orpheus started to reach around her back to tuck it in again, but his hand paused on her thigh. He made a small, contented sound and ran his hand down as far as he could reach. Just above the knee, he came to bare flesh, the gown having slid up when Eurydice lay down. His hand stopped. Eurydice nuzzled her head into his shoulder; it was not a gesture of invitation, but it was not rejection either. Orpheus lay still, except for his fingers which made little circles on her skin.
Eurydice was no reader of thoughts, but she understood exactly what was going through Orpheus’ mind. He was very tired, likely more tired than she, since she had slept for a few hours and he had not, but the contiguity was putting ideas into his head—or rather between his legs. Indeed, only now did Eurydice feel a slight stiffening in his shaft, which had been pressed against her since he moved to cover them both. She knew he was of two minds, half tempted to make love but too weary to press the issue. She felt exactly the same way; half inclined to push him away as memories of their attack on each other flashed across her mind but too tired and beginning to be tempted by his quiescence.
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