The Golden Fleece Page 8

  When Jason told his Uncle Pelias that the Goddess had approved the voyage, he was surprised and said: ‘Indeed! And upon what grounds?’

  ‘Upon this ground, that the ghost of my kinsman Phrixus must be set at rest,’ Jason answered.

  This puzzled Pelias, who had no notion that the ghost of Phrixus was not at rest or even that he had died. But he answered cunningly: ‘Alas, yes, the Goddess is right to remind you of the pious duty that you owe your miserable cousin. A few years ago that wretch Aeëtes added to his other crimes by poisoning Phrixus at a banquet and throwing his bones without ceremony into a thicket near the royal dining-hall. Red poppies now peep through the eye-holes of our kinsman’s skull and brambles twine about his bones. His ghost will continue to plague every member of his family until it is laid with the proper burial rites. It has already disturbed my sleep on several occasions.’

  Jason then told Pelias that he intended to consult the Oracle of Father Zeus at Dodona. Pelias praised him for his piety and asked him which of the three alternative routes from Thessaly to Epirus he proposed to take. The first is by land all the way, across high mountains and deep valleys; the second is partly by land and partly by sea – to take the Delphi road and then to sail through the Corinthian Gulf and up the western coast of the Adriatic Sea as far as the mouth of the river Thyamis, in Epirus, from which a convenient road runs to the plain of Dodona; the third is by sea almost the whole way – to circumnavigate Greece as far as the mouth of the Thyamis, and then to take the Dodona road. This third alternative was the one recommended by Pelias, who promised to supply Jason with a ship and crew free of charge.

  Jason had never been on shipboard in his life, and therefore preferred the overland route to the other two; but Pelias warned him that it would lead him through Lapith territory and across the inhospitable ridge of Pindus, which was inhabited by Dolopians, Aethics, and other bloody savages. He persuaded him to abandon his intention, though admitting that the second route was not a promising one either, since he was unlikely to find a ship in the Corinthian Gulf ready to make the Dodona voyage at that time of year. The summer was already nearly over, and the season of storms had begun. ‘But,’ said Pelias, ‘if you take the third route and dare to circumnavigate Greece I can promise you a fine ship and a capable master.’

  Jason replied that, since the season was unpropitious, he thought it more prudent to avoid the third route too, even if he sailed in one of Pelias’s own ships; for he had heard terrible accounts of the changing winds off the rugged eastern coast of the Peloponnese and of the furious gales encountered by ships which rounded Capes Malea and Taenaros. He reminded Pelias of the proverb, that the shortest cut to the Underworld was to round Cape Taenaros in autumn weather; and said that he intended to take the second route, by way of the Gulf of Corinth – doubtless some God would find him a ship.

  Pelias then promised to escort him by land as far as the Crisaean Bay, near Delphi, in the Gulf of Corinth, and there, if possible, to charter a ship for him to continue the journey to Epirus.

  Jason started out on his journey with Pelias at about the time of year that olives begin to ripen; sitting at Pelias’s side in his polished mule-cart, with an armed escort of Achaeans riding ahead on their ponies. They went by way of the Cephisos river and Daulis and passed through the Cleft Way where Oedipus the Theban long afterwards murdered his father King Laius by mistake. They were soon obliged to dismount from the car and continue on mule-back, because a fall of rock had cut the highway. Delphi lies in a semi-circle, very high up on the olive-rich southern side of Mount Parnassus; above it tower the Shining Cliffs, a rock-wall of prodigious height, and in front, across the valley of the Plistos, the fir-fledged crest of Mount Cirphis shuts off the view of the Corinthian Gulf and protects the town from ill winds in summer. Plentiful rain had recently fallen, and down a gorge near by a hissing cascade of white water leaped giddily, mingling its water with that of the Castalian spring far below – the spring where the priests of Apollo wash their hair – the two waters together flowing into the Plistos valley after another prodigious leap.

  At Delphi, a town small in size but great in reputation, the priests of the Navel Shrine commented politely on Jason’s handsome appearance and on his generous acceptance by Pelias as the rightful heir to the Phthiotid throne. Jason paid his humble respects to Apollo, in order to win as many deities to his side as possible. He asked the Pythoness, as he presented her with the customary gift of a bronze tripod (supplied by his father Aeson), what advice Apollo had to give him; and the Pythoness, after putting herself into an oracular trance by the chewing of laurel leaves – for humbler visitants she omitted this painful procedure and was content to give uninspired but sensible advice from her own knowledge and experience – began to rave and mutter unintelligible words as she sat on the gift tripod in a recess of the round white tomb.

  Presently Jason understood her to say that the voyage which he must undertake would be renowned in song for unnumbered ages, if he took the precaution of sacrificing to Apollo, God of Embarkations, on the day that he launched his ship; and to Apollo, God of Disembarkations, on the night of his return. Then she relapsed into what seemed to be nonsense. The only recurrent phrase that he could catch at was that he should ‘take the true Jason’ with him. But the Pythoness, when she recovered her sobriety, was unable to tell him who this person might be.

  Delphi was renowned for curative lyric music, but Jason, educated only in the stirring music of pipe and drum, despised the gentle twanglings of the tortoise-shell lyre. He had difficulty in preserving the required silence while it was being played to him by the priests of the musical college; and he grieved when he saw the flayed skin of the Pelasgian Marsyas, which the priests of Apollo had cured and nailed up in derision on the door of the college. Marsyas had been a Silenian, leader of the Goat men who made pipe-music in honour of the hero Dionysus; but Apollo’s archers had driven out the Goat men, and those who escaped their arrows they hurled down into the gorge. The priests claimed that the lyre was a recent invention of the God Hermes, who had presented it to Apollo. Yet the only difference between the lyre which they used and that which had been used by the priestesses of the Triple Goddess from time immemorial was that they fitted it with four strings instead of three, and that they extended it with a pair of curved horns branching outwards from the tortoise-shell body and connected near the top by a yoke of wood to which the strings were fastened.

  Astronomy was another study at Delphi, and the priests were already dividing the stars into constellations and timing their first ascensions above the horizon and their subsequent declensions. A school of image-makers and vase-painters, founded by Prometheus, was also under Apollo’s patronage, but Iphitus the Phocian, a famous artist with whom Jason lodged on this occasion and who afterwards became an Argonaut, told him that the name of Prometheus, like that of Dionysus, was no longer honoured at Delphi.

  As for the Aesculapian school of medicine, a compromise between the claims of Apollo and Hades had been found. Once the mourning wail had been uttered over a sick person, Apollo’s physicians were forbidden to attempt his cure; and in general the art of medicine was to be palliative rather than restorative. But Apollo’s physicians have not always kept to their side of the bargain, especially those settled in the island of Cos.

  Chapter Six

  Zeus Approves the Voyage

  From Delphi it was only a short journey to the blue waters of the Crisaean Bay, where Pelias and Jason found a Corinthian trading-ship at anchor; she was conveying a cargo of Phocian pottery and painted ornaments to King Alcinoüs of Corfu, an island which lies opposite the river Thyamis, at a few miles’ distance from it. Pelias bargained with the master for Jason’s safe conveyance to the Thyamis, and was careful to tell him, as if in confidence: ‘This nephew of mine, Jason son of Aeson, proposes to sail to Colchis in the spring, with the bold aim of seizing the Golden Fleece of Zeus from evil-minded King Aeëtes, who has refused to return it to the Achaean
rulers of Greece. Jason now hopes to consult the Oracle of Zeus at Dodona and there win the God’s approval for his enterprise. It would be the greatest pity if he fell overboard before he reached the coast of Epirus; for, not being yet under the protection of Zeus, it is likely that he would drown and the Fleece would therefore remain in the possession of Aeëtes.’ Pelias then paid the master in advance the fare that he demanded, and also gave him a valuable gold ring with these words: ‘Take as good care of my nephew as if he were already homeward bound with the Fleece.’

  The Corinthian master, as Pelias suspected, reverenced his fellow-countryman King Aeëtes as a champion of the old religion against the new, and cherished the memory of his former patron, generous King Sisyphus of Asopia, whom Zeus and the Achaeans had brought to so cruel an end. The words of Pelias, ‘It would be the greatest pity if he fell overboard’, rang in his head, and the value of the ring suggested that Pelias trusted in Jason’s ability to secure the Fleece and prized him accordingly. The Corinthian therefore decided to murder Jason; which was what Pelias had intended him to do, though he had been careful to remain guiltless in the matter.

  The water in the Gulf was calm enough, and the wind fair, but on the third day, as the Corinthian ship coasted past Leucas and met the full fury of the Ionian Sea, Jason fell sick and lay under the shelter of the prow wrapped in his woollen cloak and occasionally rising up to vomit over the side. Then the master, whose brother, the helmsman, knew of his intentions, caught Jason by the legs and heaved him overboard. Nobody but the helmsman saw or heard what was done, for the rowers were hard at work with their backs turned, and the master smothered Jason’s feeble cry with a cheerful song; while the helmsman from his end of the ship began cursing one of the oarsmen for not keeping stroke.

  This would have been the end of Jason, who was weak from frequent vomiting and being swept along by a powerful current, but for a miraculous intervention. A wild olive-tree, rooted up by the force of a gale or flood from a near-by mountain-side and thrown into the sea, came drifting past. Jason, whose whole life had been spent in the mountains, so that he had never learned to swim, caught at the branches and with a huge effort pulled himself astride the trunk. He clung to this tree until evening, when at last he saw a sail to the northward and presently an Athenian vessel came bowling down the wind, about two bowshots away. The helmsman, observing Jason’s signals, steered towards him; and the crew hauled him aboard. When they heard who he was and how he came to be in the water they were astounded; for, not an hour before, they had watched the Corinthian vessel being wrecked with all hands, and beyond possibility of rescue, on the rocks of a lee shore. Judging that Jason, whom they had found surrounded by large, savage fish, must certainly be under the protection of the Gods, the master agreed to turn the helm about, for no reward, and convey him safely to his destination. The name of this Athenian master was Hestor.

  Jason thanked Hestor heartily and, kneeling by the mast, prayed aloud to the Goddess Athena, the ship’s patroness. He undertook, in gratitude for his preservation from the bellies of the fish, to erect an altar to her at Iolcos and burn most exquisite heifer sacrifices on it. Clearly, the rescue had been from first to last arranged by Athena, for the olive-tree is sacred to her.

  Jason came safe to Dodona a few days later, accompanied by Argus, Hestor’s eldest son. He was surprised, after hearing so many boasts about this place by the Achaeans, whose fathers had resided there for some years, to find it a mean, straggling village at the head of a lake full of noisy waterfowl. It contained no buildings of lofty height or neat construction, and even the council-chamber was a large tumble-down hut with a turf roof and a floor of rammed earth. However, he had been instructed by Cheiron, whose advice he had now learned to respect, to pretend admiration, in the course of his travels, for even the most miserable buildings, clothes, weapons, cattle and the like that were pointed out to him with pride by their possessors, and at the same time to decry everything that he had left behind at home, except the simplicity and honesty of his fellow-citizens. By these arts he ingratiated himself with the Dodonans, and though the priests at the shrine were disappointed that the gifts which he had intended to present to the God – a great copper cauldron and a sacrificial sickle with an ivory handle – had been lost in the wreck of the Corinthian ship, they were satisfied with his promise to send other gifts of equal value as soon as he returned to Iolcos. As a token of good faith he cut off two long tresses of his yellow hair and laid them before the altar; these would give the priests power over him until the promise had been fulfilled.

  The Chief Priest, who was a relative of King Pelias, was delighted to hear of Jason’s resolve to recover the Fleece from the hands of foreigners. He informed him that King Aeëtes by long traffic with the kinky-haired Colchian savages, and by marriage with a savage Taurian princess from the Crimea, had become a mere savage himself and tolerated customs in his own family at which it would be shameful even to hint in so sacred a spot as Dodona. ‘Is it not terrible,’ he asked, ‘to think that the Fleece of Zeus, one of the holiest of Greek relics, and one upon which the fertility of all Phthiotis depends, has been hung up by that wretch’s filthy hands in the very shrine of Prometheus the fire-thief, the avowed enemy of Zeus, whom the Colchians now identify with their national War God? Let me tell you more about this Aeëtes. He is of Cretan descent and claims to be of the royal blood of those unnaturally inclined Pasiphaë priestesses, who boasted that they were all-navel, that is to say insatiable in their sexual desires, and are believed to have coupled with sacred bulls. Aeëtes practised witchcraft of a peculiarly impious sort while he was a resident of Corinth, having been initiated into the art by his fair-haired sister Circe. Why they suddenly parted, Circe sailing to a remote island off the coast of Istria and Aeëtes to the eastern shore of the Black Sea, is an enigma; but it is suspected that the separation was ordered by the Triple Goddess in punishment for incest or some other crime that they had committed in company.’

  ‘Holy One,’ said Jason, ‘your report stirs my soul to righteous anger. Consult the God for me, if you will, and let me be assured of his favour.’

  The Priest answered: ‘Purge yourself with buckthorn, wash yourself in the waters of the lake, abstain from all food, remove all your woollen clothing, and meet me in the oak-grove at grey dawn tomorrow.’

  Jason did as he was told. Dressed only in his close-fitting leather tunic and rough sandals, he came at the time appointed and stood in the shadow of the oak-grove. The Priest was already present in his ceremonial dress of ram’s wool, with a pair of gilded, curling horns tied on his brow and a yellow branch in his hand. He took Jason by the arm and told him to fear nothing. Then he began softly to whistle two or three notes of a melody and to wave the branch to and fro, until a breeze sprang up and rustled the leaves of the oak, causing those that were scattered on the ground to run round and round as if in ritual dance to the God.

  The Priest continued waving his branch and whistling louder and louder. Soon the wind roared through the branches, and Jason seemed to hear the leaves sing all together: ‘Go, go, go with the blessing of Father Zeus!’ When the Priest ceased his invocation, there was a sudden lull, followed by another furious single gust and a distant roll of thunder. Then a crack sounded above their heads and down tumbled a leafy branch, about the size and form of a man’s leg, and fell at Jason’s feet.

  Seldom had so propitious a sign been granted to any visitant in that grove, the Chief Priest assured Jason. After trimming the branch with a sickle, to remove all the leaves and twigs, he graciously gave it into Jason’s hands. ‘Here,’ said he, ‘is something holy to build into the prow of the ship in which you sail to Colchis.’

  Jason asked: ‘Will the God be benignant enough to supply me with a ship?’

  The Chief Priest answered: ‘No, no: since the Goddess Athena has already been at pains to rescue you from the sea, let her be in charge of the ship-building too. Father Zeus has other cares. Pray, tell her so.’

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nbsp; When Jason returned in elation to the hut where he was lodged, his comrade Argus asked him whether he proposed to winter at Dodona, now that their ship had sailed homewards and they could not count on finding another; or whether he would try to make his way back to Iolcos over the mountains.

  Jason replied that he could not afford to remain idle during the winter, and that the sacred branch of the oak of Zeus would be sufficient protection for any journey. Argus thereupon offered to accompany him. Two days later, carrying wallets stuffed with dried meat, roasted acorns, and other rough food, they set out on their journey, following the valley of the rushing Arachthos river until they came to a rock-strewn pass overshadowed by Mount Lacmon. The heights were bitterly cold and the snow already whitened the peaks; at night they took turns in watching at the camp fire. When the owls hooted, Jason heard their outcry not as an ill augury but as the heartening cry of the Goddess Athena’s own bird, and being an initiate of the Leopard fraternity he was equally undisturbed by the howling of the leopards, which are numerous in the Pindus range. But the roaring of the lions terrified him.

  From the pass they continued eastward until they came to the headwaters of the Peneus. The Peneus, though a small stream at first, gathers tributaries in its descent to the fertile plains of Thessaly and at last debouches as a noble river into the Aegean Sea at Tempe, between the greater Mount Olympus and Mount Ossa. Game was scarce in this desolate country, and Jason, though famous as a hunter on the slopes of Pelion, was unacquainted with the haunts and habits of the beasts of Pindus. He and Argus tightened their hunger-belts and considered themselves fortunate on the eighth day to cripple a hare and kill a partridge with well-aimed stones. But the knowledge that they were under the protection of so many deities sustained them, and at last they saw a shepherd’s hut in the distance, with sheep grazing near by, and hurried towards it in eagerness.