They buckle it around his shoulders and drape it along his arms, admire the intricate patterns, the tales of arms and men woven into the red. Medea goes over to see. Giants with one eye, hammers forging a thunderbolt, surrounded in flame. Garish works, ludicrous. A man lifting a mountain with his bare hands, while another man sings a mountain into movement. A woman carrying a shield but all the focus on her breast. Groups of men fighting among oxen, unintelligible, all history lost, and a boy throwing a spear at a large man dragging away his mother. Stories out of time, out of sequence, remnants unattached, yet the Argonauts pretend understanding. Medea backs away and lets them squabble over what nothing means.

Then a voice, high-pitched, a man pretending to be a woman, coming from a small copse of trees, a fold in the mountain just behind. The men are silenced, and out steps one of the helmsmen.

I am Hypsipyle, he says in his high voice. Queen of this island, and I have a tale you must hear.

The men shout encouragement. Hypsipyle is escorted to Jason, to kneel before him on his throne.

We are without men, she says.

The Argonauts slap at each other, naked and oiled, laughing and offering to provide men.

Our men raided the Thracians and took many things, including foreign women, and they soon forgot us. They left us to plow our fields alone.

Jason laughs, and all the Argonauts, staggering around and slipping against each other.

Come make this your land, Hypsipyle says. We have many women for every man, and you’ll find that our island is deep soiled beyond any other in this sea.

A roar from the men, and now some of them are the women of this island, puckering their mouths and walking with their asses in the air.

Hypsipyle moves in closer to Jason with hands and mouth, and Jason leans back against the stone, allowing this. So Medea must watch as this runt-king Hypsipyle swallows Jason, and he knows she is watching. The helmsman gazes at her as he moves his head up and down, a perfect revenge, Medea standing alone as the women of Lemnos meet the Argonauts.

She could have her own revenge, on Jason at least. She could bend over and let every man plow, all of them oiled and ready. She could be all the women of Lemnos. But she can’t imagine doing this.

So she sits at the edge along the shore and watches, feels helpless. A ritual that does not include her, and when the story is told, she’ll be erased. They’ll tell of Lemnos and the most beautiful city, with carved doors opened wide, and the beautiful queen Hypsipyle, distraught over Jason’s leaving. After endless banquets and young girls dancing in countless numbers, all femininity will rush to the shore, begging the Argonauts not to leave.