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
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. —An
d
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
course, he was better,
as plainly superior to me as the sun to a mill wheel.
And yet
I resented him, and I burned like a coal at their
feigned delight,
their self-delusion, in choosing me. I had half a mind to quit, sulking, and crawl away to some forest and live like a hermit. Screw them all! At the same time,
however,
I wanted to lead them, whether or not I was worthy—
I was,
God knew (and I knew), ambitious. All my life I’ve hated standing in somebody’s shadow. So, with as good a grace as possible, I blinded myself to the obvious.
I accepted. Orpheus smiled, studying his fingernails.
“ ‘Second detail,’ I shouted, and cleared my throat—
looking
guilty as sin, no doubt. ‘If you do indeed trust me with this honorable charge—’ It came to me I was
putting it on
a trifle thick, and I hastily dropped the orbicular style. “We’ve two things left, and we may as well start on
both of them
at once. The first is the sacrifice to the gods—a feast to Phoibus, for warm, clear days, to Poseidon for
gentle seas,
and to Hera, who’s been my special friend—thanks to
Pelias’
scorn of her. Also an altar on the shore to Apollo, the god of embarkation. And while we’re waiting for
the slaves
to pick out oxen from the herd and drive them down
to us,
I suggest that we drag the Argo down into the water
and haul
our tackle on, and cast lots for the rowing benches.’ They all agreed at once and I turned, ahead of them
all—
to show my fitness as a leader, I suppose, or escape
their eyes—
and threw myself into the work. They leaped to their
feet and followed.
“We piled our clothes on a smooth rock ledge which
long ago
was scoured by seas but now stood high and dry. Then, at Argus’ suggestion, we strengthened the ship by
girding her round
with tough new rope, which we knotted taut on
either side
so her planks couldn’t spring from their bolts but would
stand whatever force
the sea might hurl against them. We hollowed a runway
out,
wide enough for the Argo’s beam, and we gouged it into the sea as far as the prow would reach, deeper and
deeper
as the trench advanced, below the level of her stem.
Then we laid
smooth rollers down, and tipped her up on the first of
the logs.
We swung the long oars inside out—the whole crew
moved
like a single man with a hundred legs—and we lashed
the handles
tight to the tholepins of bronze, leaving nearly a foot
and a half
projecting, to give us a hold. We took our places then on either side, and we dug in with our feet and put our chests to the oars. Then Tiphys, king of all
mariners, leaped
on board, and when he shouted, ‘Heave; we echoed
the shout
and heaved, putting our backs into it, pushing till
our necks
were swelled up like a puff-adder’s, and our thick legs
shook
and our groins cried out. ‘Ah!; the Argo whispered. ‘Ah!’ At the first heave we’d shifted the ship from where
she lay,
and we strained forward to keep her on the move.
And move she did!
Between two files of huffing, shouting Akhaians,
the craft
ran swiftly down to the sea. The rollers, ground and
chafed
by the mighty keel, wheezed like oxen at the ship’s
weight
and sent up a pall of smoke. The ship slid in and gave a cry and would have been off on her own to that
land of promise
if Herakles hadn’t leaped in and seized her, the rest of
us shouting,
straining back on the hawsers with all our might.
She rocked,
gentle on the tide, singing, and we watched that
gentle roll,
and my heart was hungry for the sea.
“No need to tell you more.
We piled up shingle, there on the beach, working
together
like one man with a hundred hands, and we made
an altar
of olive wood. The herdsmen came to us, driving
the oxen
and we hailed them, praising their choice. A few of us
dragged the great
square beasts to the altar, and others came with
lustral water
and barleycorns, and I called to Apollo, god of my
fathers,
as I would have called to a man I knew—that’s how
I felt
that morning, with the Argo singing, the men all
watching me,
arm in arm—I’d completely forgotten my resentment
now;
‘O hear us, Lord, Great God Apollo, you that dwell in Pegaisai, in Aison’s city, you that promised to be my guide! Lord, bring our ship to Kolchis and back, and my friends all safe and sound! We’ll bring you
countless gifts,
some in Pytho, some in Ortygia. O, Archer King, accept the sacrifice we bring you, payment in advance
for passage
safe to the fleece and home! Give us good luck as
we cast
the ship’s cable; and send fair weather and a gentle
breeze.’
“I sprinkled the barleycorns in the fire, and Herakles and mighty Ankaios girded themselves for their work
with the beasts,
the child Ankaios, twelve feet tall, still wearing his
bearskin.
The first ox Herakles struck on the forehead with his
club, and it fell
where it stood. Dark blood came dribbling from its nose
and mouth. The second
Ankaios smote with his huge bronze axe—blood sprayed
and steamed—
and the ox pitched forward onto both its horns. The
men around them
slit the animals’ throats, and flayed them, chopped
them up
with swords, and carved the flesh. They cut off the
sacred parts
from the thighs and heaped them together and, after
wrapping them
in fat, burned them on the faggots. I poured libations
out,
old unmixed wine. And Idmon the seer, with Mopsos
at his back,
both of them wise in the ways of the gods, watching
intently,
smiled and nodded, agreeing as surely as two heads
ruled
by a single mind, for the flames were bright that
surrounded the meat,
and the smoke ascended in dark spirals, exactly as it
should.
‘All’s well for you,’ they said, ‘though not for us all,
and not
without some troubles, and terr
ible dangers later.’ It was enough, God knows, for the moment. The crew was
jubilant.
“We finished our duties to the other gods in the
same spirit.
It seemed to us that they all stood around us smiling,
unseen,
like larger figures of ourselves, all arm in arm, as
we were,
some with their hands on our shoulders, sharing our
joy. Great Zeus,
the very sea and hills, it seemed, locked arms and
shared
our joy, our eagerness to go! I wouldn’t have given
much
that moment for the holy hermit’s life in his sullen
woods
or stalking the barren island conversing with gulls
and snakes
praying, clenching his teeth against the civilities of man!
“Then we all cast lots for the benches, choosing our
oars—
or all of us but Herakles, for the whole crew said, and rightly, that a giant like that should take the midships seat, and the boy Ankaios
beside him;
and Tiphys, they all agreed, should be our helmsman,
the man
who knew when a swell was coming from miles away.
It was settled.
“The time of day had come when, after his midday
rest,
the sun begins to stretch out shadows of rocks over
fields,
and trees are dark at the base but bright above. We’d
spent
too long at our preparations. But no use fretting now. We strewed the sand with a thick covering of leaves
and lay
in rows, above where the surf sprawled, gray in the
dark. We ate,
and we drank the mellow wine the stewards had drawn
for us
in jugs. The men began telling stories, the way men will when things are going well and there’s no more work,
and the wine
has made them conscious of the way they feel toward
friends, old times,
and the rest. There was nobody there, you’d have
thought, who could work up a mood
for quarrelling. I lay a little apart from the others, looking at the sky with my hands behind my head and
thinking,
hardly listening to the talk. And after a while, a strange malaise came over me. All was well for me, the seers had said, but not for all of us. I thought, briefly, of my mother. I might never see her again. I wondered
which
of my friends would never reach home. It was a queer
thing
I was doing. I suddenly wondered why—and saw myself as a murderer: Herakles, laughing by the fire, huge as
a mountain,
beautiful Hylas looking up at him, laughing in a voice that seemed an imitation of the hero’s; Orpheus, polishing his delicate harp with hands like a lover’s …