John Gardner - Jason and Medeia

and we built

an altar and made a great sacrifice of sheep. When that was done and we’d feasted our fill, I spoke to them

again, framed words

to suit their needs and mine, and to please the

Argonauts,

indeed, to please even Orpheus, if possible.

“ ‘Zeus is most truly the all-seeing god! Sooner or later

we god-fearing men that uphold the right must come to

his attention.

See how he rescued your father Phrixos from a heartless

woman,

his cruel step-mother, and made him a wealthy man

besides.

And see how he saved you yourselves, preserved you in

the deadly storm

and brought you directly to those who have come here

in search of you!

And finally this: see how he’s armed you, not only with

swords

but with fighting companions, the mightiest fighters now

living — Akastos,

my cousin, and Phlias, my father’s half-brother (don’t

mind those staring

eyes: he has no mind; a dancer) — and Orpheus, king of all harpers, and Mopsos, king of all seers, and

Argus,

famous artificer—’ Thus I named them all, and praised

them,

praising the god. They listened smiling, heads bowed.

I said:

The sacred vow you have sworn to your dying father

gives all

this crew, I think, new purpose. For it cannot be hidden,

I think,

loath though I am to speak of it — that we’ve suffered

great losses,

sorrows and pains that have checked us, nearly

overcome us. Your vow—’

I paused, as if undecided. ‘On board our ship you can

travel

eastward or westward, whichever you choose. Either to

the city

Aietes rules, or home to your dear Orkhomenos. You’ll

need

no stronger craft, your own smashed to bits by the

angry sea,

never having come, if I remember, even to the Clashing

Rocks,

those doors no ship but the Argo has ever passed.’ I

frowned,

pretended to reflect, like a man who’s lost his thread.

And then:

‘However, it seems to me that you may have forgotten

something.

Who but Zeus could have brewed up this terrible

storm? Must we not

atone, disavow the intended sacrifice to Zeus of

Phrixos—

curse, these many years, of all the Akhaian isles, and mockery of all his justice? And was not the golden fleece your father’s — a prize he gave up to Aietes’ might,

forgetting

that gifts of the gods are loans? I am not a seer, of

course.

I may be wrong. On the other hand, if you served as

our pilots,

running no risk but the sea, who knows what peace

it might mean

for Phrixos’ ghost? This much seems sure: When winds

churn waves,

the god of the sky is aware of it. If we help you flee, against his will, it may be not even Athena can save her ship. — But the deathbed vow is yours, of course,

not ours.’

I spoke it gently, like a slow man thinking aloud. They

stared—

the sons of Phrixos — aghast. They knew well enough,

no doubt,

Aietes would not prove affable if we dared to steal that fleece. Young Melas spoke, when he found his voice.

‘Lord Jason,

be sure you can count on our help in any other trouble

but this!

Aietes is nobody’s fool, and anything but weak. He

claims

his father was the sun. You’d believe it, if ever you saw

him! His men

are numberless, and the fiercest warriors on earth. His

voice

is terrifying. He’s huge as the god of war. It will be no easy trick to snatch that fleece. It’s guarded, all

around,

by a serpent, deathless and unsleeping, a child of Hera

herself,

the mightiest beast in the world. Your scheme’s

impossible!’

The Argonauts paled at his words. Then Peleus spoke.

‘My friend,

if all you say is true, and the thing’s impossible, at least we might see this snake, as a tale for our

grandchildren.

And yet it may be, at the last minute, we may happen

to spot

some oversight in Aietes’ careful precautions. I say we look, then scurry if we must.’ At once all the

Argonauts

took heart. Mad Idas rolled up his eyes, all piety. ‘Men who make vows to the dying should try to fulfill

them, if it’s

convenient,’ he said. We laughed to prevent him from

more. I said:

‘It’s late. We’ll talk of this further tomorrow.’ The crew

agreed.

We slept, Peleus on watch, by my order, lest Phrixos’

sons

evade the promised discussion and leave us marooned.

At dawn

we persuaded them, sailed east. By dark we were passing

the isle

of Philyra. From there to the lands of the Bekheiri, the Sapeires, the Byzeres, travelling with all the speed the light wind gave. The last recess of the Black Sea

opened

and gave us a view of the lofty crags of the Caucasus, where Prometheus stood chained with fetters of bronze,

screaming,

an eagle feeding on his liver. We saw it in late

afternoon,

the eagle high above the ship in the yellow-green light.

It was near

the clouds, yet it made all the canvas quiver in the

wind as its wings

beat by. The long white feathers of its terrible wings

rose, fell,

like banks of highly polished oars. Soon after the

eagle passed,

we heard that scream again. Then again it passed

above us,

flying the same way it came. So Aietes would scream,

I swore,

and all his sycophants.

“Night fell, and after a time,

guided by Melas, we came in the dark to the estuary of Phasis, where the Black Sea ends. Then quickly we

lowered sail

and stowed the sail and yard in the mastcage, and

lowered the mast

beside them; then rowed directly to the river. It rolled in

foam

from bank to bank, pushed back by the Argo’s prow.

On the left,

the lofty Caucasus Mountains and the city of Aia; on

the right,

the plain of Ares and the sacred grove where the snake

kept watch

on the fleece, spread coil on coil through the groaning

branches of an oak,

the mightiest oak in the world. We stared in wonder,

in the moonlight.

I glanced at Orpheus’ lyre. He smiled, shook his head.

‘Not this one.’

I turned toward Mopsos. Tire in the tree, you think?’

He laughed.

‘And make that creature cross, boy? Not on your life!’

The dusky

eyes stared out at us, dreaming, if old snakes dream.

I poured

libations out, pure wine as sweet as honey from a golden cup — a gift to the river, to earth, to the gods of the hills, to the spirits of the Kolchian dead. Then the boy

Ankaios spoke:

‘We’ve reached the land of Kolchis. The time has come

to choose.

Will we speak to Aietes as friends, or try him some

harsher way?’

Nobody answered him, all of us weighing the power

of the snake.

“Advised by Melas, I ordered my men to row the Argo to the reedy marshes, and to moor her there with

anchor stones

in a sheltered place where she could ride. We found one,

not far off,

and there we passed the night, our eyes wide open,

waiting.

No one asked me now if the thing we were doing

made sense.

War proves itself — all reason slighter than a feather

in the wind

beside that strange aliveness, chilling of the blood,

dark joy.

We’d become what we were, at last: a machine for theft:

a creature

stalking the creature in the tree, our multiple wills

interlocked,

our multiple hungers annealed by the heat of the great