He did this when he was hungry, and he was always hungry. He’d grown so fat he couldn’t see his feet; it made him wheeze and pant just to climb the three steps to his throne. For the past few days he had been in an ugly mood. An oracle had told him that an enemy was coming. I tried to explain to him that all kings always had an enemy somewhere preparing to attack, and that oracles made a living out of such foolproof prophecies. But he didn’t believe me. He chose to believe that someone was preparing an assault, and that this someone was Jason. So we at court were having a difficult time. When the king was unhappy, he liked to share his pain, and for the past days he had signed so many death warrants that he had sprained his wrist and had to shift to his left hand. Every time I turned around suddenly, I saw him glaring at me, thinking how much better I’d look without a head. His baleful glare was becoming unbearable to me, and the muffled terror of the courtiers had become thick as a stench in the gloomy throne room.
