The Golden Fleece

by Robert Graves

  ‘You shall eat two if you like,’ replied Lycus. He was careful to make no enquiries about Hylas until Hercules should have eaten and drunken well.

  While they feasted on prime roast beef there was a stir in the hall, and a tall man, a Greek by the look of him, dressed in the royal costume of a herald, came striding up. He saluted Lycus with a flattering address but told him: ‘My message is not for you, Majesty. It is for your noble guest, Prince Hercules of Tiryns.’

  ‘Why, upon my soul, if it is not the Dung Man,’ cried Hercules. ‘You stick as close to me as my own shadow and tread almost as noiselessly.’

  Talthybius, with a deep bow, said: ‘Most noble Hercules, well met!’

  ‘Well met,’ replied Hercules, making a Gorgon face at him.

  Talthybius disregarded the insult and, stretching out his serpentine rod of olive, said smoothly: ‘The compliments of King Eurystheus of Mycenae, and he requires you to return to Greece at once and there clean out in a single day the filthy stables and byres of King Augeas of Elis.’

  Hercules exclaimed: ‘Has he sent you half-way across the habitable world to ask me to perform a simple sanitary task in my native Peloponnese? What a man he is!’

  ‘I am only a herald,’ Talthybius apologized.

  ‘No, but a Dung Man too,’ said Hercules.

  Talthybius smiled faintly and replied: ‘Alas, most noble Hercules, it is you who are the Dung Man now.’

  Hercules roared with laughter, for he was in high good humour again. ‘Well answered!’ he cried. ‘For the sake of this jest I will obey your master. But first I must obtain permission from King Augeas, who is aboard the Argo, only a day’s sail from here towards the east. I have been promised a swift war galley by the King and will go after her tomorrow.’

  ‘The King’s orders are that you shall return to Greece at once,’ said Talthybius firmly.

  ‘I cannot clean out the stables and byres of my comrade Augeas without his permission,’ said Hercules. ‘He may prefer them to remain dirty – who knows?’

  He continued obstinate. But no sooner had he set foot in the borrowed galley, the next morning, than his head began to ache and the children’s voices shouted discordantly at him: ‘Back, back, Hercules! You are killing us! Back, back!’ So back he had to go. At the quay-side Lycus dared to ask him what news he had of Hylas, and Hercules gloomily admitted that he had none. He described his fruitless search among the Mysians and how he had taken hostages from their rulers and given these in charge of his brother-in-law who was building a settlement with their help at the mouth of the Cios.

  ‘Well,’ said Lycus, ‘it may, of course, be that Hylas is somewhere in hiding among the Mysians, but from what one of my guests let fall I gather that the ungrateful boy had for some time been planning an escape by the inland track to Troy. He took a wallet with him, I hear, which jingled; it may have contained gold and silver ornaments to pay his passage to the Island of Lemnos, where he is said to have a sweetheart.’

  ‘WHAT!’ bellowed Hercules. ‘So that is the story, is it? The heartless wretches, plotting to be rid of me and playing upon my poor boy’s adolescent love for the lecherous Iphinoë, loaded him with gold and silver and tempted him to run off! Then as soon as ever I started out after him they sneaked quietly off and marooned me. I shall be even with them one day, you will see; but meanwhile I must find my darling Hylas, who I am sure meant no harm. He is a thoughtless child and of an age when any hot little bitch can lure him to her, even from the side of Hercules who loves him with a huge and enduring love. I thank you, good Lycus, for this information, however painfully it sounds in my ears. You are my loyal friend. Now I am off home to Greece, but I shall pass by way of Troy; and if King Laömedon will neither return my Hylas to me nor tell me where he is to be found, I will tear his proud city to pieces stone by stone. I already owe him a few hard knocks. He cheated me over some man-eating mares which I left in his charge when I last came this way.’

  ‘It will be good news for the whole of Asia if you teach those proud Trojans a lesson,’ said Lycus. ‘May I suggest that you visit the Dolionians and Percosians and borrow a few war-galleys from them? From all I hear, they are itching for war with the Trojans.’

  ‘That is exactly what I will do,’ said Hercules. ‘Come, Dung Man, shall we travel along together or separately?’

  ‘It would be an honour to travel in your company, most noble Hercules,’ replied Talthybius, ‘and a great protection against the insults of barbarians, some of whom have as little respect for a herald as they have for a white maggot in a nut.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Minyans of Sinope

  As the Argonauts rounded Cape Lepte, which forms the left horn of a great bull’s-head promontory, the wind suddenly changed from west to northeast. They rowed across a gulf of heaving waters bordered with white rocks, and then rounded Cape Sinope, the right horn of the promontory. Cape Sinope has steep sides and a flat top, and from a distance appears to be an island, because the isthmus connecting it to the mainland is a low one. A small whitewashed settlement built on the eastern side of Sinope, near the isthmus, gave the Minyans wistful thoughts of home, for the neat but solid architecture of the houses was identical with that of their own cities in Greece. Jason attempted a landing on the isthmus, but found it protected by sharp limestone reefs full of pot-holes, so he brought the Argo back to a small beach on the peninsula itself, and there ran her ashore. The beach was wonderfully protected from both westerly and north-easterly winds.

  The Argonauts disembarked and began lighting a fire of driftwood and Echion waved a friendly greeting to a young man who was observing them intently from behind a pinnacle of the low cliff which backed the beach. He waved his hand in reply and presently reappeared, riding a fine Paphlagonian mule at dangerous speed down a ravine towards them. He wore a wolf-skin cap and a necklace of wolves’ teeth and was joyfully shouting out the names of the Thessalians, Coronus and Eurydamus, and of Admetus, King of Pherae, whom he had recognized from the cliff-top by their badges and accoutrements. He turned out to be Autolycus of Tricca, a Minyan, whom they had supposed dead. Five years before, he and his two brothers had accompanied Hercules on his expedition to the land of the Amazons but had not returned; when asked what had become of them, Hercules would say no more than that they had fallen behind him on the march and had probably been killed by the Paphlagonians.

  This was a happy reunion. Autolycus, whose brothers Phlogius and Deileion were also alive and following close behind him, had not seen a fellow-Greek or heard news of his beloved Thessaly ever since Hercules had deserted them – for Autolycus dared use this hard word of Hercules. It seems that Phlogius had fallen sick on the march and Deileion had sprained an ankle; but Hercules refused to wait for them or even to march at less than his customary rate of thirty-five miles a day. They had been obliged to fall out, and Autolycus had magnanimously remained with them. They were well treated by the Paphlagonians, who are a surly, obstinate but generous race; and repaid the kindness shown them by introducing into the country several useful arts and sciences until then unknown. Especially they showed the Paphlagonians the value of the timber-trees growing plentifully in the hills, such as the maple and the mountain-nut which are highly prized in the West for the making of tables and coffers, and instructed them in the art of seasoning and trimming the timber for export. The brothers also organized a tunny-fishery and taught their hosts the true value of the foreign goods brought overland to this port from Persia and Bactria. Hitherto the Paphlagonians had allowed their allies the Trojans to bargain with the Armenian merchants at a yearly fair, and had been content with a trifling commission on the goods sold, but now Autolycus and his brothers advised them to trade directly with the Armenians at their first entry into the country and make a reasonable profit as middlemen.

  These Thessalians had grown rich themselves from the purchase and resale of such goods as tiger-skins, figured carpets, balsam, cinnabar, ruddle, onyx, turquoise, lapis
lazuli, and the sheets of Galatian mica-stone with which kings and princes glaze the windows of their bedchambers. Each now possessed a sack of gold dust of nearly his own weight, but all three were homesick for Thessaly. They shrank from the dangers of a return by land, and not being skilled shipwrights had no means of returning by sea, for they would not trust their lives and treasure to the Trojans. Phlogius declared that he would gladly leave all his treasure behind if by so doing he might view once again ‘the lovely water-meadows of the Ion and Lethaeos, where brood-mares graze, foals frolic, and the shrill sound of the horseherd’s bagpipe sets the sturdy boys dancing under the poplars’.

  When Jason told them that the Argo was bound for Colchis, where he intended to recover the Golden Fleece from the shrine of Prometheus, the brothers were struck with wonder and dismay. They knew the strength of the Colchian fleet and army and the antipathy of King Aeëtes to the new Olympian religion. But they said: ‘If by any chance you should return in peace from Colchis, by way of Sinope, on no account sail back to Greece without us: for we will pay you as passage-money one half of all the gold dust that we possess – gold dust cast up by the gigantic horned ants of India and stolen from them by the dusky Dands – and some wallets full of jewels as well.’

  Jason answered: ‘Either come with us now and help us to recover the Fleece, or stay where you are and expect nothing at all from us on our homeward voyage. If you come, we shall require neither gold nor jewels as passage-money from you, but only sufficient provisions for another few stages of the voyage.’

  But Echion said: ‘No, no, son of Aeson. Let them find us provisions and pay us in gold dust besides, as much to each Argonaut as he can grasp in both hands and convey into his wallet without turning the thumb upwards; for that will be no great quantity, yet sufficient to avert jealousy from the sacks. But to show that I have no thirst for gold I shall not dip a finger into the sack myself.’

  In the end the three brothers, fortified with Mariandynian wine, decided to come aboard, and agreed to the payment. Echion spread his sacred robe underfoot as a reminder to his comrades that they must not break the treaty by turning up their thumbs or helping themselves twice. Then each of the Argonauts in turn dipped both his hands into a sack and, pulling them out well filled, poured the gold into his wallet. Great Ancaeus, who had the largest hands, pulled out more than anyone, but spilt half of it in fumbling for his wallet, and so did several others; but Little Ancaeus, who had small hands, rubbed them with tallow on both sides as far as the wrist and by great care conveyed all but a few grains into his wallet. Echion warmly praised Little Ancaeus for his sagacity; who praised him warmly in return to see him shake together in a fold of his robe, and gather up as his perquisite, all the dust that had been spilt – enough, as it later proved, to make him a golden sheath for his olive wand and a golden belt engraved with sacred devices.

  Jason agreed to wait for two days while the Thessalian brothers put their affairs in order. Dascylus, son of Lycus, then took his leave of the Argonauts, there being no further need of his services: for the new recruits were well acquainted with the coastal tribes as far as Amazonian territory.

  Thus the ship’s company was again brought to full strength, the places of Hercules, Idmon, and Tiphys being filled by these three Thessalian brothers, who revictualled the ship with flat cakes made of spelt, dried tunny steaks, jars of dolphin oil, and sweet pickled carcases of mutton.

  Standing on the headland, Orpheus and the other initiates of the Mysteries of Samothrace now offered sacrifices to the Great Ones and humbly prayed for a north westerly wind; but it did not blow. They concluded that they had made some mistake in the ritual and waited until the next day, when they performed it again. Then the wind slowly veered to the north-west, which suited them, but it did not blow strongly.

  During that day they ran across a smooth gulf, past hills fringed with trees to the very shore; far inland rose the double cone of Mount Saramene. Just short of the promontory at the further end of the gulf they passed the delta of the Halys, the largest river of the whole southern sea-board, but not navigable far from its mouth: then as they rounded the promontory they saw, from no great distance, grazing herds of a beautiful sort of deer called the gazelle, which none had seen before except Nauplius when once he was wrecked on the coast of Libya. Gazelles have large eyes, long ears, and slender legs, and are excellent to eat. Atalanta wished to go ashore and hunt them, because Nauplius had provoked her by saying they were so swift that even she could never overtake one; but Jason would not consent and they sailed on. There was a long beach beyond the promontory, backed with low hills, and behind these a marshy lake crowded with water-fowl. They went ashore for an hour or two for recreation, and the Thessalians, now that they were so numerous, gave an exhibition of dancing in full armour to Jason’s wild pipe-music. They danced with great agility, leaping marvellously high and whirling their swords about their heads. Two parties in the dance went through a display of mimic warfare, alternately victorious and vanquished, dealing each other what seemed the heaviest of blows, yet with such skill and restraint that not a helmet was dinted.

  Meanwhile Atalanta and Meleager ran off together to hunt gazelle, but returned empty-handed and breathless just as the ship was ready to sail.

  That night they sailed slowly across yet another gulf and at dawn rounded a low wooded promontory, that of Aricon, where the meandering Iris flows into the sea. ‘Here,’ said Autolycus, ‘is a settlement of curly-bearded, long-robed Assyrians, exiles from their country; and beyond stretches the land of the Chalybeans, a savage tribe famous as iron-workers, with whom I have lately traded. Soon we shall sight an islet, called the Isle of Barter, close to the Chalybean shore, where we of Sinope come in our dug-out canoes and lay out on the rocks painted Minyan pottery and linen cloth from Colchis and sheep-skin coats dyed red with madder, or yellow with heather, such as the Chalybeans prize, and spear-shafts painted with vermilion. Then we row away out of sight behind rocks. As soon as we are gone the Chalybeans venture across to the islet on rafts; they lay down beside our goods broad-bladed, well-tempered spear-heads and axe-heads, also awls and knives and sail-needles, and then go away again. If on our return we are satisfied with their goods, we take them up and make for home; but if we are not satisfied, we remove apart from the rest of our merchandise whatever we think is not covered by their payment. The Chalybeans then return again and pay for this extra heap with a few more iron implements. In the end the barter is complete, unless the Chalybeans in a huff take away all their iron goods and let us sail off empty-handed; for they are a capricious race.’

  The Argo continued along this coast with a freshening wind, and passed several settlements of huts built of branches, but nowhere did the Argonauts see any flocks or herds, though there was grass sufficient to support them in countless numbers. The hills drew closer to the sea and they passed by the Isle of Barter. The coast then curved sharply to the northward, and after a few miles they came by oars to the low promontory now called Cape Jason. Since it was dusk and the wind was failing, and they did not wish to become involved with the warlike Tibarenians, whose territory began at this cape, they anchored under the lee of another islet. That night was memorable to the Argonauts, for it was then that Nauplius taught them the names of the heavenly constellations, so far as he knew them, such as Callisto the Bear Woman, her son Arcas (usually called the Bear Warden), the Pleiads (which were just rising), and Cassiopeia. Then they amused themselves by naming others for themselves; some of which names gained currency in Greek ports after the return of the Argo. Thus the twin stars Castor and Pollux, at the shining of which the roughest seas subside; and the great lumbering constellation of Hercules at Labour; and the Lyre of Orpheus; and the constellation of Cheiron the Centaur (which Jason named) – all these are still remembered. So is the Dolphin of Little Ancaeus: for that evening all but he dined on mutton fried in dolphin oil, which was a food forbidden him; he therefore ate dried tunny instead and named the constellation
‘The Dolphin of Little Ancaeus.’ It was many years before the Argo herself was set in the heavens, low on the southern horizon: a constellation of twenty-three stars. Four stars form the mast, five the port rudder, and four the starboard; five the keel, five the gunwale; but the prow is not shown, because of a homicide that it caused.

  The next morning they rowed on, starting out in a dead calm; but the prevailing wind on these coasts is north-westerly, and soon it blew again, taking them at a good rate past the country of the Tibarenians. According to the account given by Autolycus, these savages had not long before dethroned the Mother Goddess and put Father Zeus in her place; but found it difficult to wean themselves entirely of ancient habits which had formed a prime part of their religion. The men gathered together, and one said to the others: ‘Seeing that it is the man, the sower of the seed, who creates the child, not the woman, she being only the field in which he sows it, why should she earn his reverence? Let all the pious care hitherto mistakenly bestowed on a woman during her pregnancy and child-bed be bestowed on her husband. He is the parent, not she.’ So it was resolved. Now, while his wife is pregnant, each Tibarenian husband eats twice as much as usual, is honoured above his fellows and humoured in strange fancies, and walks abroad with waddling steps; and when his wife is in labour, he lies in bed and groans with his head close bound, and the women tend him pitifully and prepare child-bed baths for him – but the wife is left to her own devices. Like the Chalybeans, these Tibarenians do not till the soil, nor tend sheep or oxen. They live by fishing, hunting, and gathering the fruits of the forest; for the seas are full of fish and the forests of game. Here spontaneously grow immense numbers of apple and pear trees and nuts of various sorts; and the wild vine is hung with heavy clusters of sharp-tasted but refreshing grapes.

  At noon the Argonauts approached the marshy outfall of the Cerasos river, beyond which lies the Isle of Ares. The wide sky ahead of them grew suddenly dark with myriads of aquatic birds flying out to sea from the low shores. Mopsus the augur stared at them, his eyes nearly starting from his head, and his mouth as round as an egg. He cried: ‘About ship, dear comrades! This is too terrible a sight for an augur’s eyes!’ But now the birds were streaming past both ahead and astern, and making direct for the Argo came a flock of unclean spoonbills. With one accord all the Argonauts seized their weapons and helmets and dishes and copper cauldrons and began clashing them together; and at this hideous noise the birds sheered off, but feathers came raining down. Spoonbills are said to suck the breath of sleeping men, and a flock of them is considered a sure harbinger of the fever. The Second Labour imposed on Hercules was to compel a huge colony of spoonbills to quit the marshes about Stymphalos in Arcadia; he killed some and drove the rest away with discordant cries.