The Golden Fleece

by Robert Graves

  The chaplain and his acolytes sang a song in honour of Aristaeus. The acolytes began with the question:

  Whence did you fetch your olive-branch,

  Your fertile olive-branch,

  To graft it on the rank wild stock?

  The chaplain answered:

  From my neighbour’s orchard

  I fetched the fertile branch

  To graft it on the rank wild stock.

  They asked again:

  Whence did your neighbour fetch the branch,

  The fertile olive branch

  To graft it on the rank wild stock?

  The chaplain answered again:

  From his neighbour’s neighbour’s orchard

  He fetched the fertile branch

  To graft it on the rank wild stock.

  The acolytes asked, with rising energy, from whose orchard had this fertile branch been fetched; but nine times the chaplain traced it back from neigh-bour to neighbour, until at last he could answer triumphantly:

  From the tree of Aristaeus

  He fetched the fertile branch,

  To graft it on the rank wild stock.

  The acolytes asked how had Aristaeus come by the tree, and were answered that he obtained it by the favour of the Great Goddess. And how had he proceeded? He had grafted wild olive upon wild olive under a rising moon, and the next year had similarly grafted a slip from the growing graft upon the graft again, and in the third year grafted a slip from the newer graft upon the same graft, under a rising moon, calling three times upon the Goddess by name. The Great Goddess had rustled among the leaves, and the last slip that Aristaeus had grafted put out the shapely leaves of the sweet olive and blessed him, when winter came, with the oozy purple fruit.

  Butes capped this song with another like it, of his own composition, beginning:

  Whence did you fetch this swarm,

  This honeyed swarm,

  To feed upon my orchard flowers?

  and taught the acolytes to ask him the appropriate questions. His first answer was that the swarm was fetched from a neighbour’s hive. It was then traced back from neighbour to neighbour until it was found to have originated in the hive of Aristaeus. Whence did Aristaeus himself procure it? Butes answered triumphantly that he fetched it from the dead body of the leopard that he killed on Pelion, as it was attempting to kill one of the Goddess’s sacred mares. Aristaeus spurned the carcase three times with his foot, calling upon the Goddess by name, and the third time she answered with a clap of thunder that shook the pine cones down from every tree on the mountain; the bees rose buzzing from the wound in the leopard’s flank and swarmed in an arbutus-tree.

  So ended the song of Butes. But he regretted that he could not with sincerity extol the Corcyran honey.

  Medea was rowed across the harbour in a Phaeacian galley. She was dressed in white linen robes and an embroidered white veil lent her by Arete, who herself was present. The twelve Court ladies, appointed to be her bridesmaids, had already dipped her three times in the holy fountain of Corcyra. Medea burned upon the altar of Artemis, which Atalanta had heaped, the clippings of her yellow hair. To the Goddess Brimo, with whom she had made peace before leaving Circe’s house at Aeaea (propitiating her with a black sow and a farrow of nine), she now poured out a drink of clear honey, a great bowlful.

  Jason was similarly dipped by his companions, in the pool fed by the fountain of Macris; then he was clothed in his finest garments and chapleted with flowers. In honour of the Fleece, Queen Arete had given the Argonauts rare purple and gold flowers, called pansies, which she grew in tall earthenware pots set in a row in her private courtyard, and it was with these flowers that they wove Jason’s chaplet.

  Then the sons of Phrixus presented Medea to Jason, who took her by the hand and led her towards the cave, where the twelve bridesmaids sang the marriage-hymn at the entrance and strewed flowers for them, and pelted them with honey-cakes baked in the shapes of all manner of phallic beasts and birds, with comfits of almond-paste and with handfuls of tasty aniseed. Queen Arete herself lighted them in with a torch.

  The thirty-three Argonauts and an equal number of Phaeacians took part in the banquet, but no Colchians at all, except for the sons of Phrixus. The company were very merry and made ribald jests, as is proper, Idas taking the lead in this sport; and presently, on the broad, level ground at the entrance to the cave, Medea’s bridesmaids danced the bridal dance in honour of the Goddess Hera, going hand in hand about the rough stone herm that Argus had chipped out for the occasion; and the lovely bridal chant rose and fell, while Jason ate sea-food to increase his virility.

  At last Medea went hand in hand with Jason to their couch at the end of the cave, before which a curtain was hung. Queen Arete gave them each a slice of candied quince to eat, and a ripe quince to smell. She said to them: ‘Keep your mouths and nostrils sweet, delightful pair!’

  Medea unloosed her girdle of virginity and handed it to her bridesmaids to dedicate at the altar of Artemis, and then turned about to look at the marriage-couch. She shuddered and turned whiter than a lily, for as a coverlet over the fragrant linen sheets and the far-travelled blankets, that the Argonauts had heaped over the turves, lay spread the Golden Fleece, the crafty removal of which from the shrine of Prometheus she would then gladly have forgotten.

  Jason said: ‘Lady, do not shrink from this blessed coverlet. It is spread here so that our marriage may be the theme of song for amazed and envious posterity.’

  She smiled wanly at him and answered with lips that trembled: ‘May it bring us no ill luck, handsome one!’ And against her will she repeated the words of the unlucky song of her cousin Sisyphus, the Lament for Pasiphaë, that Orpheus in his delirium had taught her:

  A fleece now gilded with our common grief

  That this must be a night without a moon.

  Indeed, there was no moon that night; and though Sisyphus had other things in mind when he composed the lines, they were as apt now as they were ominous of evil.

  Jason gave her ummixed wine to drink, to restore her spirit, and beneath the Fleece they companied in love, while through the curtain came ringing the jokes, songs, and laughter of the guests; and too soon for both broke the clear dawn.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  To Sicily and Southward

  That morning, enthroned in state, Alcinoüs delivered judgement. He said: ‘My lords, Zeus the Law-Giver has put it into my heart to declare to you his unalterable will. Perish those who dispute it! These are the words of Zeus. “The Princess Medea, if she is already married with due formality to Jason, son of Aeson, or to some other Greek, may remain with Me; but if she is not already so married, she must do nothing of her own free will to alter her condition and so displease the lawful rulers of her country. As for the so-called Golden Fleece, this discarded purple covering of My Laphystian Ram was long ago, by My permission, conveyed to Aea in Colchis and there consigned to the safe keeping of the Priestess of Prometheus; and still I say, wherever she may go, there let the Fleece go. If the Priestess now sees fit to restore the Fleece, in the name of Prometheus, to the image which it formerly clothed, she is not to be prevented in this; yet, being the Lord of All Things, I do not greatly care what may become of the golden-fringed gaud. As for the maiden huntress Atalanta of Calydon, I forbid any act of vengeance upon her to be performed in any territory where My Law runs, for she is the beloved servant of My daughter Artemis.”’

  Aras was overjoyed. He declared the divine judgement to be just and ungainsayable, and pointed out that since Medea could have been married with due formality only if she had secured the consent of her nearest male kinsman, namely Apsyrtus, the consequence of the judgement that Alcinoüs had delivered was that she must return to Colchis without delay, and the Fleece with her.

  Queen Arete’s face was all innocence, but her Court ladies had difficulty in suppressing their mirth, especially when Aras taunted Jason, asking: ‘Well, clever Greek, what do you think of this new turn of fate?’
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  Jason answered smoothly: ‘I like it well. Queen Medea of Colchis is already my bride, and the marriage was celebrated with the common consent of every one of her surviving male kinsmen, namely Phrontis, Melanion, Argeus, and Cytissorus, sons of Phrixus. The Queen’s virgin girdle is duly dedicated in the shrine of Artemis of Corcyra, for all to see.’

  At this a great roar of laughter went up from all the Greeks present; but all the Colchians except Aras remained silent, not understanding what Jason had said. Aras was first incredulous, then indignant. He naturally supposed that Alcinoüs had tricked him, but courtesy kept him from accusing his host of double-dealing. As he stood there, biting his lip and fidgeting with his sword, Medea came gliding up to him and asked with a disarming smile: ‘Why do you linger here, Aras? Why do you not sail at once for Colchis?’

  He answered: ‘If your royal brother Apsyrtus is still alive, and is King of Colchis, he will kill me when I arrive without having fulfilled my three commissions. Why should I return to a country that lies at so great a distance from here, merely to die miserably at the end of the voyage? But if he is dead, as I now incline to believe – for the sons of Phrixus are upright men and would not make any false declaration in the presence of the marriage deities for whom the altars are heaped – why, then, you are my Queen, and from you I must take my orders.’

  Medea laid her hand soothingly upon his shoulder and said: ‘Noble Aras, either return to Colchis, if you please; or, if you fear to face the anger of my uncle Perses the Taurian, and of King Styrus the Albanian, and of the Colchian Council of State, why do you not make for Aeaea, which lies opposite to Pola at the head of the Adriatic Sea? There you can safely put yourself at the disposal of my father’s sister, Queen Circe, who has a welcome waiting on her island for all fighting men who are loyal worshippers of the Many-named Goddess. But if ever I have need of you, be sure that I will send for you. Be off, Aras, and prosper! As for myself, I shall make my home at Ephyra, where my father’s former people live, and Perses may, for all I care, continue as regent of Colchis in my absence – which is likely to be a long one indeed. And I charge you, honest Aras, let my friend Atalanta go free. It was Artemis, not she, who killed my father Aeëtes; and Artemis is a Goddess with whom it is not safe to trifle, as you have seen.’

  So Aras was persuaded. He took leave of Medea with a dignified obeisance and his men trooped down to the harbour after him, spread the sails of their ships to a southerly breeze, and were soon out of sight. Jason celebrated the departure of Aras with sacrifices and games, and the country people from all about brought bridal gifts to the royal pair: one a heifer, another a honeycomb, another a fat goose. The Argonauts regretted that they could not immediately sail for Iolcos and thence disperse in honour to their own cities and islands before the weather worsened: but they were bound, by Jason’s promise to Circe, first to convey certain gifts to the Chief Nymph of the shrine of Cocalus at Agrigentum in Sicily.

  On the fifth day of their stay in the island they said their farewells to the Phaeacians, who provisioned the ship and provided her with a new sail and new tackle; and set out for Calabria in Italy. As a parting gift Queen Arete gave Medea the twelve bridesmaids to take with her; and Medea in return gave Arete some of the most beautiful of her jewels. They also exchanged drugs and charms: Medea giving Arete liniment of mezereum root, good against the colds in the chest from which Alcinoüs chronically suffered; and Arete giving Medea a preparation of the onion-like squill which grows profusely in Corfu, and which is a sure poison for rats and mice, while harmless to other creatures. ‘With this in your possession,’ said Arete, ‘you need fear no plague of mice and rats that Apollo may send against you.’

  After a pleasant voyage, with dolphins sporting about the ship from dawn to dusk, the Argonauts disembarked at Calabrian Leuca at the tip of the Iapygian promontory. There they found Canthus, brother of the Polyphemus whom they had left behind at Cios: he was wandering in search of Polyphemus, wishing to tell him that sentence of exile had been revoked and that he might return to his home at Larisa. Jason offered Canthus a passage back to Greece, which he joyfully accepted. At Leuca too, Medea in return for the hospitality shown her by the inhabitants taught the priests the art of snake-charming, from whom it was later conveyed to the Marsians of the Fucine Lake, who mistakenly pay her divine honours to this day under the title of the Goddess Angitia.

  Jason now chose Nauplius to be his navigator, for this was a voyage that Nauplius had made a score of times. He brought them safely to Croton, where seals bask undisturbed upon the beach; there the Fleece was washed in the third of the prescribed seven rivers, namely the Aesaros, which empties into the Ionian Sea. From Croton they sailed by way of Rhegion to Catania in Sicily, which lies under the shadow of Mount Etna; there they found the pastures and chestnut forests scorched and the sea thick with floating lumps of pumice which the mountain had belched out two days before. They had seen the flame and smoke rising while they were yet a great distance off, but Medea had told them to fear nothing. At Catania, also, they washed the Fleece in the fourth of the prescribed rivers, namely the Symaethos, which empties into the Sicilian Sea. From Catania they sailed by way of Heloros and Gela to well-watered Agrigentum, which lies midway on the southern coast of Sicily, facing Africa.

  As they sailed into the harbour of Agrigentum, very early in the morning, only three Argonauts were awake: namely Idas, taking a trick at the helm for Great Ancaeus, who had been steering all night, Nauplius, and Butes of Athens. As the Argo rounded a little headland, keeping close inshore, the fifty nymphs of Cocalus were all sporting together on the beach with a leather ball! They were tossing it from one to the other, in time to a song called the Sirens’ Song, and had their robes girded up to their waists for greater ease, so that their bare thighs showed. Nauplius and Butes modestly covered their eyes with their cloaks, but not Idas, who had no reverence or modesty and called out: ‘Run off, pretty nymphs, and hide in clefts of the rock! Idas, son of Aphareus, has his eyes upon you.’

  Butes, a man of the greatest propriety, rebuked Idas, saying: ‘O Idas, Idas! Keep your eyes upon your course! You will endanger our lives by your folly!’

  Idas replied: ‘No more than you did, bee-mad Butes, when at Aea your taste for honey destroyed our dear comrade Iphitus, who was killed when he returned to rescue you.’

  These words, spoken in a loud voice, aroused the ghost of lphitus, which, disdaining the funeral barrow raised for him in the territory of the Apsilaeans, had come aboard the Argo, hidden in a basket of provisions, to seek revenge. Lynceus had seen the ghost several times since, as it groped blindly from bench to bench forgetful of its name and purposes. Now it remembered all and crept under the handsome Mariandynian cloak with which Butes was covering his face, and began twittering in his ear: ‘I am Iphitus, Iphitus, Iphitus, Iphitus, Iphitus!’

  Butes uttered a tremendous cry and leaped overboard to escape from Iphitus – for ghosts dare not cross salt water except in a boat or on a raft – and swam away as fast as he could, heading westward. Nauplius called to him to return and, when he only swam the faster, changed course and pursued him. Meanwhile the nymphs, more amused than annoyed, had called upon their Goddess and at once a thick sea-mist enveloped the Argo;

  so they continued with their sacred song in broad sunshine on the beach, and the prying eyes of Idas were cheated. Nauplius thereupon stopped the ship, for fear of running Butes down. He wakened Medea and informed her of what had happened. She at once called out a greeting to the nymphs and asked them to plead with the Goddess to disperse the mist; which they did willingly enough when they learned who she was.

  Butes was lost and never set foot aboard the Argo again. He was not drowned, however; for some hours later a chance vessel picked him up exhausted but still swimming, and conveyed him to Lilybaeum, the westernmost promontory of Sicily. There he found a honey of such wonderful properties that he remained as a guest of the college of nymphs on Mount Eryx for the remainder of his life. He
no longer feared the ghost of Iphitus, having hacked off a forefinger to placate it, and he fathered a number of distinguished children on the nymphs, blessing the mishap which had brought him there.

  At Agrigentum, Medea delivered Circe’s presents to the Chief Nymph of Cocalus, who kissed her and showed her the authentic jointed image of the Goddess which Daedalus had made. The two conversed in the interior of the shrine for a very long time, while the Argonauts feasted outside under the shade of laden apple-trees. It was then that Meleager shredded the secret drug which Circe had given him into Atalanta’s bowl of honey-water. If she had tasted it she would have fallen so passionately in love with him that she would have forgotten all modesty, and even her loyalty to Artemis. But keen-eyed Lynceus, observing Meleager’s act, upset the bowl as if accidentally, so that the drug was wasted. Then, drawing him aside, he whispered in his ear: ‘Comrade, do not pick a quarrel with Artemis, I implore you!’ The lovesick Meleager was thus brought to his senses, but Atalanta remained vexed by his jealousy and his uncomradely taunting of Melanion.