Jason and the Argonauts (16 page)

cringed upon hearing of the quest. They thought

Aeëtes was unlikely to be gentle

with men that sought to take the fleece from him,

and Argus tried to talk them out of it:

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“My friends, whatever strength we have to help you

shall never fail to serve your cause. We shall assist you

whenever need arrives. Aeëtes, though,

has fortified himself in dreadful fashion

with savage cruelty, so I greatly doubt

your quest will be successful.

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King Aeëtes

boasts he was born the son of Helius,

and countless tribes of Colchians support him.

The man could rival Ares with his war cry,

muscle, and vigor. Nor would it be easy

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to steal the fleece without Aeëtes' knowledge.

The dragon standing sentinel before it

is of the worst sort—deathless, never-sleeping.

Mother Earth begot it on the slopes

of the Caucasus, on the Rock of Typhon—

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you know, where Typhon with his mighty hand grip

climbed up to challenge Zeus. The legends tell us

Cronian Zeus' lightning blasted him

right there atop the jagged peak, and steamy

blood came welling up out of his head.

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He dragged himself, then, wounded, toward
the mountains

and reached the plain of Nysa where he lies

submerged beneath the tide of Lake Serbonis

down to this very day.”

So Argus warned them.

When the heroes learned what was before them,

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terror blanched their cheeks, that is, the cheeks

of all but Peleus. He answered Argus

straight off, with resolution in his voice:

“My friend, don't try to spook us with your talk.

We're not so inexperienced in warcraft

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that we would fall beneath Aeëtes' arms.

No, we are heading in prepared, I think,

since we are offspring of the blessed gods.

So, if the king will not do us a favor

and offer up the fleece, I doubt his countless

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Colchians will be much assistance to him.”

So they conversed awhile among themselves,

then feasted once again and went to sleep.

A breeze was blowing when they rose that morning,

so they set forth, the sail stretched taut before

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the onrush of the wind, and soon enough

they left the Isle of Ares in their wake.

That night they passed the island of Philyra.

Here, back when Cronus, Ouranos' youngest,

ruled his Titan kin on Mount Olympus

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(
and infant Zeus was in a cave on Crete

tended by the Idaean Curetes),

Cronus went off to meet up with Philyra

behind his consort Rhea's back. When Rhea

caught them in the act of making love,

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he changed himself into a long-maned horse,

kicked himself out of bed, and galloped off.

Philyra, daughter of the Ocean, left

her dear old home and island in disgrace

and settled down among the lofty mountains

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of the Pelasgians, and there it was

she foaled at length Cheiron: half man, half horse,

product of an extra-species union.

From there they sailed on, skirting the Macrones,

the never-ending land of the Becheiri,

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the proud Sapeires, even the Byzeri.

So, swept along by favorable winds,

they ever onward cleaved their course. And now

the far end of the Pontic Sea appeared

before their rapid progress. Now arose

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the summits of the sheer Caucasus Mountains

where
Prometheus was hung, his limbs

fixed to a rough cliff face by cuffs of bronze.

He served his liver to an eagle daily;

daily the bird returned to rip it out.

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The heroes spotted outspread wings toward dusk

passing above the masthead near the clouds.

The huge and churning pennons loudly whispered,

puffing the sails. No, this was not a normal

bird of the air, but bigger, and it worked

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its feathered wings like smoothly polished oars.

They soon discerned Prometheus' anguished

howl as, again, his liver was devoured.

The air was full of shrieks until they saw

the cruel eagle flying from the mountain

back the way that it had come.

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That evening,

under Argus' unfailing guidance,

they reached wide-flowing Phasis and the eastmost

edge of the Pontic Sea. Straightway they struck

the sail and yardarm, stowed them in the hold,

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and then stepped down the mast and laid it out

beside them. Quickly under oar, they entered

the river's mighty current, and it yielded,

foaming, before them. The sublime Caucasus

and the Cytaean city of Aea

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were larboard, and to port the plain of Ares

and Ares' sacred orchard, where the dragon

kept constant watch beneath the fleece spread out

across the crown of a luxuriant oak.

And Jason from a golden goblet poured

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honey-sweet offerings of unmixed wine

into the river, asking that the Earth,

the local deities, and all the shades

of the indigenous departed heroes

please be kind, benign, and blameless helpers

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and warmly welcome
Argo
to their shores.

Ancaeus, then, announced:

“We now have reached

the river Phasis and the land of Colchis.

The time has come to plan among ourselves

whether to ply Aeëtes with persuasion

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or whether other means will serve us best.”

So he announced. At Argus' suggestion

Jason told the crew to keep the ship

afloat at anchor after they had reached

a green lagoon inside the river's mouth,

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and so they spent the night. A few hours later

day broke, the day that they had been expecting.

BOOK 3

Come now,
Erato, stand beside me, tell me

how, through the passion of
Medea, Jason

returned the fleece to Iolcus. Yes, you, too,

enjoy your share of Cypris' dominion.

5
Your magic spellbinds marriageable maidens

with thoughts of love, and that is why, Erato,

Eros is in the lovely name you bear.

We left the heroes hiding in a blind

among some thickly growing reeds.
Athena

10
and Hera spotted them, despite their cover,

and slipped into a room to plait a plot

apart from Zeus and all the other gods.

Hera was first to ask what should be done:

“Since you are Zeus' daughter, you should be

15 (12)
the first to give advice. What should we do?

Can you devise some scheme by which the heroes

strip the golden fleece from King Aeëtes

and bring it back to Hellas? No, he's not

the sort they could persuade with honeyed phrases.

20
In fact, that man is such an awful bully

that we should shun no means of thwarting him.”

So she confided, and Athena answered:

“Hera, I also have been meditating

upon this matter, but my mind, for all

25
the many tactics I have weighed and measured,

has failed to find one that will do the trick.”

With that, they fixed their eyes upon the floor

and stood there each in her own world. Hera

first broke the silence to propose a plan:

30 (25)
“Come, let us go find Cyprian Aphrodite

and tell her that she must approach her son

and pressure him to sink a shaft into

Aeëtes' daughter, drug-adept Medea,

so that the girl is struck with lust for Jason.

35
I am quite certain that, with her assistance,

Jason will bring the fleece back home to Greece.”

So she proposed. The shrewd scheme satisfied

Athena, and she uttered honeyed words:

“Hera, I am as my father made me—

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oblivious to that little fellow's arrows.

Love charms and all such things are lost upon me.

Still, if you like this plan, I'll go along . . .

please, though, do all the talking when we see her.”

So spoke she, and they rose and promenaded

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over to Cypris' colossal palace

(the one her hobbled husband had constructed

before he led her out of Zeus' halls).

Once inside the walls, they reached a courtyard

and strode on to the chamber that the goddess

50
shared with her man
Hephaestus. He himself

had gone at daybreak to his forge and anvils

in a vast cavern on a Floating Island

where he would daily cast with blasts of fire

ingenious miracles of metalwork.

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So, left alone again, the goddess Cypris

was lounging on a couch inlaid with bronze.

Her mane of hair let down and dangling over

either spotless shoulder, she was using

a golden comb to work the tangles out

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before she wove the tresses into braids.

Soon as she saw the goddesses before her,

she paused and bade them enter. Then she rose,

sat them on couches, sat herself back down,

and tied her hair above her head because

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there still was brushing to be done. All smiles,

she greeted them with pointed deference:

“Dear ladies, welcome! Why, what pressing purpose

could bring such reverend matrons to my home?

What has come over you?
Before today

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you never over-often deigned to pay me

such honor, since you move in higher spheres.”

Hera retorted then: “You mock us, dear.

But, seriously now, we face a matter

of life or death. Already Aeson's son

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and all who follow questing for the fleece

at anchor ride beside the banks of Phasis.

Now that the crucial moment is at hand,

we're worried to distraction for them all,

but most for Jason. Though he chart a course

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far off to Hades' palace to release

Ixion from his bondage, all my strength,

so long as strength remains, shall go to guard him.

Nor shall I suffer Pelias to shirk

a well-earned death and live to laugh at me.

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Rash fool! To fail to pay my shrines their due!

But it was well before that king's neglect

that
Jason proved his worth and won my favor:

when the Anauros crested, chest-high, over

the ford, he strode up glistening from the hunt,

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and I was out inspecting men's behavior.

Snowy, the mountain summits shone; runoff

through channel and ravine rolled rushing, swirling,

tumbling down. He pitied at the crossing

the weathered flesh I wore as a disguise.

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Once I was muscled up onto his back,

he shouldered me across the heaving rapids—

hence my unquenchable esteem for him.

But Pelias will not be forced to pay

for his atrocities unless you, dear,

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contrive safe passage for the son of Aeson.”

The queen had spoken. Cypris for a time

sat dumbstruck at the sight of Hera begging.

When she replied, she spoke in humbler guise:

“Queen, nothing would be more depraved than I,

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if I make light of your appeal, denying

helpful suggestion or whatever labor

impotent hands could work on your behalf.

Nor do I ask a favor in return.”

So Cypris spoke, and Hera in her turn

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uttered a calculated repartee:

“We've not come for your brawn or broadsword, dear.

All you must do is tell your son to spark

passion for Jason in Aeëtes' daughter.

For if she takes an interest in the man,

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she cherishes his cause and, when she does,

our hero will with trifling labor seize

the golden fleece and coast back home to Iolcus—

trust me, that girl was simply made for guile.”

So Hera spoke her mind, and Cypris voiced

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the following reply to both of them:

“But ladies, listen,
little Eros sooner

would heed your will than mine. Brash as he is,

his eyes might show some glimmer of respect

before such stately figures as yourselves.

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My discipline means nothing to him. Always

willful and wild, he cackles when I chide him.

Why, sick of all his antics, I once threatened,

in view of all the gods, to snap in half

his dismal-whizzing darts and short bow, too.

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Only wound up the more, the little monster

menaced me thus:
If you don't keep your mitts

far from my darts and let me get my way,

you might regret, Mommy, what you have done
.”

So she lamented. Hera and Athena

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smiled and bandied glances back and forth,

so she exclaimed again in agitation:

“Yes, yes, the whole world titters at my troubles.

I shouldn't publish them to all and sundry.

My private misery already more than

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suffices. All the same, because you both

have taken such an interest in the matter,

I shall sound him out, speak sweetly to him,

and never take his back talk for an answer.”

So Cypris promised them, and Hera squeezed

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her slender hand and spoke the final word:

“Accomplish now, forthwith, what we require

just as we said and just as you have promised.

And, dear, don't pout so, squabbling with your boy—

he will be all grown up before you know it.”

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She rose and, with Athena at her heels,

paraded back up to her husband's palace.

Cypris in turn wound around Mount Olympus,

searching the valleys for her wayward son.

The garden was blooming, and she found him there,

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but not alone; there, too, was Ganymede

whose bloom had moved the king of gods to make

a home for him in heaven among the immortals.

Cozy as neighbor boys, they played at dice

(there even dice are golden).
Little Eros

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stood clutching greedily against his breast

fists full of winnings. An impassioned flush

seethed on his cheeks. His playmate, though, sat silent

and grimaced as he sent his two last dice

tumbling, one by one, into the dirt.

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Ganymede frowned, Love cackled, and indeed

the last were lost as quickly as the rest.

The loser stalked off, cleaned out, empty-fisted,

failing to notice Cypris on the path.

She strode across the playground, chucked her son

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under the chin and gently scolded him:

“Mischievous little imp, why are you smirking?

Have you been bad and tricked a toddler? Well,

if you are good and do what Mommy says,

she has a treat for you.
A nice bright ball!

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All striped and shiny! Once upon a time

Zeus was a baby in a cave on Ida

and liked to play, so Adrasteia, his nanny,

made him this pretty toy. Handy Hephaestus

himself could not devise a finer plaything:

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Golden circlets hold the whole together.

Parallel hoops are sewn slantwise around them

to cinch them tight, and blue streaks round these hoops

in spirals wind and wander, hiding all

the seams and stitches. Toss it up, a train

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trails after, glittering like a comet's tail—

this will be your reward, but not before

you shoot Medea full of love for Jason.

Now go and do the deed; don't drag your feet,

for Mommy's kindness, later, may be less.”

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So spoke
she, and the words fell welcome on

his eager ears. Scattering dice before him,

he ran to hang upon his mother's skirts

with clenched fists and demanded his reward:

Now, Mommy, no, right now!
To soothe the fit,

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she pinched his cheeks and kissed him, hugged him close,

and, smirking, promised:

“Let your head and mine

attest the bargain: I shall not deceive you.

There—I have sworn. Now, if you want the toy,

go sink a shaft deep in Aeëtes' daughter.”

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So spoke she, and the god snatched up the dice,

reckoned the sum, and stuffed his mother's pockets

full of them. Then he ran and grabbed his quiver

from where it leaned, ready, against a tree,

slung it about him with a strap of gold,

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and gathered up his crooked little bow.

Brilliant around him bloomed the garden of Zeus,

the groves and orchards, but the boy rushed on,

flew through the gates of high Olympus.

Thence

opens the downward path; there double peaks

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like pillars of the earth vault ever upward

to keep the sky from falling; there the sun,

first upon rising in the morning, ruddies

the summits with extended beam. As Eros

was coasting unobstructed through the air,

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plump tilth and bustling towns and nymph-abounding

waterways passed into his view and then

strange ridges and a rounded swatch of sea.

The heroes, though, remained apart, concealed

among the river rushes, strategizing.

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Jason was speaking, and the men were seated

in order bench by bench, in silence, listening:

“Comrades, the plan I now shall lay before you

strikes me as wisest. Yours will be the task

of bringing it to pass. Our need is shared,

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and counsel, too, is shared among us all.

The man who locks his thoughts and wisdom up

in reticence should know that he alone

is keeping all of us from heading home.

While you remain at ease but under arms

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here on the
Argo,
I shall make my way

to King Aeëtes' palace—I myself,

the sons of Phrixus, and two other men.

Once I am granted audience, I shall test him

with words to find out whether he is willing

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to give the golden fleece up out of friendship

or whether he will balk, trust in his strength,

and block our quest. Thus we can sound the depth

of our distress and next consider whether

the implements of war will serve us better

240 (185)
or double-dealing, if we rule out war.

We shouldn't simply take the man's possession

until we have at least assessed his mind.

Surely it's wiser to approach him first

and try to win him over with entreaties.

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In rough spots words have often smoothed the way

and won what valor only could have won

with toil and sweat.

Consider this: Aeëtes

once welcomed worthy Phrixus when the latter

was running from his stepmother's deceit

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and slaughter at his father's hands. All men,

even the most contemptuous of them,