Jason and the Argonauts (15 page)

But, under Zeus' sway,

the northwest wind returned and pushed the heroes

beyond a cape where other Amazons,

Themiscyreans, girt their loins for battle.

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The Amazons, you see, did not inhabit

one city but were settled separately

in three tribes scattered all throughout the land:

those called Themiscyreans lived in one part

under the warrior queen Hippolyta,

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the Lycastians settled in another,

and the spear-mad Chadesians a third.

During the next day and the following night

the heroes skirted Chalybian country.

Pushing teams of oxen through the fields

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and sowing thought-sweetening plants and trees

hold no appeal for the Chalybes.

They cleave dense, iron-bearing soil instead

and barter what they find for wares and produce.

Dawn never rises for them without toil,

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more toil, unending toil in soot and smoke.

After the Chalybes, the heroes rounded

the Cape of Zeus God of the Genes River

and passed the country of the Tibarenians.

Here,
when a women is with child, her husband

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wraps his own head in towels, lies in bed,

and howls, and his woman brings him food

and draws and boils a childbirth bath for him.

After the Tibarenians they passed

a sacred mountain and the country where

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the Mossynoeci dwell along the slopes

in towers or the “mossynes” they take their name from.

Odd laws and customs mark their way of life.

Everything that we do out in the open

either in council or the marketplace,

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they find some way to do inside their homes,

and all the things we do inside our homes,

they do out in the middle of the street

without the least compunction. Public sex

is not disgraceful there. Like boars in heat,

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they feel not even slight embarrassment

with others present but engage their women

in open copulation on the ground.

Their ruler sits inside the highest tower,

rendering personal verdicts to his subjects—

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poor wretch, since, if his rulings seem unfair,

they lock him up in prison for a day

without a meal.

After the Mossynoeci,

they labored dead ahead toward Ares' Island,

hacking their course with oars all day because

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the gentle breeze had left them in the night.

And then they spotted one of Ares' birds,

the special breed indigenous to the island,

flitting back and forth above their heads.

With one wing pump above the moving ship,

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it launched a tapered feather dart, which struck

the left shoulder of noble Oileus.

Injured, he dropped his oar, and his companions

sat awestruck gaping at the tufted shaft.

His bench mate Eurybotes yanked it out,

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unhitched the sword belt running through his scabbard,

and bound the wound. Soon, though, a second fowl

was circling like the first. This time the hero

Clytius, the offspring of Eurytus,

because he had his longbow nocked and ready,

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released a speedy arrow, struck the bird,

and brought it, spinning, down into the sea

beside the heaving
Argo
. Amphidamus

son of Aleus spoke his mind among them:

“Now the Isle of Ares is at hand.

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You yourselves, doubtless, guessed the news already,

since we have met the birds. I doubt that arrows

will be enough to get us to the shore,

so let us come up with a plan—that is,

if you respect the words of Phineus

and still intend a landfall here.

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Not even

Heracles, when passing through Arcadia,

had strength enough to drive off with his bow

the birds that rode on the Stymphalian slough.

I saw it all myself. No, what he did

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was stand atop a rock and make a racket

by shaking copper rattles—all the birds

fled from the noise in terror and confusion.

We should devise some similar arrangement,

and I will tell you what I have in mind:

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let's all set on our heads our high-plumed helmets,

and half our number, every other of us,

mind the rowing, while the other half

walls off the ship with polished spears and shields.

Then we should all raise so grotesque an uproar

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that they scatter at the strangeness of it—

the ruckus, bobbing crests, and brandished spears.

And if we make it to the island, then

make noise by clattering your shields together.”

So he proposed, and everyone accepted

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his prudent plan. They set atop their heads

helmets forged from brightly glinting bronze

with crimson feathers flickering above them.

Half of the heroes plied the oars, and half

covered the
Argo
's deck with shields and spears.

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As when a fellow roofs his house with tile

to trim it and protect against the rain,

and each tile dovetails snugly with the next,

so half the heroes locked their shields together

and roofed the ship. The clangor that arose

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from ship to air resembled the percussion

that rises from opposing hordes when soldiers

dash together, and the ranks collide.

Soon enough, every single bird had vanished.

But when the heroes neared the shore and clashed

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their shields, thousands of them of a sudden

took to the air and flew in all directions.

Just as the son of Cronus shoots thick hail

down out of thunderheads onto the homes

of people sitting patiently inside,

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listening to the rattle at their ease

because the stormy months are no surprise,

and they have wisely reinforced their roofs,

so did the birds rain feathered missiles down

as they went flying off across the ocean

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toward the massifs that mark the world's end.

But what did Phineus really have in mind

in telling that divine brigade of heroes

to anchor there? What benefit would come

to them thereafter, as they hoped it might?

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The sons of Phrixus had embarked upon

a Colchian ship and sailed out of Aea,

away from Cyta and Aeëtes, hoping

to reach the city of Orchomenus

and win the boundless riches of their father.

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This voyage was his dying proclamation.

But, on the day they neared the Isle of Ares,

Zeus urged the potent north wind on to blow

and marked Arcturus' wet route with showers.

All day long he gently shook the topmost

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leaves of the mountain forests but at night

swooped monstrously down upon the sea

with shriek and bluster puffing up the tide.

A dark mist veiled the heavens, and the stars

did not shine anywhere beyond the clouds.

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A murky gloom was brooding all around.

Half-drowned and dreading an abysmal death,

the sons of Phrixus weltered at the waves' whim.

The gales had long since snatched their sails away,

the roll shaken the ship, the hull broken

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in half, and now, just as the gods had planned,

the four of them were clinging to some flotsam

tightly fitted dowels had held together

when the ship broke up.

The wind and waves

carried the helpless men off toward the island,

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and they were close to drowning. Then another

horrendous squall erupted, and the rain

assailed the sea, the island, and the whole

coastline opposing it as far away

as where the haughty Mossynoeci dwelt.

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The swollen tide threw all the sons of Phrixus,

together with the planks, onto the shore.

The night had been a black one, but the torrents

Zeus had been hurling at them ceased at dawn,

and soon the two groups happened on each other.

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Argus the son of Phrixus called out first:

“Please, in the name of Zeus of Supplication

we beg of you, whoever you might be,

to take us in and help us in our need.

The dire storm winds, you see, roughed up the sea

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and broke apart the wretched ship on which

we had embarked out of necessity

to carry us across the swell. Therefore,

as suppliants we beg you please be kind

and give us clothes, enough to shield our skin.

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Please be compassionate and rescue men

like you, your age-mates, who are in distress.

Yes, honor us as guests and suppliants,

since guests and suppliants belong to Zeus,

and he, I hope, is watching over us.”

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Though Jason was suspecting all the while

that Phineus' words were being fulfilled,

he tactfully inquired in response:

“Yes, we are well-disposed. We shall provide you

with all you need. But tell me where you hail from,

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what circumstances drove you on this voyage,

and what good names and pedigrees are yours.”

All desperation in his shipwrecked state,

Argus replied:

“Not many years ago

a son of Aeolus named Phrixus traveled

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from Hellas to Aea—I suspect

you know the tale. He rode a flying ram

(and golden, too, since Hermes gilded it)

the whole way to the city of Aeëtes,

and still today the fleece is lying spread

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across the crown of a luxuriant oak.

The ram, you see, could talk as well and ordered

Phrixus to slaughter it in sacrifice

to Zeus the Exiles' God, the son of Cronus,

before the other gods. Aeëtes welcomed

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Phrixus into his court and gave his daughter

Chalciope to him, without the bride-price,

out of the kindness of his heart.

We four

are products of their love. But Phrixus, old

already at the time of his arrival,

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died at Aeëtes' court. We have resolved

to satisfy our father's dying wish

by sailing to Orchomenus to claim

Athamas' estate. If you would like

to know our names, this here is Cytissorus,

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this is Phrontis, this is Melas here,

and you may call me Argus.”

So he told them.

The heroes in delight and wonder greeted

the strangers, and the son of Aeson answered:

“It is as kinsmen on my father's side

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that you entreat us to relieve your plight:

Cretheus was the brother of Athamas,

and I, the grandson of that Cretheus,

am sailing from the very Greece you speak of

to King Aeëtes' city. We shall talk

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among ourselves about our kinship later.

Put on some clothing now. I do believe

you were marooned here by some god's design.”

So he proclaimed and gave them clothes to wear

out of the
Argo
. Linked in friendship, then,

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they strode to Ares' shrine to slaughter sheep

and offer them in sacrifice. Assembled

before the roofless temple, they assumed

their places round an altar built of fieldstone.

A black stone lay half-buried in the earth

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within the precinct. It was to this stone

the Amazons had once all prayed. In fact,

whenever they would venture from the mainland,

their laws prevented them from burning oxen

or sheep as sacrifices on this altar;

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rather, they butchered horses, giant horses

they fattened for a year. Only after

the heroes had performed the sacrifice

and dined upon the feast they had prepared,

did Jason speak among them. He began:

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“Zeus truly must be minding these affairs.

Whether devout or cruel and sacrilegious,

we mortals never can escape his gaze.

Zeus, for example, saved your father Phrixus

from murder at his mad stepmother's hands

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and gave him boundless wealth besides. So, also,

he brought you safe out of the deadly storm.

Our ship can sail wherever one might wish—

Aea or that rich and holy city

Orchomenus. Athena planned it out

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and with a bronze ax on the peak of Pelion

felled trees for planks, and Argus built it with her.

Your ship, though, cracked beneath the savage swell

before it even reached the Rocks that run

crashing together in the Pontic strait.

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Come, then, and be our helpers, too: we seek

the golden fleece to bring back home to Hellas.

Come, guide our course. I'm going to atone for

Phrixus' forced escape, which is the reason

Zeus has been angry with the Aeolids.”

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So Jason solaced them. The brothers, though,