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Jocasta: The Mother-Wife of Oedipus (Tapestry of Bronze) By Victoria Grossack, Alice Underwood
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- Sales Rank: #870373 in eBooks
- Published on: 2014-01-03
- Released on: 2014-01-03
- Format: Kindle eBook
Review
"A real page-turner . . . a wonderfully nuanced novel that repays previous knowledge of its subject matter - but never requires it" -- Historical Fiction Review, August 15, 2004
Authors' portrayal of desperate human struggle against prophecy as spirited as the Queen herself -- wonderful follow-up to Oedipus Rex -- Historical Novel Society Online, Fall 2004
This is a riveting book about an intelligent woman to whom big events happen. (Associated Press) -- The Alabama Huntsville-Times, Aug 7 2005
About the Author
Dartmouth graduate Victoria Grossack leads an international life, with homes in Switzerland and Arizona and a professional career in the financial industry that has spanned the Atlantic. She is fluent in German and French (and English of course) and has an MBA. Her last full-time position was as a Senior Vice President in New York City for a reinsurance company, but she is currently writing full-time and living with her husband who is a professor at the University of Arizona. Her writing has been published in Contingencies, Woman's World, I Love Cats, and The Journal of Actuarial Practice. She was a regular columnist for Fiction Fix, writing monthly articles that have been used in several writing classes. She teaches writing courses at Coffeehouseforwriters on historical fiction, creating characters, and the levels of structure in fiction. She also tutors mathematics, as solving problems in algebra and geometry make a nice break from creative writing.
Alice Underwood studied classics at The University of Texas and Princeton University while earning her degrees in mathematics. Her passion for antiquity has taken her from the shadowed catacombs of Princeton's libraries to the ruins of Pompeii and the sunny shores of Crete and Santorini. Her work has been published in Consortium, Networks, and The Journal of Actuarial Practice. Currently an Executive Vice President at one of the world's top insurance brokerage firms, Alice lives and works in New York City.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Prologue
"I don't want to die."
"But you will die, Sister." Kreon's voice is firm, unyielding. "Your only choice is how. You can either take the poison I have brought you - quick and painless - or you can wait for the people to come and to pull you to pieces."
I shiver and feel the blood drain away from my veins. The Thebans have torn their rulers to pieces before: Pentheus, Labdakus, Amphion. I do not want my own name added to the list.
My brother continues. "The soldiers and the priests will be here in the morning. If you are not already dead, they will drag you out of the palace into the agora. The people will scream curses at you; spit in your face; call you unnatural, a whore. They will strip off your fine clothing; take a lash to your soft skin. And, finally, they will tear you apart."
I look around my room in the palace where I have lived the last forty years. I imagine the mob forcing its way into the room, smashing the furniture, knocking over the braziers and setting the building afire. Blood - mine - seeping into the tiles, staining the wool and linen of the cushions, spattering on the wall-paintings. Like the blood on my dressing table: my husband's blood, spilled by his own hand. I slam my fist against the table, toppling a small ivory statue of the god Hermes. "It is not fair! I am not a criminal."
My brother rights the god and then pushes the vial in my direction. "If I were you, Io, I would take the poison."
"I have been a good queen! I have taken care of Thebes my whole life. Struggled and fought and nursed these people, this city, this land. Together my husband and I ruled Thebes for nearly twenty years. And I ruled Thebes for more than twenty before that! Now, in a single day, it is all ruined! Why - why does it have to matter?"
Kreon takes my hands and stills them. "Because it does matter. The priests and the people say it is unnatural, against the laws of the gods. They want royal blood, to cleanse the curse."
I pull away from him, take a step toward the door, then turn to look at him. "Can't I escape?"
"There is none who would help you - who can help you. The priests have watchers everywhere, even among the palace guard. You could never get out of the city alive."
"They are ungrateful! I have taken care of them! I have given them life!"
"That is the problem, isn't it? You gave life to too many."
He is right. The facts of my life are now plain for all to see. And they are not pretty: like the last dregs in a golden cup, after the wine has been drained away. And yet - and yet - I am still healthy, still called beautiful. I am too young to die. I turn back to my brother and say, " Maybe they are not yet decided. If we speak to them -"
He shakes his gray head. "They're waiting for morning," he repeats. "The priests intend your punishment to take place in the light of day. They want to make an example of you for all the people to see." Then, as if to soften the blow, Kreon strokes my shoulder, my cheek. His fingers are dry and warm; lamplight glitters off the amethyst of his signet ring. "But you are right. You have done so much for them, and they have forgotten in an instant. Perhaps someday they will remember that you, Iokaste of Thebes, were their greatest queen. Wisest and most beautiful."
"You speak as if I were already dead."
"You are. I speak to your ghost." His voice becomes matter-of-fact. "But your ghost has until sunrise to depart. This poison works quickly."
"Till sunrise." The sun has already set. How many hours are left to me?
Kreon stands and pulls his cloak around his shoulders. "I will be back before dawn. But keep the vial at hand; you will need it."
He opens the door into the corridor. I see two soldiers who up until yesterday would have given their lives to save mine. From their stony expressions I realize their allegiance to me is gone. But beyond the renegade men stand two women: Merope, the patient maidservant who has attended me all her life, and my younger daughter Ismene. Merope walks calmly past the guards into my room; my daughter gives them a nervous look and darts through. Merope speaks. "My lady, we did not want you to be alone."
My daughter, her face shiny with tears, slips into my arms. "Mother? Is it true?"
I hold her a moment, a precious moment, and think, what should I tell her? But if I am to die by dawn, what is the point of lies? I look down into her blue eyes, so like my own, and say, "My darling, I am afraid it is."
"Then Father -? How could you?"
How could I? That is the question. "Do you really want to know?"
Ismene's voice is soft. "Yes, I do."
I search her face. She, too, is an unwitting victim of Fate. Wouldn't she be better served by truth? Besides, I am tired of lies, tired of keeping silence, and these hours of night are my last chance to talk.
"Come." I take her by the hand, and lead her to the bed that I shared with her father and her grandfather. We sit down together and I put my arm around her as she leans against me. Merope quietly pulls up a stool and sits where she can listen easily, but so that her scarred face is shrouded by darkness.
"Listen," I say, as I take the lid off my chest of long suppressed memories. "Listen, and I will tell you."
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