Jason and Medeia Read online

  woman

  twisted an old, murky oracle and suggested to the king that Phrixos be given in sacrifice for the pleasure of

  Zeus.

  The king agreed, but Phrixos escaped with his brother,

  flying

  on a monstrous ram of gold which the great god

  Hermes sent.

  Above the Hellespont, Helle fell off and was lost. The

  huge ram

  turned his head, encouraging Phrixos on, and so they came at last to Kolchis, and there, on the ram’s

  advice,

  Phrixos gave up the ram in sacrifice to Zeus, and gave the fleece to Aietes, the king, in return for his eldest

  daughter.

  Now the four sons had abandoned Aietes’ city to return to their father’s homeland, city of the Orkhomenians, intending to claim their rights. But Zeus, to show his

  power,

  stirred Boreas up from his sleep and ordered pursuit of

  them.

  The North Wind had softly blown all day through the

  topmost branches

  of the mountain trees and scarcely disturbed a leaf; but

  then

  when nightfall came, he fell on the sea with tremendous

  force

  and raised up angry billows with his shrieking blasts. A

  dark mist

  blanketed the sky; no star pierced through. The sons of

  Phrixos,

  quaking and drenched, were hurled along at the mercy

  of the waves,

  spinning like a top at each sudden gust and flaw. The

  dark wind

  tore off the sailsheets, split the hull at the keel. They

  caught hold

  of a beam, the last of the firmly bolted timbers that

  scattered

  like birds alarmed in the night as the ship broke up.

  Black wind

  and waves were pushing them to shore when a sudden

  rainstorm burst.

  It lashed the sea, the island, and the mainland opposite. They gave up hope, passed out, still clinging to the

  beam. So we

  discovered them, close to the shore, some whimsical

  gift or tease

  from the gods.

  “ ‘Whoever you are,’ the sons of Phrixos said, ‘

  we beg you by Zeus to provide us help in our need.

  We are men

  on a mission we cannot abandon, not even now,

  stripped bare,

  weakened, ridiculed by winds. We have sworn a solemn

  vow

  to our father, the hour of his death, that we will

  redeem his throne

  and wealth. No easy adventure, beaten as we are, pushed

  past

  despair. Yet the vow’s been made, and we will fulfill it

  if we can.’

  “I glanced at my crew. It seemed they hardly

  understood what wealth

  the sea had sent. No need of a Tiphys or an Idmon now! We had, right here in our hands, men born and bred in

  the east,

  sailors who knew these streams as we knew the Pegasai, and they knew the kingdom of Aietes—no doubt had

  friends among

  that barbarous race. We could use these poor drowned

  rats! I seized

  the hands of the man who spoke for them, youngest of

  the brothers, Melas.

  ‘Kinsman!’ I said, and laughed. I turned to the others.

  “You

  who beg us for strangers’ help are long lost kinsmen,

  for I

  am Jason, son of Aison, son of Dionysos, Lord of the Underworld. Your famous father and my own

  father

  were cousins, and I have sailed with these friends for

  no other cause

  than to seek you out and return you safe to your

  homeland, with all

  the chattel and goods you may rightfully claim as your

  own. Of all that

  more in a while. For now, let us dress you and arm you,

  and offer

  a sacrifice, as is right, to the god of this island.’ The crew brought clothes, the finest we had, and heirloom swords,

  and we built

  an altar and made a great sacrifice of sheep. When that was done and we’d feasted our fill, I spoke to them

  again, framed words

  to suit their needs and mine, and to please the

  Argonauts,

  indeed, to please even Orpheus, if possible.

  “ ‘Zeus is most truly the all-seeing god! Sooner or later

  we god-fearing men that uphold the right must come to

  his attention.

  See how he rescued your father Phrixos from a heartless

  woman,

  his cruel step-mother, and made him a wealthy man

  besides.

  And see how he saved you yourselves, preserved you in

  the deadly storm

  and brought you directly to those who have come here

  in search of you!

  And finally this: see how he’s armed you, not only with

  swords

  but with fighting companions, the mightiest fighters now

  living—Akastos,

  my cousin, and Phlias, my father’s half-brother (don’t

  mind those staring

  eyes: he has no mind; a dancer)—and Orpheus, king of all harpers, and Mopsos, king of all seers, and

  Argus,

  famous artificer—’ Thus I named them all, and praised

  them,

  praising the god. They listened smiling, heads bowed.

  I said:

  The sacred vow you have sworn to your dying father

  gives all

  this crew, I think, new purpose. For it cannot be hidden,

  I think,

  loath though I am to speak of it—that we’ve suffered

  great losses,

  sorrows and pains that have checked us, nearly

  overcome us. Your vow—’

  I paused, as if undecided. ‘On board our ship you can

  travel

  eastward or westward, whichever you choose. Either to

  the city

  Aietes rules, or home to your dear Orkhomenos. You’ll

  need

  no stronger craft, your own smashed to bits by the

  angry sea,

  never having come, if I remember, even to the Clashing

  Rocks,

  those doors no ship but the Argo has ever passed.’ I

  frowned,

  pretended to reflect, like a man who’s lost his thread.

  And then:

  ‘However, it seems to me that you may have forgotten

  something.

  Who but Zeus could have brewed up this terrible

  storm? Must we not

  atone, disavow the intended sacrifice to Zeus of

  Phrixos—

  curse, these many years, of all the Akhaian isles, and mockery of all his justice? And was not the golden fleece your father’s—a prize he gave up to Aietes’ might,

  forgetting

  that gifts of the gods are loans? I am not a seer, of

  course.

  I may be wrong. On the other hand, if you served as

  our pilots,

  running no risk but the sea, who knows what peace

  it might mean

  for Phrixos’ ghost? This much seems sure: When winds

  churn waves,

  the god of the sky is aware of it. If we help you flee, against his will, it may be not even Athena can save her ship. —But the deathbed vow is yours, of course,

  not ours.’

  I spoke it gently, like a slow man thinking aloud. They

  stared—

  the sons of Phrixos—aghast. They knew well enough,

  no doubt,

  Aietes would not prove affable if we dared to steal that f
leece. Young Melas spoke, when he found his voice.

  ‘Lord Jason,

  be sure you can count on our help in any other trouble

  but this!

  Aietes is nobody’s fool, and anything but weak. He

  claims

  his father was the sun. You’d believe it, if ever you saw

  him! His men

  are numberless, and the fiercest warriors on earth. His

  voice

  is terrifying. He’s huge as the god of war. It will be no easy trick to snatch that fleece. It’s guarded, all

  around,

  by a serpent, deathless and unsleeping, a child of Hera

  herself,

  the mightiest beast in the world. Your scheme’s

  impossible!’

  The Argonauts paled at his words. Then Peleus spoke.

  ‘My friend,

  if all you say is true, and the thing’s impossible, at least we might see this snake, as a tale for our

  grandchildren.

  And yet it may be, at the last minute, we may happen

  to spot

  some oversight in Aietes’ careful precautions. I say we look, then scurry if we must.’ At once all the

  Argonauts

  took heart. Mad Idas rolled up his eyes, all piety. ‘Men who make vows to the dying should try to fulfill

  them, if it’s

  convenient,’ he said. We laughed to prevent him from

  more. I said:

  ‘It’s late. We’ll talk of this further tomorrow.’ The crew

  agreed.

  We slept, Peleus on watch, by my order, lest Phrixos’

  sons

  evade the promised discussion and leave us marooned.

  At dawn

  we persuaded them, sailed east. By dark we were passing

  the isle

  of Philyra. From there to the lands of the Bekheiri, the Sapeires, the Byzeres, travelling with all the speed the light wind gave. The last recess of the Black Sea

  opened

  and gave us a view of the lofty crags of the Caucasus, where Prometheus stood chained with fetters of bronze,

  screaming,

  an eagle feeding on his liver. We saw it in late

  afternoon,

  the eagle high above the ship in the yellow-green light.

  It was near

  the clouds, yet it made all the canvas quiver in the

  wind as its wings

  beat by. The long white feathers of its terrible wings

  rose, fell,

  like banks of highly polished oars. Soon after the

  eagle passed,

  we heard that scream again. Then again it passed

  above us,

  flying the same way it came. So Aietes would scream,

  I swore,

  and all his sycophants.

  “Night fell, and after a time,

  guided by Melas, we came in the dark to the estuary of Phasis, where the Black Sea ends. Then quickly we

  lowered sail

  and stowed the sail and yard in the mastcage, and

  lowered the mast

  beside them; then rowed directly to the river. It rolled in

  foam

  from bank to bank, pushed back by the Argo’s prow.

  On the left,

  the lofty Caucasus Mountains and the city of Aia; on

  the right,

  the plain of Ares and the sacred grove where the snake

  kept watch

  on the fleece, spread coil on coil through the groaning

  branches of an oak,

  the mightiest oak in the world. We stared in wonder,

  in the moonlight.

  I glanced at Orpheus’ lyre. He smiled, shook his head.

  ‘Not this one.’

  I turned toward Mopsos. Tire in the tree, you think?’

  He laughed.

  ‘And make that creature cross, boy? Not on your life!’

  The dusky

  eyes stared out at us, dreaming, if old snakes dream.

  I poured

  libations out, pure wine as sweet as honey from a golden cup—a gift to the river, to earth, to the gods of the hills, to the spirits of the Kolchian dead. Then the boy

  Ankaios spoke:

  ‘We’ve reached the land of Kolchis. The time has come

  to choose.

  Will we speak to Aietes as friends, or try him some

  harsher way?’

  Nobody answered him, all of us weighing the power

  of the snake.

  “Advised by Melas, I ordered my men to row the Argo to the reedy marshes, and to moor her there with

  anchor stones

  in a sheltered place where she could ride. We found one,

  not far off,

  and there we passed the night, our eyes wide open,

  waiting.

  No one asked me now if the thing we were doing

  made sense.

  War proves itself—all reason slighter than a feather

  in the wind

  beside that strange aliveness, chilling of the blood,

  dark joy.

  We’d become what we were, at last: a machine for theft:

  a creature

  stalking the creature in the tree, our multiple wills

  interlocked,

  our multiple hungers annealed by the heat of the great

  snake’s threat.

  I whispered my name to myself and it rang like a

  stranger’s name,

  the name of a god, an eagle, some famous old Titan’s

  sword.

  Behind me, stretching to the rim of the world, ghost

  armies waited,

  silent, nameless, in strange attire, watching for my sign with eyes as calm as dragon’s eyes. The goddess was

  in us.”

  13

  So he spoke, and the visiting kings sat hushed, as if

  spellbound, through

  those shadowy halls. It seemed to me that his weird

  vision

  of armies behind him, waiting in the wings, stirred all

  who heard him

  to uneasiness. As he ended, the room went strange.

  The walls

  went away like the floor of the sea, yet vast as the great

  hall seemed,

  the goddess showed me chambers beyond, blue-vaulted

  rooms,

  expanses of marble floor like a wineglass filled to the

  brim

  with light, and marmoreal peristyles, each shining pillar twelve feet wide, the architraves made hazy by hovering clouds; and in those spacious rooms where no life

  stirred,

  I might not have guessed the existence of all those

  gold-crowned kings

  attending to Jason’s tale.

  I found

  a room where slaves were whispering the name Amekhenos. The goddess showed me where he crouched in the bowels of the palace peering

  out, eyes narrowed,

  watching the palace guards pace back and forth on the

  wall,

  their queer strut mirrored in the lilypad-strewn lake. The

  grass

  was as green as grass in a painting, the sky unnaturally

  blue;

  the walls of houses below were the white of English

  cream,

  with angular shadows, an occasional tree, its leaves autumnally blazing. Far to the east, beyond the sea’s last glint, it occurred to me, there were more

  kings gathered,

  brought together by the tens of thousands, to die for Helen, or honor, or the spoils of war on

  the plains

  of Troy. Beside the guests of Kreon, the numberless host of Agamemnon’s army would seem the whole human

  race.

  Yet beyond rich Troy lay Russia—darkforested Kolchis

  —and Indus,

  and beyond those two lay China, so many in a host

  tha
t the eye,

  even the eye of vision, couldn’t gather them in. “Behold I” the goddess said, invisible all around me. With the

  word

  she darkened the sky, and the grayblue waters became,

  all at once,

  a horde of people on the move, bearing their possessions

  on their backs,

  features ragged with hunger, eyes too large, luminous. The children walking at their parents’ sides or

  straggling behind

  had distended bellies, and I knew by the gray of their

  eyes that they carried

  plagues. I watched them passing—the crowd went out

  from me

  from horizon to horizon, and the dust they stirred made a cloud so vast that the mightiest rays of the

  sun were hidden.

  Suddenly the cloud was a dragon with a fat-thighed

  woman on its back,

  her chalk-white, hydrocephalic forehead covered all over with elegant writing, swirls and serifs that squirmed

  like insects

  as I tried to read. The woman had a robe of flowing

  crimson

  and she carried a torch which belched thick smoke like

  factory smoke.

  She rode toward me, and then—from north, south, east,

  and west—

  great louts came lumbering, treading on the people, and

  made their way,

  teetering and reeling, to the huge woman. With her

  hands, she raised

  her skirt and spread her buttocks for them, and roaring,

  prancing,

  they thrust themselves in, and the earth and sky were

  sickened with filth,

  blackened to a towering mass like a writhing,

  bull-horned god.

  I choked and gagged. “Goddess!” I cried out. “Goddess,

  save me!”

  Gulls darted back and forth above the grayblue water, mournfully calling. The slaves in the palace were

  whispering.

  And then, baffled, still puzzling at the meaning of the

  strange revelation,

  I was back in the hall of Kreon, where Jason was

  standing as I’d left him,

  silent, and old King Kreon was waiting, the slave beside

  him,

  Ipnolebes. I wondered if all I had seen I’d seen in Ipnolebes’ eyes, or perhaps the eyes of the Northern

  slave

  watching the guards as they strutted, this side of the

  battlements,

  or the slaves who whispered. I shuddered and shook

  myself free of all that,

  or tried to. The curious image held on. The gem-lit,

  gold-crowned

  heads of the visiting kings (there seemed not many of

  them now)

  strangely recalled the numberless hosts of ánhagas, friendless exiles forever on the move in perpetual night.

  I could see by Kreon’s pleasure and the timorous smile