Jason and the Argonauts (12 page)

the warlike Colchians themselves at last.

Still, you should travel farther on until

you reach the limit of the Pontic Sea.

Here on the mainland near the city Cyta

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the raucous Phasis, after racing down

the Amarantian mountains and across

the plain of Circe, empties liberally

into the sea.

While rowing up that river

you will discern the towers of Aeëtes

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at Cyta, and the gloomy grove of Ares

where a serpent dreadful to behold,

a monster, glares all round, forever guarding

the fleece that lies across an oak tree's crown.

Neither day nor night does honeyed slumber

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vanquish the thing's insatiable surveillance.”

Such was his prophecy, and terror gripped

the heroes. Long they stood there gaping, dumbstruck.

At last the son of Aeson, at a loss

before the terror of it all, spoke out:

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“Venerable man, thus far you have foretold

the ways and worries of our quest's completion

and warned us of the omen we must heed

when passing through those dreadful Clashing Rocks

into the Pontic Sea. But I am eager

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to learn as well if we must suffer through them

a second time while sailing back to Greece.

How can I do it? How can I survive

a second endless journey through the sea?

I am an untried man, my comrades, too,

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are untried men, and Colchian Aea

lies at the limit of the Pontic Sea,

the far end of the earth!”

So Jason spoke.

The hoary prophet uttered in response:

“Once you have passed those deadly Rocks alive,

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my son, have confidence. Some god will guide you

along a different path out of Aea,

and on the way there you'll have guides enough.

But I advise you, friends, do not dismiss

the goddess Cypris and her slippery

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assistance, since the glorious fulfillment

of your adventure lies with her. No further,

ask me no further questions on these matters.”

So prophesied the son of Agenor.

Just then the sons of Thracian Boreas

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came swooping down out of sky and brought

their feathered feet to rest upon the threshold.

All the heroes leapt out of their seats

at their return. Still panting from exertion,

Zetes informed his eager audience

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how far they drove the Harpies, how the goddess

Iris had flown in, blocked the slaughter of them,

and kindly sworn an oath, and how the Harpies

had taken refuge in a giant cave

within Mount Dicte.

Their report delighted

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everyone, but Phineus most of all,

and Jason son of Aeson, overflowing

with kindliness, addressed the aged man:

“Phineus, certainly some god has looked

warmly on your distress and brought us here

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from Hellas so that Boreas' sons

could save you. Now,
if only light could shine

again within your eyes, I'd be as happy

as if I had returned to Greece in safety.”

So he proclaimed, but Phineus glumly answered:

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“My blindness, Jason, cannot be undone,

nor is there hope it will be in the future.

My eyes are void, completely withered. No,

I wish some god would grant me death instead.

When I am dead and gone, I shall be basking

in perfect brilliance.”

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Thus the two men spoke,

and soon thereafter, while they were conversing,

Dawn the Early Riser came again,

and Phineus' neighbors gathered round him—

the men who, in the time before the Harpies,

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came every morning, bearing him some food

out of their stores. An old man even then,

he gave his prophecies and heartfelt blessings

to all who came, even the poorest of them,

and soothed the woes of many with his art.

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That's why the people came and cared for him.

Among them was a certain man,
Paraebius,

Phineus' most devoted friend,

and he was glad to find the strangers there

because the seer had long ago proclaimed

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a band of heroes on a voyage bound

from Hellas to Aeëtes' citadel

would tie their cables to the Thynian land

and, with divine approval, stop the Harpies

from landing there. Once Phineus had sated

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these guests with prudent words, he sent them out

and asked Paraebius alone to stay

among the heroes. Then he sent him out

to lead the finest sheep out of the folds.

Once he had left them, Phineus explained

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gently about him to the gathered oarsmen:

“My friends, not everyone is arrogant

and heedless of a favor done to him.

This man, such as he is, once came to me

to learn about his destiny. You see,

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though he had labored much and struggled more,

an ever-growing scarcity of means

kept grinding him away. Day after day

matters were worse for him until no ease

relieved his toil.

In fact,
he had been paying

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the dire wages of his father's error.

One day his father, in the act of felling

trees in the mountains, scorned a wood nymph's plea.

You see, she had been weeping, begging him

please not to chop her oak tree down, her age-mate.

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She had been living in its trunk and boughs

for many years. He was a young man, though,

and scornful, so he rashly cut it down.

The wood nymph fixed the fate of constant failure

on him and all his heirs as retribution.

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When Paraebius, that fellow's son,

came to me, I discerned the curse and told him

to build an altar to that Thynian nymph

and lavish gifts upon it in atonement,

begging her, all the while, please to forgive

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his father's malice. Ever since he slipped

that god-sent doom, he has remembered me.

In fact, whenever I excuse him for a time,

he grudgingly departs, so scrupulous

is he in standing by me in my troubles.”

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So Phineus explained, and there he was,

Paraebius, at hand again, returning

with two sheep chosen from his master's sheepfold.

Jason arose and, at the old man's bidding,

the sons of Boreas stood up beside him.

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Then, calling on Apollo God of Prophets,

Phineus slew the victims on the hearth

just as the day was drawing to a close.

The younger men prepared a heartening feast

for their companions. When they all had eaten,

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some went to sleep among the
Argo
's cables,

others in clusters all throughout the house.

That morning
the Etesian Winds arose.

These are the winds that blow throughout the world

with equal strength, at the behest of Zeus.

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A maiden named Cyrene, it is said,

once tended sheep among the men of yore

along the flats of the Peneus River.

She plied this trade because virginity

was sweet to her, and an untainted bed.

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One day, while she was pasturing her flocks

along the riverbank, Apollo snatched her

up from Haemonia and set her down

among the nymphs who dwell in Libya

beside the Hill of Myrtles. There she bore

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Phoebus a child, a son named Aristaeus

(though men in barley-rich Haemonia

know him as Agreus and Nomius).

The god so loved Cyrene that he made her

an ageless huntress in her newfound land.

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He carried off the child, though, to be brought up

in Cheiron's cave. When he was grown, the Muses

arranged his marriage and instructed him

in all the arts of prophecy and healing.

They also made him keeper of the sheep

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that grazed the Athamantian plain of Phthia

beside steep Othrys and the holy-flowing

Apidanus.

When down out of the heavens

the
Dog Star Sirius was searing all

the isles of Minos, and for many days

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the locals suffered but could find no cure,

they begged assistance from the oracle

of Phoebus, who commanded them to summon

Aristaeus to expel the drought.

So, at his father's bidding, he set forth

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from Phthia, rounded up some Parrhasians

(who are, in fact, the heirs of Lycaon),

and settled them in Ceos. There he raised

a mighty shrine to Zeus the God of Rain

and duly offered on the mountaintops

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sacrifice to the Dog Star Sirius

and Zeus the son of Cronus. That is why

Etesian winds descend from Zeus to cool

the earth for forty days, and still today

the priests in Ceos offer sacrifice

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before the Dog Star Sirius appears.

So runs the story of the winds.

The heroes

were held up there awhile and, every day

they stayed, the Thynians sent them countless presents

to thank them for relieving Phineus.

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Then, once the gales had calmed, they built an altar

in honor of the twelve immortal gods

on the opposing shore, heaped it with gifts,

boarded the
Argo,
and began to row.

And they did not forget to bring along

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a bashful dove—
Euphemus was the one

who seized it, frightened, trembling, in his hand.

Then they unbound the cables from the land.

Nor did Athena fail to mark their heading.

All in an instant she had set her feet

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upon an airy cloudlet that provided

swift conveyance, weighty though she was,

and so she hastened to the Pontic Sea

to do the crew a favor. When a man

goes traveling outside his fatherland

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(as we long-suffering mortals often do),

no land seems out of reach, the ways and means

shine in his mind, and he can see his house

and picture traveling by path and channel

and with his swift thoughts visit now one country

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and now another in imagination,

so Zeus' daughter leapt out of the cloud

and instantly set foot upon the hostile

Thynian shore.

Soon as the heroes reached

the narrows of the mazy strait, they found

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sharp outcrops closing in on either side

and hectic whirlpools churning up white water

around the ship. They made their way in horror.

The rumble of the Clashing Rocks already

assailed their senses, and the sea-washed headlands

echoed the noise.

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Euphemus then ascended

the prow beam, dove in hand, and all the oarsmen,

under the orders of the steersman Tiphys,

rowed at their ease to save up strength enough

to pull them through the crisis. When the heroes

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rounded the final bend, they saw the Rocks

dividing, and their spirit drained away.

Euphemus launched the dove, which on its wings

shot forth and flew between the ranks of oarsmen.

They turned their heads to watch it go, and then

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the two rock faces crashed together. Spouts

of seething spray shot upward like a mist,

the sea was far from cheerful in its roaring,

and everywhere the mighty air was trembling.

Down at the Rocks' foundations hollow sea caves

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boomed as the brine came boiling up within them.

The white spume of the falling waves erupted

above the Rocks, and riptides spun the ship.

Still, though the twin peaks nipped her hindmost feathers,

the dove got clear—she made it through alive.

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The oarsmen raised a hearty cheer, and Tiphys

commanded them to row with all their strength

because the Rocks were opening again.

Trembling seized them as they heaved, but soon

the same wave as before propelled them forward,

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with its returning wash, between the Rocks.

Insufferable dread took hold of them:

the doom impending there on either side

seemed inescapable. Though for a moment

the level Pontus shimmered far and wide

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beyond the Rocks, a sudden wave arose

before them, vaulted like a steep cliff face.

They cocked their heads to duck because it seemed

that arching wall of froth would soon collapse

onto the deck and swamp them. Just in time, though,

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Tiphys reined the ship in as it labored

under the oars. The great wave slithered off

beneath the keel but, with its passing, lifted

the stern into the air and dragged the
Argo

back outside the Clashing Rocks.

Euphemus

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walked the deck commanding his companions

to pour their strength into the oars. Groaning,