The Golden Fleece

by Robert Graves

  Since everyone approved this suggestion, Admetus was obliged to fall in with it. He rose and solemnly shook hands with his comrades.

  ‘Now, Jason,’ Great Ancaeus said, ‘if you intend to make no further progress today, why should we not land on the next sheltered beach and complete our interrupted rest?’

  ‘Why, indeed?’ Jason assented.

  They rowed slowly on for another few miles, until the coast took a westerly turn and the hills receded; then they came up with a prosperous-looking town, where herds grazed on rich meadow grass and a bright stream rushed down from the mountain.

  ‘Does anyone know who these people are?’ asked Jason.

  Argus answered: ‘They are Bebrycians – or rather a mixture of Achaeans, Brygians and Mysians. Two generations ago an Achaean clan settled among the Brygiana at the mouths of the Danube and inter-married with them; they later came here in a fleet of seal-skin rowing-boats accompanied by a number of Brygian fighting men, and soon subjugated the local Mysians. They are a strange people who prefer cow’s milk to that of sheep or goats and mix their wine with fresh pine resin. I have heard that their King, who is nearly always at war with the Mariandynians and Bithynians to the north, is a savage creature named Amycus. He claims descent from Poseidon, to whom, in a style now happily abandoned throughout Greece, he offers human sacrifices on the slightest pretext. If Ancaeus of Tegea needs a rest, Amycus is likely to offer him eternal rest.’

  Jason put it to the vote: ‘Shall we land here, or shall we row on?’

  The decision was for landing, by thirty votes to two; so all put on their helmets and armour and, raising a defiant shout, beached the Argo opposite what seemed, from its size, to be a royal palace, and there made the hawsers fast to a fine bay-tree.

  Echion the herald was the first to go ashore. He advanced with grave and fearless aspect towards the houses. A huge, shaggy, long-armed man with a squat head that looked as though it had been roughly shaped on the anvil with sledge-hammers – King Amycus himself, to judge from his golden ornaments – came out to meet Echion. But instead of greeting him with the formality that every man of honour shows to the herald even of an enemy, he bawled out roughly: ‘I suppose that you know who I am. I am King Amycus. No, I do not want to know who you are or where you are bound – and no doubt your mouth is full of lies, in any case – but I would have you understand clearly how you are now circumstanced. No strangers are allowed to land in my kingdom, none at all. Once they have done so, whether by mistake or intentionally, they must accept the consequences. Either they may send out a champion to box with me, in which case I invariably kill him with my famous right-handed swing, or, if they prefer to waive this formality, they may shorten proceedings by an unconditional surrender. In either case, they are subsequently taken up to the top of the headland which you have just rounded and thrown splash into the sea as an offering to my great ancestor, the God Poseidon.’

  ‘I do not box myself,’ replied Echion suavely, ‘and I regret that Hercules of Tiryns, who was our shipmate until yesterday, is not aboard. He would have given you a pretty fair bout, I believe. Still, we have another champion of fisticuffs here, whom you may enjoy meeting. He is Pollux of Sparta, who won the All-Greece championship at the Olympic Games some years ago.’

  Amycus laughed. ‘I have never yet set eyes on a Greek who was of any use in the ring. I have, I own, seen Greeks do some very pretty boxing; with neat footwork, ducking and dodging in and out. But what does that profit them? Nothing at all, the fools! I always land my right-handed swing before long and it knocks them in a heap. They cannot hurt me, you must understand. I am nothing but bone and muscle. Hit me and break your wrist.’

  They went down together to the Argo, and Amycus shouted out in rude tones: ‘Where is this mad Spartan, Pollux, who styles himself a boxer?’

  Jason said coldly: ‘I think that you must have misheard the words of our noble herald, Echion the son of Hermes. I am Jason of Iolcos, leader of this expedition, and I must ask you to address your words of greeting to me first of all.’

  Amycus uttered a contemptuous, bleating laugh and said: ‘Speak when you are spoken to, Golden-locks! I am the famous and terrible Amycus. I trespass in no man’s orchard and allow no man to trespass in mine. Before I pitch you all over the cliff, splash into the sea, one after the other, I wish to meet this All-Greece champion of yours and punch him about for a while. I am in need of exercise.’

  The Argonauts looked at one another in a wondering way, but by now the beach was thronged with the armed followers of Amycus. They could not hope to push the Argo off and get clear of the shore without heavy losses; and they did not wish to leave Echion behind in the hands of savages who could clearly not be counted upon to respect the inviolability of his person.

  ‘Here I am, King Amycus,’ said Pollux, standing up. ‘I am somewhat stiff from rowing, but I shall be greatly honoured to meet you in the ring. Where do you usually box? Is it in the courtyard of your fine palace yonder?’

  ‘No, no,’ answered Amycus. ‘There is a convenient dell under the cliff beyond the village, where I always fight, if you can call it fighting. Usually it is more like a simple blood-sacrifice.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said Pollux. ‘So you favour the pole-axe style of boxing? Big men like you are often tempted to rise on their toes and deal a swinging downward blow. But do you find it effective against an opponent who keeps his head?’

  ‘You will learn a good many tricks of the ring before I have killed you,’ said Amycus, roaring with laughter.

  ‘By the way,’ asked Pollux, ‘is this to be a boxing match, or an all-in wrestling match?’

  ‘A boxing match, of course,’ Amycus replied. ‘And I flatter myself that I am a true sportsman.’

  ‘Let me understand you fully,’ said Pollux. ‘As you may know, codes vary considerably in these outlying kingdoms. First of all: do you permit clinching, handling, or kicking? Or throwing of dust in the other man’s eyes?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Amycus.

  ‘Or biting, butting, hitting below the hip-bone?’

  ‘No indeed!’ Amycus indignantly exclaimed.

  ‘And only yourself and myself will be allowed in the ring?’

  ‘Only we two,’ said Amycus. ‘And the fight is to the finish.’

  ‘Good,’ cried Pollux. ‘Lead on to the dell!’

  Amycus led the way to the dell, which was a very lovely place, where violet, hyacinth, and anemone grew in profusion from the greenest turf imaginable, and the daphne scented the air. His armed followers took up their posts on one side under a row of arbutus-trees, leaving the other side free for the Argonauts. But on the way there, walking apart from the others, Idmon came upon a heartening augury: twin eagles perched upon the carcase of a shaggy black horse, newly dead, of which one was continually thrusting its head between the ribs to tear at the guts, but the other, already satiated, was wiping its curved beak against the horses hoof. Other carrion birds, crows, kites, and magpies, were hopping and fluttering about, intent on sharing the meal. Idmon recognized the twin eagles as Castor and his brother Pollux, the eagle being the bird of their father Zeus; and the horse as Amycus, the horse being sacred to Poseidon; and the other carrion birds were Coronus, Melampus, Calaïs, Zetes, and the rest of the Argonauts.

  ‘This is an unusual sort of ring,’ remarked Pollux. ‘It allows mighty little room for manoeuvre. And both ends narrow to a point like the bows and stern of a ship.’

  ‘It suits my style of boxing,’ said Amycus. ‘And I may add that I always box with my back to the cliff. I dislike having the sun in my eyes.’

  ‘I am glad to know that, said Pollux. ‘In civilized countries it is more usual to draw lots for position. Come now, my lord, strip yourself, and bind on your gloves!’

  Amycus stripped. He was as shapeless as a bear, though longer-legged. The muscles on his shaggy arms stood out like seaweed-covered boulders. His henchmen bound on his gloves for him – huge leather strips weighted wit
h lead and studded with brass spikes

  Jason came striding forward to expostulate: ‘King Amycus, this will never do! In Greece, studs of metal fixed upon gloves are forbidden as barbarous. This is a boxing match, not a battle.’

  ‘This is not Greece,’ said Amycus. ‘However, no man must be allowed to question my sportsmanship. Pollux is welcome to my spare set of gloves if he cares to borrow them.’

  Jason thanked Amycus, who ordered a slave to fetch gloves for Pollux of the same sort as those that he was wearing himself. Pollux laughed at the slave and shook his head, for Castor had already bound on for him his own supple sparring-gloves, which served to protect his knuckles from swelling and to brace his wrists. The four fingers of each hand were caught in a loop, but the thumb remained free and uncovered.

  Jason whispered to Castor: ‘Why has your twin rejected those excellent gloves?’

  Castor answered: ‘The heavier the glove, the slower the blow. You will see!’

  The opponents agreed to begin the bout at the blast of a conch. The trumpeter took up his stand on a rock above the dell, and was still pretending to untangle the crossed strings which attached the conch to his neck, when another conch sounded from among the crowd and Amycus rushed at Pollux, hoping to take him off his guard. Pollux leaped back, avoiding the right-handed swing aimed at his ear, sidestepped and turned rapidly about. Amycus, recovering himself, found himself standing with the sun in his eyes.

  Amycus was by far the heavier man, and the younger by some years. Enraged at having to face in the wrong direction, he made a bull-like rush at Pollux, hammering at him with both hands. Pollux pulled him up with a straight left-handed punch on the point of his chin, and pressed his advantage, not with the expected right-handed swing but with another jolt from the same fist, which made his teeth rattle.

  It took more than this to check Amycus. He ran in, head down, covering up his face against an upper-cut, butted Pollux in the chest and aimed a pair of flailing blows at his kidneys. Pollux broke away in good time and Amycus tried to pursue him into the shaded northern comer of the dell, where the sun did not annoy the eyes of either. But Pollux stood his ground and kept Amycus fighting at a spot where the sun would most trouble him: at one instant it was obscured by a rock and at the next it dazzled out again from above the rock, as Pollux stopped his rushes with hooks, jabs, chopping blows, and upper-cuts. Pollux fought now left-handed and now right-handed, for he was naturally ambidextrous, a wonderful advantage to a boxer.

  After the contest had lasted for as long as it would take a man to walk a mile in no great hurry, Pollux was untouched except for a torn shoulder which, forgetting the spikes of Amycus’s glove, he had flung up to save his head from a sudden swing; but Amycus was spitting blood from his swollen mouth and both his eyes were nearly closed. Amycus twice tried his pole-axe blow, rising on his toes and swinging downwards with his right fist, but each time he missed, and Pollux caught him off his balance and punished him, for he had drawn his feet too close together.

  Pollux now began announcing in what places he intended to strike Amycus, and each warning was immediately followed by a blow. He disdained to strike any body-blows, for that is not the Olympic style, but always made for the head. He cried out: ‘Mouth, mouth, left eye, right eye, chin, mouth again.’

  Amycus roared almost as loudly as Hercules had roared in his search for Hylas, but when he began bawling obscene threats, Pollux grew angry. He feinted with his right fist, and with the left he landed a heavy blow on the bridge of his enemy’s nose; he felt the bone and cartilage crunch under the weight of the blow.

  Amycus toppled and fell backwards, Pollux sprang forward to strike him where he lay; for though in the friendly contests of the boxing school it is considered generous to refrain from hitting a prostrate opponent, yet in a public contest a boxer is considered a fool who does not follow up his blow. Amycus rolled over quickly and struggled to his feet. But his blows now came short and wild, his gloves seeming to hum as heavy as anchor-stones; and Pollux did not spare the broken nose, but struck at it continually from either side and from in front

  Amycus in desperation snatched with his left hand at the left fist of Pollux, as it came jabbing towards him, and tugged at it, at the same time bringing up a tremendous right-handed swing. Pollux, who had been expecting foul play, threw himself in the same direction as he was tugged; and Amycus, who had expected him to resist the tug and thus fix his head to receive the swing, struck only air. Before he could recover, Pollux had landed a powerful right-handed hook on his temple, followed by a left-handed upper-cut on the point of his chin.

  Amycus dropped his guard; he could fight no more. He tottered on his feet, while Pollux methodically swung at his head with rhythmic blows, like those of a woodman who leisurely chops down a tall pine-tree and at last stands aside to watch it crash among the undergrowth. The last blow, a left-handed one that came up almost from the ground, broke the bones of his enemy’s temple and knocked him stone dead. The Argonauts roared for wonder and delight.

  The Bebrycians had kept pretty quiet during the fight, not believing that Amycus was being worsted. He had often before amused them by staggering about, pretending to be injured by an opponent, and then suddenly springing to life again and pounding him to a bloody pulp. But when Pollux began knocking Amycus about just as he pleased, they grew restive, fingering their spears and twirling their clubs. When at last Amycus fell they rushed forward to avenge him, and a flying javelin grazed Pollux on the hip. The Argonauts ran forward to protect their champion and a short, bloody fight ensued. Pollux joined in, just as he was, and showed himself as well skilled in the art of all-in fighting as he was in pugilism. He kicked, wrestled, bit, punched, butted, and when he had felled the man who threw the spear at him, with a kick in the pit of his stomach, he leapt upon him at once and gouged out his eyes. Castor stood over his brother, and with one blow of a long sword chopped a Bebrycian’s skull clean through, so that one might have expected the halves to fall apart across his shoulders.

  Idas, at the head of a small body of Argonauts armed with spears, ran along the lip of the dell and took the Bebrycians in the flank. They broke and fled through the arbutus-grove like a swarm of smoked-out bees. Jason, Phalerus, and Atalanta picked off the stragglers with arrows; Meleager pressed hard on the rout with his darting javelin. The Bebrycians streamed inland, leaderless and astonished, leaving forty dead or dying men on the field of battle; but Calaïs and Zetes pursued them a great distance, as kites pursue a flock of wood-pigeons.

  Jason rallied his company, of whom three or four were wounded, but none seriously; Iphitus of Phocis had been knocked unconscious with a club, Acastus proudly displayed a spear-cut on the inside of his thigh which bled a good deal and made walking uncomfortable for him, and Phalerus had been bruised on the hip with a rock.

  With one accord the Argonauts ran to the palace of Amycus in search of booty. There they found gold and silver and jewels in abundance, which they afterwards distributed by lot among themselves, and great quantities of provisions, including several long jars of Lesbian wine. Hercules had drunk the Argo nearly dry, so the wine contented them.

  That evening, garlanded with bay leaves from the tree where the Argo was moored, they feasted well on tender beef and mutton; and protected themselves against a return of the enemy by arming some captive Mariandynians, whom Amycus had taken in the wars, and posting them all about the town. But the Bebrycians did not venture to the attack.

  Jason was deeply concerned not to offend the God Poseidon. The next morning, at his suggestion, old Nauplius of Argos, Periclymenus of Pylos, and Erginus of Miletos, all sons of Poseidon, joined together in preparing a sacrifice for their father. There was no lack of cattle, since all the herds of Amycus were now in the possession of the Argonauts, and what they could not eat they must necessarily leave behind. Making a virtue of necessity, they sacrificed to Poseidon no less than twenty unblemished bulls of the red Thracian breed, burning them utterly and not t
asting a morsel, besides what beasts were sacrificed in the ordinary manner to the other gods.

  That day, too, the Bebrycian dead were decently buried, King Amycus apart from the rest. The Argonauts did not fear their ghosts since they had died in fair fight.

  Butes was delighted with a jar of wild honey that he had found in the private larder of Amycus: it was golden-brown in colour and culled wholly from the pine blossom of the Arganthonian crags. ‘Nowhere have I found so pure a pine honey as this,’ he declared. ‘The Pelion pine honey, so called, is tainted with a variety of other blossoms and flowers; but this has the authentic tang. Nevertheless,’ he added, ‘it is a curiosity rather than a delicacy.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Orpheus Tells of Daedalus

  The dining-hall of King Amycus was decorated with coloured frescoes. Among them was one showing Daedalus and Icarus flying on wings from Crete, where a bull-headed man bellowed after them in a death-agony and Theseus of Athens, with an owl perched on his shoulder, brandished a double-headed axe exultantly.

  Little Ancaeus said to Orpheus: ‘Dear comrade, far-travelled comrade, expound this picture to us, if you will. We undertake to listen attentively and make no interruption.’

  This then is the story that Orpheus told them as they sat feasting with bay-garlanded heads in the hall of their defeated enemy.

  ‘It is thought to have been in carelessness rather than wilful disobedience that the leader of the Bull men of Cretan Cnossos, Chief Priest of the Sun God Minos, broke an ancient command of the Triple Goddess, which was that none but native Cretans should be permitted to go aboard any boat or ship which would seat more than five persons. He broke it in the case of Daedalus, a Pelasgian craftsman of Athens, as I will presently explain to you all, dear Argonauts. Theseus the Ionian, King of Athens, had sent Daedalus to Cnossos for the annual Spring Festival, in the company of nineteen other unfortunates, all manacled there to be chased by the sacred bull of the Sun, the Minotaur. Daedalus, a kinsman to Theseus by matrilinear descent, had been sentenced to death by him for the murder of a fellow-craftsman, but Theseus cancelled the sentence when Daedalus offered to enter the bull-ring instead.