Pythian Priestess
Take these relics. They are yours now.
For the god’s sake, I raised you, child—
and kept these tokens hidden, as he willed.
Why? I cannot tell.
No soul knew I had them, nor where they lay.
Now farewell—like a mother to her son, I bless you.
Begin your search here:
Was it a Delphian maid who bore you and left you in this temple?
Or some daughter of Hellas?
That is all I—and Phoebus—can give you.
(She exits slowly. Ion stands frozen, clutching the basket.)
Ion (alone, voice breaking)
Ah gods… tears blind me.
I think of the day my mother bore me—
fruit of a secret love—
only to hide me away, nameless,
to live as a servant in Apollo’s halls.
Yes, his care was kind—
but heavy was my fate.
When I should have lain in a mother’s arms,
I lay in silence, robbed of joy.
And she—she suffers too,
losing all the sweetness a son might bring.
(He lifts the basket reverently.)
I’ll take this ark to the god—
but what if I find what I dread?
If my mother was a slave,
better never to know than to know and burn with shame.
Yet why fight the god’s will?
He saved these tokens for me.
I must open it—face the truth.
Fate cannot be outrun.
(He kneels, undoing the lid slowly.)
Sacred wreaths, fastenings—
why hide so long what was mine?
Look—the cover, smooth as new.
No age, no decay.
The chaplets fresh as the day they were laid away.
(Creusa enters, sees the basket, freezes.)
Creusa
Gods! What is this? What sight is this?
Ion (snapping)
Silence, woman! You were my enemy—still are.
Creusa
I will not be silent!
That ark—I know it!
I placed you in it, my child,
when you were a babe,
in the cave of Cecrops, under Macrae’s rocky roof!
I’ll leave this altar—though death waits me!
(She rushes forward. Guards move to seize her.)
Ion
Stop her! She’s mad—springing from Apollo’s altar!
Bind her hands!
Creusa
Kill me! Strike!
I’ll cling to this ark and all it holds!
Ion
Isn’t this monstrous?
You claim me now—on a lie!
Creusa
No lie! A friend finds a friend!
Ion
A friend? You tried to kill me!
Creusa
You are my son—my life—my heart!
Ion
Enough of your tricks! I’ll prove you false!
Creusa
Prove me true! God grant it!
Ion
Is this ark empty—or does it hold something?
Creusa
Your clothes—the ones I wrapped you in.
Ion
Name them—before you see them.
Creusa
If I fail, I’ll die.
Ion
Speak. Your confidence is strange.
Creusa
A robe—my childish fingers wove it.
Ion
Describe it. Maidens weave many things.
Creusa
It’s crude—a first lesson in weaving.
Ion
What’s on it?
Creusa
A Gorgon—at the center of the warp.
Ion (staggering)
Zeus! What fate hunts me?
Creusa
Fringed with snakes—like Athena’s aegis.
Ion
It’s here! The very robe! The god spoke true!
Creusa
Ah, dear work my virgin shuttle wrought!
Ion
Is there more? Or does luck end here?
Creusa
Yes—serpents with golden jaws,
symbols of the old world.
Ion
Athena’s gift—guardians for her race?
Creusa
Yes—like Erichthonius, our ancestor.
Ion
What were they for?
Creusa
Necklaces—for the newborn babe.
Ion
They’re here! And the third sign?
Creusa
An olive wreath—bound on your brow,
plucked from Athena’s sacred tree.
If it’s there, it will still be green—
for that tree never dies.
Ion (lifting it, voice breaking)
It is! Fresh as the day it was cut!
(He drops the wreath, rushes to her, arms wide.)
Mother—my mother! Gods, my mother!
I press my lips to your cheeks—
the cheeks that share my joy!
Creusa (clutching him)
My son—light brighter than the sun!
I hold you—whom I thought lost forever,
dead among Persephone’s ghosts!
Ion
Ah, mother mine!
I rest in your arms—dead, and now alive!
Creusa (crying out to heaven)
Hail, bright sky!
What words can speak this joy?
Whence comes this rapture?
What god gave me this bliss?
Ion
Mother—this was the last thing I ever dreamed!
Creusa
I tremble still.
Ion
Do you doubt me?
Creusa
No—I had banished all hope.
Tell me—how did you live?
Who saved my child?
(They cling to each other as the Chorus begins a hymn of wonder.)
