With a sigh, he reconciled himself to the permanent loss of the reports that had been near costing him so dear. As some consolation he recalled Luke's opinion that, since they contained no clues to the identity of the agents who had written them, they would probably not have proved of any great value to N.A.T.O. Intelligence.
Dismissing the matter from his mind, he spent a cheerful hour before dinner sorting out his things into those that could be got into two suitcases to go in the boot of a car, and the rest which he felt sure his uncle would allow him to leave at the Embassy until—as he would say—he could send for them.
While he was so employed, Loadham arrived on the scene and enquired the reason for this disturbance of drawers and cupboards. When Robbie told him, the cadaverous valet shook his head sadly over his young master's impending departure, but insisted that he should not pack for himself. He had only to put aside, for packing, the thftigs he meant to take with him. Loadham would pack them when instructed to do so and, after Robbie's departure, take care of everything else.
This arrangement left Robbie nothing to do after dinner; so, his mind free of worry, he returned to his book, re-reading parts of it with a view to getting in the mood to start a new chapter next day. On looking through the chapter on Jason, he was far from satisfied with it; so on the Wednesday, instead of tackling a fresh subject, he re-wrote the chapter. And this is how it read when he finally laid down his pen that night:
THE HEROES (no. 3 jason)
I'm not sure that I ought not to have headed this chapter the argonauts, or even the golden fleece, because both would be more likely to ring a bell in my kind reader's mind than just the name of Jason.
Anyhow, as 1 have now managed to wedge these romantic words into the first paragraph readers will have a pretty good idea what this chapter is about.
I have not yet told you about Chiron. He was an old, white-headed Centaur who lived in a cave up on Mount Pelion, which is not far from the coast in north-eastern Greece, and he was looked on by everyone as quite the top tutor of his day. He had the misfortune to die very painfully from having scratched himself with one of Hercules's poisoned arrows, but before that lots of Kings used to send their sons to be educated by him. In fact his cave seems to have been a sort of Eton of those days.
Of course they didn't use books, or not much, anyway, but he taught them all the sort of things that really matter, like being kind to old people, reverence for the gods and sticking to one's Pals through thick and thin. Besides this he coached them in hunting, wrestling, dancing, mountain climbing and how to play the harp and sing, so he must have been quite an exceptional sort of Prof.
Jason spent most of his youth as one of Chiron's pupils, with a whole lot of other young Princes; although at the time he had no idea that he too came out of the top drawer. Actually his father, Aeson, should have been a King, but he had come unstuck through letting his kingdom be stolen from him by his wicked half-brother Pelias. This Pelias was a very unpleasant type as given half a chance he would have killed young Jason, so as to make certain he wouldn't be around to claim the kingdom when he grew up. That is why Aeson hurried little Jason off to live with old Chiron on Mount Pelion.
Jason soon grew as big as I am and he was very much quicker at doing things. He was a match for any of the others at throwing a spear or scaling a cliff, and he didn't mind swimming in icy torrents in mid-winter a bit. What is more, he had taken in all old Chiron had told him about never telling people what a fine fellow he was and showing a sort of polite indifference when dishes were put on the table that were his very favourite thing to eat. I hesitate to say so, but he seems to me to have been a bit of a prig.
At length the day came when Chiron decided that he had turned out a star pupil with no further edges to be rounded off, so he gave Jason the lowdown about his birth and how his father had been done down by Pelias.
Our Hero at once became as mad as a hatter. He would not delay a single day, but next morning set off down the mountain towards the coast where the kingdom lay that should have been his. After springing from rock to rock like a billy-goat for an hour or two, he got down to vineyards, orchards and fields of corn, but then he found himself facing a rushing river.
On its bank was sitting an old woman dressed in filthy rags and moaning to herself: 'Who will carry me across?'
You and I, dear reader, would have known the answer to that one, but Jason very nearly missed the boat. He looked at her as though she were something the cat had brought in; but, luckily for him, on second thoughts he remembered what Chiron had told him about acting as a good guy to anyone in trouble. Hiding his annoyance as best he could, he said: 'All right, mother, I'll take you over.'
No sooner had he spoken than she leapt upon his back and flung her skinny arms round his neck. Far from happy, he waded into the river, slipping and stumbling and cutting his feet on hidden rocks. She clung to him like a limpet and seemed to weigh a ton, so he came near to drowning and had one hell of a time before he managed to stagger with her up the opposite bank.
As you will have guessed she then leapt lightly to the ground and dazzled the poor chap by turning into a female sheathed in silk and surrounded by a sort of full-length halo of incandescent light. It transpired that she was Hera, Zeus's official wife, and what follows is one of the few things I shall have to record to that horrid woman's credit. She told him that as he had proved himself to be a charitable type, he could call on her for help whenever he needed it. And in this case she was as good as her word—or at least now and then.
Feeling distinctly pleased with himself, Jason slogged on towards the city, the towers of which he could now see in the distance. However, his progress was slowed up quite a bit because while fording the river one of his sandals had been gripped by the mud which sucked it off his foot. But he was much too tough to let a little thing like that get him down, and in due course he reached the capital.
Now although Jason did not know it, some years before King Pelias had consulted an Oracle. It had told him that he would lose his kingdom to a stranger who came to him with one bare foot. So it will be readily understood that when Jason presented himself at Court and the King saw that he was wearing only one sandal he nearly threw a fit.
Pulling himself together, Pelias asked Jason who he was, whence he came and all that. Jason, who was either lacking in imagination or a V.C. type that does not count the odds, promptly replied: 'I am the son of Aeson, come to claim my rights. Get off that throne or it will be the worse for you.'
Why Pelias did not call out his Guard and have Jason done in there and then, history does not tell us. Perhaps the prophecy had scared him down to his button boots, so that his mind was not ticking over properly, or he may have had a thing against taking human life. Anyhow, instead of having Jason's throat cut, he invited him to dinner.
While they were ail having a wash and brush up, the King seems to have got his wits back. He had several lovely daughters so he sent for them and said: 'Listen, girls. This fellow Jason whom I've asked to dine is a heel. If we're not darned careful he'll have us all out of here on our ears, and you will find yourself earning a living on the streets. Fortunately he seems a brainless lout, and you are his cousins, so you've got to cozen him, understand? Don't spare the petting, and leave the rest to me,' or words to that effect.