The Golden Fleece

by Robert Graves

  Orpheus answered: ‘The Thracians call it the Isle of Amber; the Trojans call it Dardania; but you Greeks call it Samothrace. The shrine of the Goddess lies below a high-breasted mountain on the northern coast, a coast dangerous to shipping except in calm weather. Sleep now, comrades, wrapped in your blankets; in the early morning we will beach the Argo at the feet of the Goddess.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Great Mysteries of Samothrace

  At dawn the West Wind stirred and rolled away the mist; first Lynceus and then the others descried mountains far away to the eastward. Argus said: ‘Those are the peaks of Samothrace; Tiphys, you have carried us off our course.’

  They pulled the ship about, hauled up the sail, and within two hours were sliding through blue water along the rocky northern coast of the island. The priest of the Dactyls, by name Thyotes, came down to meet them on the beach, dressed in his ceremonial robes. He told them: ‘Strangers, you are welcome to our island, but only if you accept the laws which preserve its sanctity. I would have you know (if Thracian Orpheus, whom I see among you, has not already told you) that in Samothrace no reverence is paid to the Olympian Gods. Nor, indeed, do we acknowledge any other deities whatsoever, but only the Great Triple Goddess, supreme, omnipotent and changeless, and the six godlings who minister to Her and who are formed from the remnants of old Cronus – namely the five Finger Gods, Her artisans and messengers, and the Phallic God, Priapus, Her lover. Collectively, these deities are known as the Cabeiri. When you set foot on Samothrace you are back again to things as they were before History began. Here Zeus is Zagreus still, an infant yearly born and yearly destroyed. The ceremonial robes and insignia that some of you wear in honour of Apollo or Ares or Poseidon or Hermes – none of these has any meaning for us. Put them off you and let them remain in the ship; wear only your breeches. The Blessed Dactyls will provide you with shirts in good time, to clothe you during your stay with us. Tomorrow you shall all be initiated into the Great Mysteries of the Goddess.’

  The Argonauts agreed to do whatever Thyotes instructed them to do – all except Atalanta, who said: ‘I am a woman, not a man. What are your intentions towards me, Thyotes?’

  Thyotes answered: ‘You wear the dress and insignia of the Maiden Huntress, but prolonged maidenhood in a nubile woman is hateful to the Goddess. Tomorrow night the moon will be full. Come then and be initiated by the Owl nymphs into their holy rites. There is no marriage here in Samothrace, but only nymphdom.’

  Atalanta answered: ‘I am dedicated to the Olympian Artemis, and to do as you suggest would bring a curse on our ship, for she is a jealous Goddess.’

  Thyotes answered: ‘The Olympian Artemis is not yet born. Lay down your bow and arrow, huntress; unbraid your hair; learn to be the woman that you are.’

  Meleager urged her: ‘Atalanta, do as Thyotes says.’

  She asked him: ‘Meleager, am I then to remain in this island all my life with you? For though what I do here may perhaps be no concern of Artemis, what will happen when we resume our voyage? Suppose that my womb should quicken and that on my return to Calydon I were delivered of a child? What then? Would that not be the concern of Artemis? Can a maiden huntress suckle a child and plead that it was begotten on her before Artemis was?’

  Meleager replied: ‘Doubtless Artemis would be angry, as she was with Callisto when Zeus got her with child. Yet suppose that for love of you I should consent to remain here in Samothrace? Would this not be a good enough land for us? Could we not live here together until old age, happy in each other’s love?’

  Atalanta answered: ‘There is no marriage in Samothrace, but only nymphdom, with no woman bound to any one man. You and I would alike be called upon to company promiscuously with others in honour of the Goddess; then green jealousy would eat you up, and myself too. No, dearest of men, Samothrace is no kinder a place for us two than Lemnos was.’

  She remained brooding in the ship, and Meleager stayed to comfort her. All the others but Hylas went off in company of Thyotes – even Hercules, for Meleager swore by his own head to keep Hylas from mischief if Hercules left him behind.

  Thyotes and his fellow-priests entertained the Argonauts in the porch of the Dactyls’ shrine with grotesque dancing and buffoonery; but did not provide them with food or permit them to offer blood-sacrifices to any deity whatsoever. When Great Ancaeus asked impatiently whether there was famine on the island, Thyotes replied that all things were in abundance, but that this was a night of fast in preparation for the doings of the next day. So saying, he handed each of them a strong, bitter draught to drink, which made them roll about all night clasping their bellies and vomiting – all except Hercules, who felt hardly a twinge.

  At dawn the Great Mysteries began. The first part was reserved for male worshippers. It is not lawful to reveal the full formula of the ninefold ritual, which took place in a fir-grove; but much may be told without impropriety. It is no secret that the Goddess Rhea herself appeared, entering into the body of the Priestess of Rhea. She wore a flounced, bell-shaped skirt in Cretan fashion, of linen dyed with sea-purple, but no upper garment except a short-sleeved waistcoat that did not fasten in front and showed the glory of her full breasts. On her head was a high caul cap, surmounted by the disc of the Moon and glittering with amber, and about her neck a necklace of fifty phalluses, carved from yellow ivory. Her eyes were wild, and she was discovered by the Argonauts seated upon a chair of state built from the left horns of Cretan bulls. Her ministrants were the representatives of the Dactyls, the five Finger Gods, and of the God Priapus, her lover. An armed guard kept away women and children and strangers.

  All the novices, under pain of death, preserved absolute silence and were stark naked; however, Orpheus, being already an initiate, took his post among the Goddess’s musicians, clothed in a white robe into which was worked a jagged streak of golden lightning.

  First came the ritual of Creation. Music sounded and the Goddess heaped a circular mound of earth with her own hands and poured water about it in a trench, and danced upon it; this was a slow, rhythmic dance, imitating the monotonous circling of the constellations, and she trod it out with painful exactness. After a weary hour or more the Goddess clapped her hands for the musicians to change the tune, and presently danced again with a huge sacred serpent entwined about her. She danced more and more wildly until the musicians sweated and groaned, trying to keep pace with her postures; while the eyes of the Argonauts stood out from their heads with terror. At last came three loud imperious strokes upon a copper gong, and all hid their eyes while the serpent hissed and screamed. The Goddess uttered a frightful laugh which was like the cold hand of Death gripping at their hearts, and the hair stood out on their napes like the fur of an angry wolf.

  When a gentle flute gave them permission to look again, the serpent was gone, and presently the ritual of Domination began with triumphal music. The Dactyls brought the Goddess a live dove, as symbol of the Sky; she strutted and danced, and presently wrung its neck. They brought her a live crab as symbol of the Sea; she strutted and danced and presently tore off its claws. They brought her a live hare, as symbol of the Earth; she strutted and danced, and presently pulled it in pieces.

  Rhea issued her first commands; it is not lawful to repeat them.

  Next came the ritual of love. Rhea partook of acorns and honey-water, and lovingly offered her fish-faced lover Priapus a share of the meal. She danced with him, disdainfully at first, but afterwards more and more amorously and shamelessly. Then, as before, three warning strokes sounded on the gong and all hid their eyes while a hideous scream rang in their ears as of hyaenas or eagles coupling together.

  When the gentle flute sounded again, Priapus was gone, and the worshippers watched the ritual of Birth. Rhea groaned and shrieked and from under her skirt tottered a little black bull-calf and gazed about him wonderingly. Rhea crowned him with a chaplet of flowers. The Argonauts recognized him at once as the child Zagreus, and would have fallen on their faces in adorati
on but that the Dactyl Gods gestured for them to remain upright.

  Next came the ritual of Sacrifice. The naked Dactyls stood behind Rhea, each having a lump of gypsum in either hand. They rubbed these lumps together and powdered their faces and bodies until they were as white as snow. Then they sprang upon the calf from behind. One seized his head and each of the others seized a leg, and while the music raged around them they tore the infant god in pieces, and sprinkled his blood on the Argonauts, to madden them. They rushed forward and ripped the mangled carcase into shreds, eating the flesh greedily, hide and all. Thus by eating of the god they became as gods.

  Rhea issued her second commands; it is not lawful to repeat them.

  Next came the ritual of Ablution. The Dactyls gave the Argonauts sponges and lustral water in wooden bowls; three times they washed themselves carefully until no speck of blood was to be seen upon any of them.

  Next came the ritual of Rebirth and Remembrance. This cannot be told, but ah! how frantically the waters roared in the endless tunnel!

  Next came the ritual of Coronation. The reborn Argonauts were crowned with garlands of ivy and anointed with oil and clothed with shirts of purple linen. Rhea gave them each a kiss on the mouth and taught them the formula of prayer by which to address her when in danger of shipwreck; for the snake-tailed winds remain under the control of the Goddess, Zeus having no power over them.

  Of the last ritual of all it is not lawful to speak even the name.

  Rhea issued her third and last commands, and when she had done the Argonauts were conducted to a cave behind her throne and there fell asleep together.

  They slept until midnight, when the latter part of the Great Mysteries, reserved for female worshippers, was nearly over. To assist in the consummation of these they were awakened by a messenger of the God Priapus who ordered them to disrobe and led them into the grove of their initiation. The full, broad moon beamed above them, dappling their skins with tree-shadows. The Owl nymphs treated them cruelly, leaping upon them from burrows in the earth or from hollow trees, savaging them with teeth and nails, and taking their pleasure with a lunatic violence. When dawn shone again the Argonauts thought themselves dead men. Even the huge voice of Hercules came whispering from his swollen and bleeding lips, and he could hardly heave his bulk from the thicket of butcher’s broom into which he had been rolled. But the Dactyls came dutifully running up, to anoint them with the fat of adders cupped in leaves of wild fig, and gave them fiery cordials to drink. Then Orpheus charmed them to sleep again in the cave whence they had come.

  At noon they awoke refreshed after what seemed to them a sleep of ten thousand years. They clothed themselves once more in their own breeches and, reverently taking their leave of Thyotes, returned in silence to the Argo. But first they dedicated in the Dactyls’ shrine five bronze drinking-bowls with silver rims, which are shown there to this day. And Thyotes gave Jason, as a parting gift, a charm against the thunderbolt: it was a salve cunningly compounded of hair, onions, and the livers of pilchards. But Jason lost it before the voyage was over.

  As they went, Orpheus sang them the song of the Cypress and the Hazel. In this he instructed them how to behave when they were dead, if they wished to become oracular heroes rather than perennially live out their existence underground as ignorant and twittering shades. This was his song:

  So soon as ever your mazed spirit descends

  From daylight into darkness, Man, remember

  What you have suffered here in Samothrace,

  What you have suffered.

  After your passage through Hell’s seven floods,

  Whose fumes of sulphur will have parched your throat,

  The Halls of Judgement will loom up before you,

  A miracle of jasper and of onyx.

  To the left hand there bubbles a black spring

  Overshadowed with a great white cypress.

  Avoid this spring, which is Forgetfulness;

  Though all the common rout rush down to drink,

  Avoid this spring.

  To the right hand there lies a secret pool

  Alive with speckled trout and fish of gold;

  A hazel overshadows it; Ophion,

  Primeval serpent straggling in the branches,

  Darts out his tongue. This holy pool is fed

  By dripping water; guardians stand before it.

  Run to this pool, the pool of Memory,

  Run to this pool.

  Then will the guardians scrutinize you, saying:

  ‘Who are you, who? What have you to remember?

  Do you not fear Ophion’s flickering tongue?

  Go rather to the spring beneath the cypress,

  Flee from this pool.’

  Then you shall answer: ‘I am parched with thirst.

  Give me to drink. I am a child of Earth,

  But of Sky also, come from Samothrace.

  Witness the glint of amber on my brow.

  Out of the Pure I come, as you may see.

  I also am of your thrice-blessed kin,

  Child of the three-fold Queen of Samothrace:

  Have made full quittance for my deeds of blood,

  Have been by her invested in sea-purple,

  And like a kid have fallen into milk,

  Give me to drink, now I am parched with thirst,

  Give me to drink!’

  But they will ask you yet: ‘What of your feet?’

  You shall reply: ‘My feet have borne me here

  Out of the weary wheel, the circling years,

  To that still, spokeless wheel: – Persephone.

  Give me to drink!’

  Then they will welcome you with fruit and flowers,

  And lead you toward the ancient dripping Hazel,

  Crying: ‘Brother of our immortal blood,

  Drink and remember glorious Samothrace!’

  Then you shall drink.

  You shall drink deep of that refreshing draught,

  To become lords of the uninitiated

  Twittering ghosts, Hell’s countless populace –

  To become heroes, knights upon swift horses,

  Pronouncing oracles from your tall white tombs,

  By the nymphs tended. They with honey water

  Shall pour libations to your serpent shapes,

  That you may drink.

  To Atalanta and Meleager and Hylas the returning Argonauts seemed like gods, not men; a faint nimbus of light shone about each brow. But when they had climbed up the ladder into the ship and resumed their garments the glory faded; they were men again, though changed men.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Through the Hellespont

  Mountainous white clouds appeared in the direction of Thrace: a sure sign that the north-westerly wind which they needed was at hand. Swiftly they rowed a mile or more out to sea, and there the wind struck them. It was with difficulty that they fetched the Argo clear of rock-bound Samothrace, with the waves breaking against her port bulwarks and drenching them with spray. When this danger was past they hoisted the sail and scudded along, with the keel baulking and plunging beneath them like a frightened mule. By noon they were rushing past the western coast of Imbros with its sharp ridges and green valleys. The thought that was now exercising the minds of all was how to elude the vigilance of the Trojans, with whom Jason had promised the Archons of Athens to engage in no armed conflict. For if they could somehow slip through the Hellespont unseen and leave the Trojans unaware of their presence in the Black Sea, they might well slip through a second time on their homeward voyage, assisted by the strong current which flows down from the Sea of Marmora.

  The wind slowly veered round to the north and appeared to be settled there. Argus therefore advised Jason to shelter under the lee of Cape Cephalos, which juts out at the south-eastern angle of Imbros. He knew of a little sandy cove where they might anchor for a day or two until the wind, shifting to the south-west or west, blew strongly enough to carry them by night up the whole length of the Helles
pont. Tiphys supported Argus, saying that he had closely enquired about the currents in the strait from a helmsman of Percote, a Greek settlement situated in the strait itself. He believed that, given a good south-westerly wind, a moon, and a willing crew, they could bring the Argo past Trojan territory in a night. But old Nauplius asked whether the south-westerly wind in this part of the sea differed from that which he had encountered elsewhere; for it would be strange, he said, if such a wind did not bring rain-clouds with it to obscure the moon.

  Jason overruled the objection of Nauplius and agreed to run for shelter under Cape Cephalos. The Argo was already gliding past the yellowish cliffs of Cephalos and making for the cove of which Argus had spoken when Iphitus of Phocis sprang suddenly to his feet. ‘My lords,’ he said, ‘I see no reason why we should disembark at Imbros. Imbros is, I grant, inhabited by Pelasgians, a race on whose friendship we may count. But the Trojans have coast-guards stationed close to this cove, and whatever story we may tell these guards will not long deceive them. Consider: if we wait there for a clear night and a strong southwesterly breeze, what will they make of us? They will naturally conclude that we are trying to slip past Troy unnoticed. They will follow us in a ship of their own and report our movements to the King of Troy.’

  Most of the Argonauts approved this reasoning, but Jason complained: ‘It is easy enough, Iphitus, to criticize the decisions of your leader. I am aware of your long experience of seafaring, but unless you have a better plan to offer than Argus and Tiphys have already put forward I advise you to keep your mouth shut, for you will only succeed in setting your comrades against me. I should have thought you wiser than to do that, Iphitus. You now talk as wildly, almost, as Idas. Be silent, if you please!’

  Orpheus spoke up on behalf of Iphitus: ‘Jason, Jason, have you so soon forgotten what you learned in Samothrace?’