The Golden Fleece

by Robert Graves

  Then arose a furious barking and a Molossian hound, of immense size, came rushing at them, its yellow fangs bared, and without making the least pause leaped at Jason’s throat. Argus drove his spear into the belly of the beast as it leaped, and it died howling. The shepherd, who had lived for years in this wilderness without any human companionship, came running out of the hut and saw Argus transfix the hound with his spear. He caught up a javelin and without the least pause rushed at Argus, bent on avenging the death of the hound, his only friend. Argus had not yet disengaged his spear, which was caught between the hound’s ribs, and would have been killed in his turn had not Jason, who was carrying the sacred branch, brought it down with a crash upon the shepherd’s skull and sent him sprawling.

  They carried the stunned shepherd to the hut and tried to restore him by dashing cold water in his face and by burning feathers under his nose. But when his breath came in snores, they knew that he was about to die. They were greatly troubled and each with his lips and eyes began to reproach the other silently, for they feared that the ghost of the dead man, since he was not killed in legitimate warfare, would haunt them stubbornly until his kinsmen had avenged him; but Jason’s guilt was the heavier of the two. They rubbed their faces with soot from the hearth, hoping that the ghost would not recognize them again mistaking them for Aethiopians; and Argus washed away in flowing water the hound’s blood that had spurted over his hand.

  When the shepherd expired at last, they dug a grave at the spot where he had fallen and buried him in it just as he was, with his dog beside him, averting their faces the whole while lest the ghost might recognize them even through the soot, and conversing in squeaky voices. They heaped stones over the grave and poured a libation of milk and honey (which they found in the hut) to placate the ghost. They did not dare touch any of the shepherd’s other possessions, and to show their friendly intentions drove his flock into the sheepfold for safety and passed on.

  They went forward together in silence for a mile or two until a shining thought came into Jason’s mind. He turned to Argus and said: ‘I thank you, dear comrade, for saving my throat from the fangs of that furious hound.’

  Argus was surprised that a homicide should dare to speak so soon after the event. He answered: ‘And I thank you, noble prince, for despatching that furious shepherd.’

  Jason said mildly: ‘You owe me no gratitude, son of Hestor. Neither you nor I killed the shepherd. It was this sacred oak branch that struck the blow. Let Father Zeus be wholly responsible for the deed. His shoulders are broad enough to sustain any burden of guilt.’

  Argus was pleased with this notion. He embraced Jason and, after washing the soot off their faces at a wayside stream, they continued their journey to the nearest settlement, one of five huts belonging to the brigand tribe of Aethics. The inhabitants, women for the most part, were impressed with the resolute bearing and well-made weapons of Jason and Argus and set bowls of milk before them. Jason presently reported having witnessed the death of the shepherd, which, he said, had been caused by an oak branch blown from a tree. The Aethics believed this story (which was true so far as it went), since they knew that several oak-trees grew near the hut, and reasoned that if these strangers had murdered the shepherd they would have concealed the fact as long as possible. When they asked what had become of the dead man’s sheep, Jason answered: ‘Good people, we are not thieves. The sheep are safe in the fold. The shepherd’s red Molossian hound mistook us for enemies and attacked us, and my companion was obliged to spear him. But I thought it wrong to leave the sheep to the mercy of wild beasts; I led them safely into the fold.’

  The Aethics praised Jason for his consideration, and sent a boy to fetch the flock down to the settlement, which he did. Since, as it happened, the shepherd was an exile from a distant clan, with no known kinsmen, the flock was thereupon divided equally among all the huts; two sheep that remained over, when each of the huts had been awarded an equal number, were sacrificed to the War God Ares, whom the Aethics principally worship. That evening everyone fed plentifully on roast mutton and sucked beer through barley-straws and danced in honour of Ares, men and women together, and praised the dead shepherd. Jason and Argus expected to be treacherously attacked before dawn, because the Aethics have the reputation of being entirely without moral principles. They therefore drank sparingly of the beer and took turns as usual at keeping armed watch. But nothing untoward happened, and in the morning they were guided by one of their hosts to the house of his maternal kinsman, who lived twenty miles away down the Peneus valley; and there they were treated with equal friendliness.

  From the territory of the Aethics their route lay through that of the Lapiths, hereditary enemies of the Centaurs. But Argus undertook to escort Jason safely through if he would braid up his hair in other than Centaur fashion and pretend to be a servant; to which Jason agreed. On their arrival in Lapith territory, where they found fine herds of cattle and horses grazing in the water meadows, Argus immediately made himself known. He claimed matrilinear kinship with Theseus of Athens, who is celebrated by the Lapith balladists for his friendship with their former King, Peirithoüs; these two heroes were allies in a successful war against the Centaurs which had arisen, as usual, from a quarrel about women.

  Argus was hospitably entertained by the Lapiths, and all would have been well had not Jason chafed at being treated like a servant: he told his hosts haughtily that he expected better food than husks and gristle. The Lapith chieftain was scandalized and ordered Jason to be beaten for his insolence; so Argus interposed and revealed who this servant really was, but with the warning that he was under the protection not only of the White Goddess but of the Olympians Apollo, Athena, Poseidon and Zeus. The chieftain, whose name was Mopsus the Minyan, understood that Jason would be of more value to him alive than dead. He thought at first of demanding from Pelias a huge ransom in gold and cattle, but Argus told him plainly that Pelias could not be counted upon to pay so much as a bone button. While Mopsus was still debating the matter with his companions, Jason undertook that if he were set free, without any conditions, he would persuade the Centaurs, over whom he had influence, to make peace with the Lapiths. Mopsus took Jason at his word and set him free; and this was the beginning of their friendship.

  When Jason returned safely to Iolcos, by way of Pherae, and boasted of his adventure in the Ionian Sea, Pelias was vexed beyond measure at having overreached himself. If he had not put it into the Corinthian master’s mind to attempt murder, Jason would assuredly have lost his life on the rocks. But Pelias knew well how to conceal such vexedness of heart under the cloak of flattery or congratulation, and feasted Jason as nobly as before.

  Jason presently visited Cheiron and submitted to him the proposals of Mopsus, which were that hostilities between the Lapiths and Centaurs should cease at once; that Pelias should be restrained by the Centaurs from continuing the Lapith war on his own account; and that the Centaurs should have free passage through Lapith territory whenever they wished to go courting the Aethic women of Pindus. These proposals Cheiron accepted; and after a while he persuaded Pelias, by gifts of hides and timber, to make peace likewise. Thus Jason was the means of healing the ancient feud between Centaurs and Lapiths and justified the name that Cheiron had given him.

  Chapter Seven

  The Building of the Argo

  When Jason had sacrificed a pair of white heifers to the Goddess Athena in fulfilment of his promise he sent out heralds, royally clothed, to all the chief cities of Greece. Each herald carried in his right hand four twigs of different woods and a miniature double-axe, wound all together with a long thread of yellow wool; and in his pouch he carried a fir-cone. Whenever he came to the courtyard of any great house where the proprietor was of Minyan blood, he would clap his hands for attention and presently display the axe and the bundle of twigs. He would say: ‘The blessings of Olympus fall upon this House! I come in the name of the Immortal Gods. See this twig of ash: the ash is sacred to Poseidon, whose spea
rs and oars are made of its stubborn wood. See this twig of laurel: it is Apollo’s own prophetic tree. This twig of olive is Athena’s; I need not remind you of the virtues of the olive, that fertile cow among trees. Look finally at this twig of oak, sacred to Zeus himself, whose axe of power is here enclosed in the bundle. My lords, what does this strand of yellow wool signify? It signifies the common purpose of four great Greek deities in the matter of the Golden Fleece, which is the ancient property of Zeus and has been unjustly and impiously withheld from him by Aeëtes the Corinthian, now King of Colchis, who reigns in Caucasian Aea, where the swift horses of the Sun are stabled, at the furthest end of the Black Sea. This priceless object must be won back from Aeëtes either by persuasion, fraud, or force, and must be restored to the Father’s holy oaken image on Mount Laphystios.

  ‘I am the herald of Jason the Minyan, son of King Aeson who rules at Iolcos in Phthiotis, or (as some now call it) Haemonia. Let the ash witness: in the market-place of Iolcos during a well-thronged festival of sacrifice to the God Poseidon, this Jason was inspired to propose the expedition to Colchis. Let the laurel witness: the God Apollo afterwards publicly confirmed Jason in his resolution. Let the olive witness: the Goddess Athena, when she saw Jason struggling in a boisterous sea off the island of Leucas, rescued him in a miraculous manner and set him safely ashore at her Father’s gate. Lastly, let the oak witness: Almighty Zeus accepted the offer of Jason’s services and tossed him as a token of favour an oak branch from his own sacred tree. Is this not wonderful?

  ‘Come, my lord, and you, and you, will you not join Jason in this holy quest and thus earn glory – glory which will not only shine for you garland-wise throughout your life, however long that may be, but after your death, will confer dignity on your house and city and on your latest posterity? When you die, my lords, you will all assuredly become heroes, and offerings will be heaped and poured to your ghosts, so that you will never wander hungry and disconsolate through the gloomy caverns of the Underworld as lesser beings are fated to do. You will drink from cups of the largest size and ride on white ghost horses and assist the seeds that your children have planted in your ancestral fields to germinate and bear rich and abundant fruit. The blessed Olympians all favour this expedition, which cannot but be successful, however hazardous it may seem. For Zeus has charged his dutiful daughter Athena to build the ship, and has charged his loyal brother Poseidon to calm the waters of the sea; and Apollo his son has obscurely prophesied other good things.

  ‘And for what worthier leader than Jason could you hope, since Hercules of Tiryns is busied with his Labours and cannot come? It is reported – doubtless with truth, for who would have dared to invent so improbable a tale – that Jason before his rescue by the Maiden Athena was seven days and seven nights in the water, fighting alone against a swarm of sharp-toothed sea-monsters, of which the largest ran at him open-mouthed and engulfed him; yet so manful is this Jason that he cut his way out of the creature’s massive side with his sharp Magnesian hunting-knife.

  ‘Listen further: there is not only imperishable glory to be won at Colchis, but treasure. Is not the merchants’ road through the Caucasian mountains guarded by the impious Aeëtes, who levies a toll of a fifth part or more on all the merchandise that comes heaped in wheeled carts from Persia, Chaldea, Bactria, Sogdiana, India, and the uttermost ends of Asia? Are not his palace rooms and cellars bursting with riches? When Aeëtes is destroyed and the Fleece regained, what will prevent you from each carrying away as much gold dust and as many gold ingots and silver ingots and bales of carpets and bags of balsam-drops and caskets of jewels as he pleases?

  ‘Come, my lords, how do you say? But let me warn you that none but sturdy young noblemen of undoubted Minyan blood will be accepted for this expedition, and no more than a ship’s complement of these. Many will necessarily be turned away. Come quickly, my lords, to Iolcos.’

  This speech seldom failed to rouse the spirits of the Minyans who heard it, especially those who chafed at their peaceful occupations and at the taunts of their Achaean overlords: for the Achaeans had a poor opinion of them, declaring that they had become enervated by the easy life that they led in Greece and were unfit for any dangerous enterprise. Some of these Minyans immediately engaged themselves to join the expedition, but others were more circumspect and asked: ‘Is it not true, gracious Herald, that the Fleece of which you speak was stolen long ago from the Ram of Mount Laphystios by the Mare-headed Mother, in revenge for his having usurped her shrine on Mount Pelion? Do you invite us to side in this quarrel with the Ram God, who is now named Father Zeus, against the Great Triple Mother whom he has since forced to become his wife Hera? We are Minyans, descendants of that Minyas whom the Mother loved and honoured above all other Greeks because it was he who first counselled the Ram God to become subject to her. Should we not be dishonouring the memory of our ancestor, to whose glorious hive-shaped tomb at Orchomenos we still send yearly gifts, if we attempted to undo the work of the Goddess? Was it not by her own order that the stolen Fleece was committed to the hands of King Aeëtes?’

  This was the herald’s answer: ‘I praise you for your continued devotion to the Goddess. But now look at the other true token which I carry in my pouch. It is a fir-cone from Mount Pelion and is enclosed, as you see, in a white hair-mesh woven from the mane of the Goddess’s sacred mare. This token answers all your questions: from it you can read plainly that the Goddess approves the voyage. For though the recovery of the Fleece may be no concern of hers, yet she promises her blessing to whatever Minyans will sail to Colchis with Jason and there give rest to the ghost of her servant Phrixus, which still clings disconsolately to his unburied bones. Let me warn you, noble Minyans, not to find in the forgotten quarrel between the former Triple Goddess and him who was once her son a reason against your sailing to Colchis in search of the Fleece. To do so would be to forget what calamities have come upon your clan since this Fleece was stolen away. Athamas the Minyan was the guardian of the precious relic, and for his loss of it he was punished by Father Zeus with the loss of his reason; to such madness was he driven by the Furies that he transfixed his own son Learchus with an arrow, mistaking him for a beast of chase in the very courtyard of his own palace. Since Athamas was deposed, the Minyan power has declined. First, the seven champions who went against Thebes were beaten from its walls by Hercules of Tiryns. Then the ailing Aeson could not hold the north-eastern gateway of Greece against the invading Achaeans; and then it was not long before his uncles, the Minyan Kings Perieres of Messene and Salmoneus of Elis, ended their lives miserably. But Aeson’s son Jason, lately returned from a Centaur’s dark cave as if from the dead, is a man of extraordinary courage and wisdom: it is his opinion that, until the Fleece is recovered, the Minyans will never regain the favour of Zeus and must sit still with complaisant smiles while their proud overlords taunt them with indolence and cowardice.’

  This speech convinced a few of the waverers, but by no means all.

  Meanwhile, Jason had visited the illustrious city of Athens, sailing in fine weather through the sheltered Euboean Gulf. There he paid his devotions to the Goddess Athena and humbly conveyed to her the orders of her Father Zeus. The King and Queen Archons, who together govern the religious life of Attica, made him welcome and showed the greatest interest in his project. After a short consultation they offered him all the help that they could command, but extracted a promise from him in return not to offer any insult or violence to the inhabitants of Troy, with whom the Athenians were on excellent terms, but to obey any reasonable request that the Trojan King might make. When Jason had confirmed his promise with oaths of so solemn a nature that only a madman would have ventured to break them, he learned with pleasure that Athena had accepted her Father’s charge, and that the building of the ship was to be entrusted to Argus, son of Hestor, who was not only a descendant of Daedalus the inventor but almost his equal in the shipbuilding art.

  Jason returned to Iolcos and told King Pelias of his successfu
l interview with the Archons. Pelias, feigning pleasure, offered him hewn timber and nails and cordage and all the resources of his ship-yards. Jason thanked him ceremoniously but referred him to Argus, in whose hands the whole task of ship-building rested; and then, in private, reminded Argus that, since Pelias was secretly ill-disposed to the expedition, no gift of his would bring any luck – to use even a strand or two of Iolcan cordage would be to rig the ship with curses. Argus thereupon declined the offer of Pelias, though protesting gratitude, on the ground that the Goddess Athena had stipulated that every least cord used on the ship should have been twisted on the rope-walk of Athens, and that every length of timber should have been hewn in the Goddess’s name

  Argus went in search of pine wood and found what he needed near the foot of Mount Pelion, where a row of tall trees had been felled by a gale; some of their roots were still fast in the soil, so that they had withered slowly and the wood was tough. Here was sufficient timber for the planking of a single-masted, narrow-beamed, thirty-oared ship of war, which was in his opinion the most handy build of vessel for a raid on Colchis. His men trimmed these pines with axes and then stripped them of what bark remained on them; the logs, none of which was found in the least degree rotten, were hauled down to the shore in ox-drawn wooden cradles, then lashed together as a raft and floated across the bay to the broad beach of Pagasae opposite.