Jason and the Argonauts (13 page)

they struck the water. But whatever headway

the
Argo
made by rowing, it retreated

twice as far, and, as the heroes heaved,

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the oars bent under them like back-bent bows.

A sudden wave then rushed them from behind,

and
Argo
coasted on the crest as smoothly

as if it were a sanded wooden roller.

So they proceeded through the air until

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a whirlpool sucked them in and spun them round

between the agitated Clashing Rocks.

The hull was sea-stuck.

So Athena braced

her left hand on a crag for leverage

and with her right shoved
Argo
from the stern.

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The ship went flying like a swift-winged arrow,

and, when the Rocks came hurtling together,

they only nipped the stern post's tip abaft.

Once they had gotten through alive, Athena

flew back to Mount Olympus, and the Rocks

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were rooted firmly in one place forever,

just as the gods had fated would occur

whenever someone saw them clash together

and still sailed through them to the other side.

The heroes caught their breath at last, shook off

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the chill of horror, then surveyed the sky

and flat sea stretching eastward out of view.

They felt as if they had escaped from Hades.

Tiphys was first to find his voice again:

“It was the ship itself, I think, that pulled us

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out of that pinch. Athena, though, deserves

the highest praise, since it was she who breathed

magical strength into the hull when Argus

was pounding dowels home into the planks.

Wrecking this ship would be like sacrilege.

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Now that a god has helped us to escape

those dreadful Clashing Rocks, no longer worry

about fulfilling Pelias' demands.

Phineus son of Agenor predicted

that, after this, our voyage would be easy.”

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So Tiphys reassured them as he steered

the ship through open sea beside the land

of the Bithynians. But Jason answered

with subtle words and sidelong purpose:

“Tiphys,

why are you trying to console my grief?

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I've made a horrid and unpardonable

blunder. When Pelias proposed the challenge,

I should have turned this journey down at once,

even if death, a savage death by torture,

was waiting for me. Now I wear a shroud

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of fear and dread past bearing—loathing travel

across the frigid sea but loathing, too,

the thought of landing, since the local tribesmen

are hostile everywhere. Night after night,

since first you all assembled for my sake,

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I have been spending wretched hours obsessing

over these worries. Each of you can speak

with unencumbered ease because you fear

for your one life alone, while I, your leader,

don't care a whit about my own but worry

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for each and every hero on this quest:

What if I fail to bring him back to Hellas?
”

So he proclaimed to test his comrades' mettle.

When they responded with enthusiastic

bellows and whoops, the heart grew warm within him.

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When he spoke again, he spoke with candor:

“Dear friends, my courage thrives on your devotion.

Even if I should now be traveling

into the mouth of Hades, fear would never

take hold of me, because you all have proved

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steadfast in time of crisis. Now that we

have sailed beyond the Clashing Rocks, I think

no future threat will be as great, so long

as we abide by Phineus' instructions.”

Thus he encouraged them, and they at once

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gave over conversation and returned

wholeheartedly to rowing. Soon they passed

the rapid Rhebas and Colona's peak,

the Sable Promontory and at last

the Phyllis River's mouth where, years before,

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Dipascus kindly welcomed to his halls

Athamas' son Phrixus who was fleeing

Orchomenus, his hometown, on the ram.

Because a meadow nymph had borne Dipascus,

weapons and war did not appeal to him,

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no, he preferred to settle with his mother

beside the waters of his father's river

and graze his flocks along the shore.

The heroes,

in passing, gazed upon his monument,

the wide banks of the Phyllis, then the plain

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beside it and the roiling Kalpa River.

The sun set, and they spent the windless night

just as they had been, heaving at the oars.

Imagine oxen laboring to furrow

muddy acres, how a spume of sweat

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drips from their necks and flanks: their eyes roll sideways

under the yoke, and constant panting scours

their arid throats and issues from their mouths.

All day they churn the earth, digging their hooves in—

that's the way the heroes heaved the oars

out of the ocean swell.

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At just the hour

when ambrosial dawn has not quite come

but there is not full darkness, since a haze

has crept into the night (that is, the hour

that early risers call “
the morning twilight”),

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the heroes rowed up to the desert island

of Thynias and with an insurmountable

weariness slogged ashore.
The son of Leto

revealed himself there. He was leaving Lycia

and striding far away toward the expansive

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dominions of the Hyperboreans.

And, as he moved, clusters of golden hair

swung loose and swept down over either cheek.

His left hand brandishing a silver bow,

a quiver hanging from his shoulder down

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across his back, he trod his course. The island

quaked with each footstep, and the breakers washed up

onto the beaches. As they watched him, helpless

amazement seized them all, and no one dared

to look directly at his dazzling eyes.

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They stood a long time gazing at the ground,

while he, aloof, proceeded through the air

across the sea. Some minutes later Orpheus

found his voice and said to his companions:

“Come now, and let us dedicate this island

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to Phoebus God of Dawn and name it for him

since it was here that we have seen him passing

before us as the sunrise. We shall build

a seaside shrine and give what offerings

we can procure. Afterward, if he grants us

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a safe homecoming in Haemonia,

we shall repay him with the burned thighbones

of hornéd goats. Now we must satisfy him

as best we can, with liquid offerings

and the aroma of the roast. O god,

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O revelation, please advance our quest.”

So he instructed them. Some right away

went to construct an altar out of stones

while others scoured the island in pursuit

of goat and deer, the sorts that commonly

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reside in forests. Leto's son provided

good hunting, and they duly immolated

two thighbones from each kill upon the altar.

Then, as the meat was cooking, they performed

a choral dance in honor of Apollo,

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the little boy, the Shooter of the Arrow.

The admirable offspring of Oeagrus

plucked his Bistonian lyre and started singing

how long ago Apollo on Parnassus

felled the beast Delphina with an arrow,

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and he did this while still a naked toddler,

still delighting in his curly hair

(Be gracious, lord, I beg you. Eternally

your tresses are unshorn, eternally.

It's sacred law that only Leto, daughter

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of Coeus, strokes them with her loving hands),

and the Corycian nymphs, the seed of Pleistus,

over and over urged the toddler on

by shouting
Hie
(“Shoot”), from which derives

the lovely ritual cry to summon Phoebus.

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After the heroes celebrated him

with choral song, they poured out pure libations,

laid their hands upon the festal meat,

and swore an oath always to aid each other

with singleness of purpose. Still today

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the shrine of kindly Harmony remains there,

the very one the heroes instituted

in honor of a venerable goddess.

Then, when the third dawn broke, they left the steep-cliffed

island with a strong west wind behind them.

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That day they passed on the opposing coast

the mouth of the Sangarius, the buxom

Mariandynian fields, the Lycus River's

ecstatic spate, and Lake Anthemoesis,

and all the halyards and the tackle strained

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before the gale as they went sailing onward.

The wind, though, started flagging in the night

and they were much relieved to reach at dawn

a bay inside the Acherousian headland,

a steep cape facing the Bithynian Sea.

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The surf rolls in uproariously around

the polished boulders rooted to its base,

and plane trees flourish all across the crest

from which a hollow dale slopes gently inland.

Within that dale
a cave that leads to Hades

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lurks behind rocks and shrubs, and from its depths

a chilling vapor rises every morning

and gathers in a glistening frost that thaws

beneath the midday sun. Never does silence

descend upon this gloomy cape because

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the restless sea stirs up a constant murmur

and subterranean breezes rouse the trees.

A river has its mouth here—Acheron,

which, following the valley from the crest,

cuts through the middle of the cape and empties

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into the Eastern Sea. Megarians

out of Nisaea later dubbed this cape

“The Sailors' Savior” since it saved their ship

from a horrendous storm when they were sailing

to colonize the Mariandynian land.

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Because the wind had recently died down

the Minyans were keen to row the
Argo

inside this breakwater and moor it there.

The Mariandynians and their leader Lycus

were not long unaware the soldiers anchored

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upon their shores were those who killed Amycus,

or so they had been told, and for that reason

they struck a truce, saluted Polyedeuces,

and welcomed him as if he were a god.

They had, you see, for quite some time been waging

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war on the insolent Bebrycians.

When the heroes came to town, they feasted

a whole day at the court of Lycus, forged

the bonds of friendship, and relieved their hearts

with conversation.
Jason named the names

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and pedigrees of each of his companions,

explained what mission Pelias had set them,

how the Lemnian women welcomed them,

and all that happened with the Doliones

and Cyzicus their king. He also told him

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how, when they came to Mysia and the Cius,

they happened to abandon Heracles,

what prophecies the sea god Glaucus gave them,

and how they beat Amycus and his people.

Next he recounted Phineus' woes

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and prophecies and how they had survived

the Clashing Rocks and, only lately, spotted

the son of Leto rising from an island.

King Lycus took heartfelt delight in hearing

all these adventures just as they had happened,

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but sorrow gripped him when he heard the news

of the abandonment of Heracles,

and he commiserated with the heroes:

“Friends, you have lost a great man's help by losing

Heracles the hero in the midst of

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your lengthy voyage to Aeëtes' palace.

Heracles was my friend, in fact. I met him

here in my father Dascylus' house

long, long ago when he was traveling

through boundless Asia on a quest to win

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the belt of war-obsessed Hippolyta.

I was a young man when we met. The down

had only freshly sprouted on my cheeks,

and funeral games were being held in honor

of Priolas my brother. (Mysians killed him,

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and since his death the people here have sung him

heartrending dirges.) In the boxing match

Heracles beat the dashing Titias,

who was supreme among us younger men

in strength and beauty. Yes, he knocked his teeth out

onto the ground.

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Heracles subjugated

the Mysians beneath my father's rule,

then the Mygdones who are neighbors to us,

then some Bithynians and their land as far as

the Rhebas River and Colona's peak.

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In fact, the Paphlagonian heirs of Pelops

(that is, those hemmed in by the dark Billaeus)

surrendered without putting up a fight.