we should have deserved,
by now, more trust. But for all your care that the
fleece be guarded,
you’ve forgotten the words of Phineus — that we’ll sail
back home
by a different route. Surely his words were not idle,
Jason.
Troubles await us in the route we steer. So the seer
foretold.
Turn your mind from its jealousy to that!’ The son of
Aison,
touched like the rest by the music, showed no anger.
He glanced
in my direction for help. But despite the pursuing fleet and my certain knowledge that I, beyond all the rest,
was the quarry,
I could not advise him. The wind blew steadily,
plunging us on.
He turned to the old seer Mopsos, bedraggled, smiling
like a fool
at some joke. He too was helpless — not a bird in sight.
Then, moved
by a god, or by his lunacy — who can say? — mad Idas crowed like a rooster and lifted one hand from his oar
to flap it
like a wing, to mock the seer. With strange attention,
the old
man watched. And when Idas fell back laughing, the
old man said,
‘It’s true, yes. Ridiculous … but never mind.’ And to
Jason:
‘Imagine a time when the reeling wheel of stars was not yet firm — when one would have looked in vain for the
Danaan race,
for no men lived but the Arcadians, who were there
before even
the moon. Egypt was the corn-rich colony of dawn,
for the sun
arose, in those dim days, from the south. Dark tales
remain,
remembered by migrating birds, old sundials wrong
about time,
as earth tells time — remembered by temples whose holy
gates
are askew by a quarter turn. Old sea-birds speak of it. Birds of the farmyard scoff.’ He paused,
straining to remember. ‘From Egypt, a certain man set
out—
there had been some terrible catastrophe, explosions in
the ocean,
a continent lost — a man set out with a loyal force and made his way through the whole wilderness of
Europe and Asia,
and founded cities as he went. A few, so birds report, survive. I have seen myself old tablets of stone
containing,
allegedly, old maps. On one there’s a river. The priests of the Keltai, old as their oak trees, call it Ister. I can say no more, or nothing but this: If the ancient stream still
flows,
if the ages have left that forgotten seaway navigable, our route lies somewhere to the west.’ No sooner did
his voice cease
than Hera granted us a sign. Ahead of us, a blinding
light
shot westward, down to the horizon. The Argonauts sent
up a shout,
and away, all canvas spread, our black ship sailed.
“One fleet
of Kolchians, riding on a false scent, had left the
Black Sea,
between the Kyanean rocks. The rest, with Apsyrtus in
command,
unwittingly made for Ister, blindly hunting. — But it
was
more than that, I know; was he not my brother? He was
no
devil, sorcerer or not. He had hoped to have no part in capturing me. But the stars at his birth were
unkind to him.
They discovered the river and entered it — his heart full
of dread—
turned at the first of the river’s two mouths, while we
took the second,
and so his fleet outstripped us. His ships spread panic
as they went.
Shepherds grazing their flocks in the broad green
meadows by the banks
abandoned their charge and fled, supposing the ships
great monsters
risen from the sea, old Leviathan-brooder, for never
before—
or never in many a century — had the Ister been plagued by ships. Apsyrtus’ eyes grew vague. He was of two
minds,
fearing for my life, fearing for his own if he incurred
our father’s
wrath. And so in anguish he set down watchmen as
he passed,
to report, by the blowing of horns or flashing of mirrors,
if we
on the Argo sailed behind him. The message soon
came. In sorrow,
he drew up his fleet as a net.
“Ah, Jason, reasonable Jason!
Had not the moon’s song warned me? — ‘my light, my
life-long heartache!’
But reasonable, yes. If the Argonauts, outnumbered as
they were,
had dared to fight, they’d have met with disaster. They
evaded battle
by coming to terms with Apsyrtus. Both sides agreed
that, since
Aietes himself had said they’d be given the golden fleece if Jason accomplished his appointed task, the fleece was
theirs
by right — Apsyrtus would blink their manner of taking
it.
But as for me — for I was the bone of contention
between them—
they must place me in chancery with Artemis, and
leave me alone
till one of the kings who sit in judgment could decide
on the fate
most just — return to my father or flight with the
Argonauts.
“I listened in horror as Aithalides told me the
terms. I paled,
fought down an urge to laugh. Had they still no glimpse
of the darkness
in Kolchian hearts? Could Jason believe that, free of
me,
Apsyrtus would sweetly make way for them — rude
strangers who’d burned
his father’s ships, seduced his sister, set strife between a brother and sister as dear to each other as earth
and sky?
He must carry me home or abandon Kolchis; but once
his sister
was off their Argo, he’d sink that ship like a stone.
— Yet rage
burned hotter by far in my heart than scorn. I trembled,
imagining
the tortures that king, old sky-fire’s child, would devise
for me.
He had loved me well, loved me as he loved his golden
gates,
his gifts from Helios and Ares. No need to talk of reason in Aietes’ pyre of a brain. He’d become a man like the
gods,
like seasons, like a falling avalanche. Not all the earth
could wall out the rage
of the sun’s child, Lord of the Bulls.
“And so I could not rest
till I’d spoken with Jason in private. When I saw my
chance I beckoned,
getting him to leave his friends. When I’d brought him
far enough,
I spoke, and Jason learned to his sorrow what his
captive was.
His mind took it in. No spells, no charms would I use
on him,
though I might by my craft have had all I wished with
ease. Lips trembling,
cheeks white fire, I charged him: ‘My lord, what is this
plan
that you and my brother have arranged for my smooth
disposal? Has all
your triumph fuddled your memory? Have you forgotten
all
you swore before heaven when driven to seek out my
help? Where are
those solemn oaths you swore by Zeus, great god of
suppliants?
Where are the honey-sweet speeches I believed when
I threw away conscience,
abandoned my homeland, turned the high magic of gods
to the work
of thieves? Now I’m carried away, once a powerful
princess, become
your barter, your less-than-slave! All this in return for