Since Echion asked no awkward questions about the absence of all men from the streets and the council-chamber, Hypsipyle conversed with him in a friendly fashion, explaining that, since all the men of Lemnos were away in Thrace on a military expedition, her council must now deliberate whether it would be proper, in their absence, to allow men of another race to land on the island. She hoped that Jason would be patient for an hour or two until the Council had come to a decision. Meanwhile she gave him a jar of honey in token of friendship.
Echion made a handsome show in his herald’s robes; he carried his olive wand, with the two shoots at the top twisted across each other and tied with white wool, as though it were a sceptre. As he went out of the chamber, followed by a slender girl staggering under the weight of a huge jar of honey, many women could not refrain from reaching out to stroke his arms and shoulders caressingly. He smiled in pleasant acknowledgement of each favour, which encouraged the women to greater boldness, until Hypsipyle called them to order and reminded them that the person of a herald was sacred and not to be treated with violence of any description.
Echion returned to the ship and told his story, with dry comments on the strangely uncontrolled warmth of Lemnian women, while Butes sampled the honey for the company. Butes pronounced after a pause: ‘Not a bad honey, by any means. Mainly heather, some thyme – rosemary? yes, rosemary – and a trace of cyclamen. For a simple island honey, I must admit that it is very well indeed. Attic honey is more exquisite, of course, because the harmony of its contributory savours is more complex: just as a well-played melody on a seven-stringed zither is more satisfying to the ear than a melody equally well played on a lyre of three strings. But were I asked to judge between a melody well played on three strings, and one badly played on seven, I should reply: “Three strings win.” This Lemnian honey is perfection compared with what Pelias set before us at Iolcos, boasting that it was pure arbutus honey. Arbutus, indeed! I do not mind the flavour of wild garlic in a dish of mutton boiled with barley, but, by the Owl of Athena, the laws of hospitality demand that it should be kept out of the honey-jar. However, it would be ungrateful in me to criticize our royal host, and unwise to do so in the presence of his son, his nephew, and his son-in-law, all men of distinction. Let the Chief Steward therefore bear the whole weight of my accusation. But what I wish to say is: that if the amenities of Lemnos are of the same simple but excellent sort as this honey, I look forward most eagerly to my stay here.’
Hypsipyle’s Council were torn in their hearts between the resolve that they had taken, never to trust men again or allow them in the island, and the surge of amorous passion that the appearance of Echion had evoked. Hypsipyle addressed them thus:
‘Dearest Sisters, Aunts, Nieces, Cousins, and you, my little daughter Iphinoë, listen patiently to me, if you please, and then advise me. These Minyans, unless their herald lies (and I hardly think that he would venture to lie after naming so many Gods and Goddesses, and the Great Mother herself), are peaceable in their intentions, and would doubtless be satisfied with gifts of wine, honey, barley-bread, cheese, and our good Lemnian mutton. After coming ashore to stretch their legs – keeping well away, at our request, from the houses of Myrine – they would sail on to Imbros, their next stage on the Thracian voyage. I admit that the build of their ship suggests war rather than trade. It is likely that their business in Thrace is of a somewhat piratical nature; but let that not concern us. The Thracians are far from being allies of ours. To keep the Minyans thus at arms’ length is within our power, for we are more numerous than they and could give a good account of ourselves in battle.
‘Their herald seemed to accept as true my story of our men being detained in Thrace; so that they would be cautious of attacking us, if our gifts pleased them, for fear of eventual vengeance. Yet to give them the freedom of our city would be dangerous, for one of us is sure to be indiscreet and blurt out the true story of what happened on that night of blood. Then, though these Minyans might not themselves blame us, yet the story of our terrible deed would soon be spread abroad throughout Greece. The Thracians would come to hear of it, and sail here at once to avenge their daughters’ deaths on us.’
After a pause, Iphinoë spoke: ‘Mother, after I had delivered the honey-jar to the men in the ship and gone away, I crept back down the gully and hid behind a rock to hear what they were saying. The sea-breezes brought every word to me clearly. I heard one man, whom the others addressed as Little Ancaeus, say: “Is that indeed so? Then what Thoäs told me was no fable, but true after all!” Someone asked him, “Who is Thoäs, and what did he say?” He answered: “Thoäs was an old Lemnian whom in the course of my voyage to Iolcos from Samos I picked up adrift in a rudderless boat and put ashore on the islet of Sicinos, near Naxos. He was crazed from thirst and hunger and persisted in saying that the women of Lemnos had killed all the men of the island but himself, and had set him adrift in the boat. This story was strewn with so many other particulars which were obviously untrue, such as that he had a little barley-patch and a couple of milch-ewes in the box under the helmsman’s seat, that my comrades and I could not credit a word of it.” So, Mother, I see no reason to keep these handsome sailors away, now that they already know the worst. And I must say this: their tall captain, who has yellow braided hair and wears a tunic of spotted skin, is the handsomest man that I ever saw in my life.’
There was silence for a while. Then a feeble old woman, who had been Hypsipyle’s foster-nurse, rose up. She said: ‘My dears, I am an old woman, long past child-bearing and too wrinkled and yellow and thin for any man’s pleasure. Therefore what I now say is said disinterestedly. I am sure that we did right in killing our men and their wives: we were bound to avenge the Goddess’s honour. In so doing we repaired an error into which we had fallen of late years: for when my mother was a girl, the insolence of men was checked at puberty by breaking their right legs, in honour of the lame hero Hephaestus. This prevented them from competing with us in battle or the chase and confined them to the plough, the boat, and the anvil. This excellent custom we discontinued, I suppose from misplaced pity, and our javelins were laid aside. I am sure, also, that we did right in killing the male children: to have spared them would have been to nurse adders in our bosoms. But to forbid any men of any sort from entering this island seems to me, on long reflection, an intolerably spiteful action against ourselves. Consider, my dears: even if you are able to defend Lemnos against all comers, what sort of a life are you storing up for your old age? When we old dames gradually die off and you pretty girls take our places on the fireside settles, how will you manage to live? Will the intelligent oxen yoke themselves and plough the fields of their own accord? Will the busy asses take sickles at harvest-time and reap for you? Will the willing fish leap out of the water into the frying-pans? For my part, I hate to think that I shall die and be buried before my ears are greeted again with the yells and bellowing shouts of sturdy little boys playing at pirates in the courtyard; now I hear only the tedious whine of little girls who slyly pinch and scratch one another, and who whisper empty secrets in corners.
‘Be women again, beauties of Lemnos, take lovers from among these handsome strangers, confidently place your persons under the protection of their fame – for there seem to be some notable princes among them – and breed up a nobler race of Lemnians than before.’
A sigh of relief and a burst of applause marked the end of the old woman’s speech. Iphinoë, dancing for impatience, cried: ‘Mother, mother, may I go at once and fetch all those lovely sailors here?’
Hypsipyle put the question to the Council, who signified their approval without a single dissentient voice; and though some of the women suspected Hypsipyle of smuggling Thoäs out of the island, they were too happily excited at the time to charge her with the crime. So Iphinoë was sent off. She raced down to the shore and cried out: ‘Dear sailors, you are all welcome to come ashore and stretch your legs. My mother, Queen Hypsipyle, promises you as happy a time as ever you had at h
ome with your wives, whom you must be missing sadly.’
The Argonauts cheered and blew kisses to her, while Idas laughed raucously and drove his elbow into the ribs of his neighbour Argus, with: ‘Hey, Argus, how is your lame leg? Will you not come ashore for once and stretch it?’
In the midst of the mirth that greeted this sally, Jason gave the order to beach the ship. All bent to their oars and soon heard the hiss of their long keel as it ploughed into sand. They reversed their oars, taking care not to beat one another over the head in their eagerness; then clambered out and, heaving on the oar-butts, dragged the Argo half out of the water. Hercules tumbled the anchor-stones overboard.
Iphinoë’s keen eye searched among the company for a handsome boy to make her own (for she was already nubile), and it fell on Hylas. She smiled at him meaningly; he blushed and smiled shyly back.
‘Lead on, dear child,’ cried Jason to Iphinoë. ‘We are with you to a man.’ He unbraided his long mane of hair and took in hand a javelin that Atalanta had given him at Methone in token of fidelity to his leadership, it was iron-headed, and the heft was ornamented with three thin bands of gold. Then he put on his best mantle, dyed with sea-purple; it was embroidered with emblems that told the story of the lost Fleece, though nobody unacquainted with the conventions of art would have understood their meaning. For in the first panel Phrixus and Helle were shown flying through the air on the back of a golden ram, with Helle in the act of tumbling off into the arms of Tritons and Nereids, while their mother Nephele in cloud shape puffed them forward by flapping her cloak, and the Triple Goddess, represented by three graceful women arm in arm, trampled on prostrate Athamas, their father. The ram seemed to be addressing Phrixus over its shoulder. A vulture was tearing at the liver of a man whom anyone would have supposed to be Prometheus, from the fire-wheel in his hand and the snowy mountain; but it was intended for Phrixus, long after his arrival at Colchis. The fire-wheel recorded the dedication of the Fleece in the shrine of Prometheus, and the vulture signified that Phrixus had not been given decent burial. The picture of Jason himself brandishing a spear in the cave of Cheiron, who was shown as half man, half horse, and playing a pipe, was equally mysterious; Jason seemed to be a pigmy attacked by a monster with a blow-pipe.
The other Argonauts also primped and preened themselves, and a very wonderful company they looked when they had done. Jason asked: ‘Who stays to guard the ship against treachery? You, Melampus? You, little Ancaeus?’
These two were prepared to stay, though disappointed not to follow with the others, but Hercules unexpectedly said: ‘Go, you two! I stay here with Hylas. He is not yet old enough for a jaunt of the sort that this promises to be. If I left him in the company of that hot little wench yonder she would seduce him as quickly as butter melts in the sun.’
Hylas’s eyes grew cloudy with resentment. He pleaded: ‘O Hercules, let me go! I will come to no harm. I am nearly a man now, you know!’
Atalanta, who had a kind heart, said: ‘Yes, Hercules, let him go, and go yourself. I will take the guard duty. I admit that I was looking forward to a chat with those handsome Lemnian girls, and a really well-cooked meal for once. But I might as well stay as go: I can take no part in the love-making that is likely to follow the banquet, and will only be in the way of the others. So go, Hercules: you can best keep Hylas from harm by setting him an example of chastity.’
Jason interrupted: ‘One woman is an insufficient guard for the Argo.’
Atalanta controlled her anger. ‘Meleager can stay with me if he likes,’ she said.
Hercules laughed in her face: ‘You are in love with Meleager, and jealous of his companying with some Lemnian woman. You wish to keep him for yourself. But I will not leave you alone with him. To do so would be to invite ill luck. You do not trust Meleager away from your side; I do not trust him at your side, lest you vex your mistress Artemis by yielding to his importunities. No, no! Hylas and I stay here, do we not, my darling boy?’
He caught Hylas up in his bear-like embrace and hugged him until he squeaked: ‘Yes, yes, Hercules! Put me down! I will do anything that you say. Only, put me down!’
‘Very well,’ said Atalanta. ‘Let it be as you wish.’
Meleager lagged behind the company and whispered to her: ‘Sweetheart, let us speak again to Hercules. Let us offer to take care of Hylas while he himself goes up with the others to a feast which he would be sorry to miss. Hylas would enjoy nothing so much as to be free for a few hours from his foster-father’s company. With Hylas as a witness of our chaste behaviour, Hercules could not object to our staying behind together.’
Atalanta nodded, and Meleager went back to make his new offer. But Hercules wagged his finger at him. ‘No, no!’ he cried. ‘I see through your trickery. You intend to make love to Atalanta under the pretence of guarding this ship and of doing me a service; but as soon as my back is turned you will throw Hylas into Iphinoë’s arms and afterwards declare that he was with you all the time. No, no, I stay here, do you understand? I have no particular desire to go to Myrine. I am not so fond of the act of love as you might suppose from the great number of women with whom I have performed it… Heigh, ho! Time after time I have the same ill luck. She always wants a son by me, as tall and strong as I am, and I always want a daughter by her, as slim and pretty as she is. Every time I lose, and she wins. I think that it must be due to Hera’s spite – only think, two or three hundred sons and not a single daughter! Holy Serpents, did you ever hear anything to equal it? I have a good mind to abandon the contest… But what were we discussing a moment ago?’
Atalanta answered shortly: ‘Meleager and I offered to guard the Argo and look after Hylas while you went up to Myrine. You refused the offer. Come, Meleager!’
As they went off together, Hercules said to Hylas: ‘What an evil temper that girl Atalanta has! But no worse, I suppose, than most women’s. Well, now, my darling, you are safe from that greedy little Lemnian girl, safe with your dear, affectionate Hercules. I feel a little hungry. What about something good to eat?’
Hylas called to Atalanta as she went: ‘Tell Iphinoë that if she brings my foster-father something good to eat it will be a kindness to us both. Tell her that he needs at least a whole roast sheep and a three-gallon jar of wine.’
Iphinoë led Jason and the rest of the Argonauts, two by two, through the city gate. A great cry of admiration and welcome went up from the women. But Great Ancaeus sent the word down the column: ‘Eyes to your front, hands tight on your weapons!’
They came to the council-chamber, where armed girls opened the folding-doors studded with bronze lion-heads, and invited them to sit down on the benches; or if they should care to perform their necessities, there was a handsome privy along the corridor, with seats in the Cretan style, flushed with water from a cistern on the roof, and a bag of goose feathers hanging from the wall beside each seat.
Presently Jason was ushered into Hypsipyle’s presence. She was seated in a well-furnished upper room with a window facing south. This had been the private apartment of the Cretan governor before the sack of Cnossos by Theseus, which had been followed by the revolt of all the Cretan colonies, including Lemnos. The walls were painted with pictures of Rhea’s Lion tearing her naked enemies into pieces, and of boys riding on the backs of dolphins, and of two ladies exchanging gifts of flowers in the market-place of Cnossos.
Jason greeted Hypsipyle with grave respect. ‘Beautiful Queen, I have already heard news of your misfortunes from old Thoäs, a native of Lemnos, whom one of my comrades rescued from an oarless boat not far from Naxos. He reported that you had long been plagued by your men-folk and put under the bitter necessity of killing most of them.’
Hypsipyle answered cautiously: ‘I am rejoiced that the noble Thoäs, my mother’s brother, is still alive, though I cannot conceive how he came to be drifting about the Naxian Sea. He was somewhat unbalanced in his wits when we last met, and did not quite understand what was happening around him. The truth is that a year
ago, when the sailing season came round, our men, instead of fishing in their customarily peaceful way, began raiding the Thracian coast and bringing us back gifts of cattle and sheep. We women did not wish to become involved in a war with the Thracians, and my mother, the Chief Priestess, therefore asked them to desist. They pleaded that fish was scarce and, when caught, not so appetizing as beef and mutton. My mother replied that the raids must cease, unless they wished her to refuse them our customary love at the festivals in honour of the Goddess. For the Goddess had advised her to give them exactly this reply. They informed my mother very insolently that where they went was no business of hers; and sailed off to Thrace with the next southerly breeze. There they found a company of Thracian girls celebrating their new-moon festival apart from the men. They carried them off and made wives of them, against the custom of this island, where wives had until then been unknown, and told us nymphs “to go to the crows”.
‘My mother pleaded with them to return to sanity and restore the girls to their unhappy mothers, but no! they answered that we nymphs stank and that they needed us no longer. Worse than this, they forcibly removed the ancient black image of the Goddess from her unroofed temple a few miles from here and replaced it with one of the Smith God which they had made themselves. We have nothing against the Smith God, though we prefer to consider him a hero rather than a deity, but why did they eject the Ancient One for his sake? Well, one night they were all lying about the streets, shamelessly drunken, and the Goddess inspired us with desperate courage: we would assault the city by night and disarm them, threatening them with death unless they would quit the island for ever. We fought and were victorious. Finding themselves at our mercy, they agreed to sail away with their wives, but only on condition that we gave them all our male children; they said, however, that we might keep the girls. We agreed to that condition, but we made them sail without weapons or armour, since we did not trust them not to return at night and attack us. That was nearly a year ago, and we have not heard a word about them since. Thoäs went after them in a boat one night: he missed male society and we could not persuade him to stay. Lately, my daughter Iphinoë had a vivid dream in which she watched our men land at the mouth of a Thracian river; but the angry Thracians at once set on them and hacked them to pieces. So, alas, we may in a sense be responsible for their deaths, as Thoäs suggested. Who knows?’
The Golden Fleece Page 17