John Gardner - Jason and Medeia

“The Argo

was ready, equipped with all that goes into a well-found

ship

when pressing business carries people to sea. We made our way to the shore where the ship lay grumbling,

muttering to herself

to be gone. A crowd of excited townsfolk gathered

around us,

tall men, some of them, some of them fine to see; but set by the best of them all, the Argo’s crew stood out

like stars

in a dark, beclouded sky. If we weren’t a match for

Aietes,

Keeper of the Fleece, then nobody was. As the people

watched us

hurrying along in our armor, one of them said — a

wail—

“Zeus! Pelias has lost his mind! Who’d dare to drive such men as these from Akhaia? If Aietes dares to

refuse

the golden fleece when they ask for it, they can send

up his palace

in flames the same day they land. — But the ship must

get there first.

I’ve heard men say there are dangers beyond what a

god would face.’

The women stood weeping, their hands stretched up

in prayer to the gods

for our safe return. There was one, an old servant that

I knew. Her eyes

bored into me, and she wailed of my mother with

a harsh voice

and a maniac look, pretending she didn’t know me.

I stood

like a child before her, shaken, rooted to the spot.

“ ‘Ye gods,’

she moaned, ‘poor Alkimede! Thank God I’ve got no son! Better for her if she’d long since gone to her lonely

grave,

wrapped head to foot in her winding-sheet, still ignorant of this madman’s expedition!? that Phrixos had sunk in the dark waves where Helle died, and the

monstrous golden

ram still clamped in his legs!? why was Jason—

heartless,

arrogant fool — not born to her dead, to spare her this? She weeps her eyes out, cries and cries in such

black despair

that her sobs come welling too fast for Alkimede to

sound them. He might

have buried his mother with his own hands — that

much at least

he might have stayed to do for her, having sea-dogged

half

his life, far out of her sight, carousing with strangers,

fighting

all men’s wars but his father’s, and his poor old

mother worried

sick! She stood as high in her time as any woman in Akhaia. But now she’s left like a servant in an

empty house,

widowed, pining in misery after her only son who cares no more for his mother than he would for

a dying dog,

care for nothing and nobody, only for Jason, apple of her eye — and apple of his own! Dear gods, I wish

you could see

how slyly that boy consoles her — and believes every

word of it

himself, as if Jason could do no wrong! “Dear mother,”

says he,

all piety, “do not be grieved that I leave you alone. We’re all alone, we mortals, whether we’re near to

each other

or far apart. Locked inside ourselves, foolishly, blindly struggling to do what’s right.” He moons out the

window, sad

as a priest, and she’s impressed by it. — Oh my but

that boy

can be pretty, when he likes! He kisses her hand and

tells her, “Do not

be afraid, Mother. I’m doing what the gods demand.

The omens

show it. We used to be rich, Mother. Now that

we’re poor,

we ought to have learned that nothing counts but the

gods’ friendship.

Let me serve them; then when you die, you’ll die in

peace,

whether I’m near or not. You’ve told me yourself,

Mother,

that all there is in the world, at last, is the war or peace of dying men and the old undying gods. The omens favor the trip. I must go.” And he kisses her cheeks.

Ah, Jason!

Cunning burled so deep he can’t see it himself! Omens! Did he ask his friends the augurers what omens they see for his mother? Or Pelias? Or the city? Would that the

birdsongs sang

his death!’

And then she was gone; her black shawl

vanished in the crowd.

My throat was dry with shame. I was numb. I stood

too stunned

to think. If I could have summoned speech that instant,

I might

have called it off on the spot, to hell with the

consequences.

But then, from nowhere, a man appeared at my side,

a man—

or god, who knows? — hooded till only his beard

peeked out.

I thought by the mad-dog hunch of his shoulders, the

growl in his throat,

it was crazy Idas, Lynkeus’ brother. He touched my arm. ‘She never liked you, did she, man.’ The words

confused me.

I remembered the old woman’s slapping me once, and

calling out sharply,

another time — I was only a child, and I wasn’t to

blame for

whatever it was she charged me with. My mind grew

clouded.

“I moved in a kind of daze toward the boat, the streets of the city behind me, and I racked my brains over

whether or not

the woman was right. When I came down to the

beach, my friends

were waiting, waving. They raised a shout so loud

the gulls

flew higher in sudden alarm. The crew was grinning,

their armor

blazing like the sun at noon. They pointed, and I looked

behind me,

and lo and behold, Akastos himself was running toward

me,

Pelias’ son! He’d slipped away from the house while

the king

was sleeping, bound to go out with us, whether

the old man liked

or not. I seized my cousin in my arms and laughed,

and we ran

to the ship. And so I forgot what the old crone said,

or forgot

till later, miles from shore.

“The wind was right, the ship

and the Argonauts both eager to go, and the sooner

the better.

I stood on a barrel and waved my arms for attention.

I shouted,

and the Argonauts grew quiet. Three last details,’ I said. The sea-wind whipped my words away. I shouted louder. The first is this. We’re all partners in the voyage to

Kolchis,

the land where Aietes guards the golden fleece, and

we’re partners

bringing it home — we hope. So it’s up to you to choose the best man here as our leader. And let me warn you,

choose

with care, as if our lives depended on it. ’ When I had spoken, they turned like one man toward Herakles, where he sat in the center of the crowd, and with one

voice they called out,

‘Herakles!’ But the hero scowled and shook his head, and without stirring from his seat, raising his right

hand

like a pillar, he said, ‘No, friends, I must refuse.

And I must

refuse, also, to let any other man stand up. The man who wears the pelt of a panther has shown

good sense

so far — Jason, Aison’s son. Let Jason lead.’

“They clapped at his generosity and slapped my back, praising my cunning, swearing that I was the man

for the job,

no doubt of it! What can I say? I was flattered, excited. — But no, the thing’s more complicated. I was a boy,

remember,

and beloved of the goddess of will, as many things since

have proved.

It had never crossed my mind that the crew would

turn like that,

as if they’d planned it, and all choose Herakles. — And

now

when the giant handed it back to me, and led the

clapping

himself, grinning, white teeth flashing, his muscular

face

all innocence, so open and boyish that we all smiled too, what I secretly felt was jealousy, almost rage. It makes me laugh now. What a donzel I was! But ah, at the

time,

how my heart smarted, hearing them praise me like

a god! He was

their leader, whatever they pretended. And rightly, of