As Medea had foreseen, the Colchians lost all heart after the death of their prince. Fearing the fury of Aietes if they returned empty-handed to Aea, they set sail for the farther shores of the Euxine and built new settlements there for themselves and never were heard from again. We, meanwhile, entered the great river unhindered and traveled onward toward the west.
But the gods in their mysterious wisdom often lead us into preordained inevitable sin and then implacably demand atonement. Hera still looked kindly on her beloved Jason, but Zeus, who had never shown any friendship for Jason, was of another mind entirely. And so, the goddess aiding us as best she could but the angry father-god insisting that a proper price be paid for the crime that had made possible our escape, the rest of our journey was one torment after another, by way of punishment for Medea’s crime and Jason’s acquiescence in it, until Medea was deemed cleansed of her brother’s blood.
We sailed up that uncharted westward-flowing river through bitter lands of ice and snow, shivering in northern gales that slowed the very course of our blood. The oarsmen’s hands froze as they gripped the oars. Storms assailed us and came close to shattering our mast. Huge deadly floating masses of ice came drifting all about us, jutting up far above us and making every day seem like a running of the Clashing Rocks. We grew gaunt and weak with hunger, but Ancaeus did wondrous deeds at the helm and I beat time for the weary men with whatever energy remained in me, and we managed to go on.
Deep in the heart of the continent we found at last another mighty river, likewise unknown then to any Hellene mariner, that rose somewhere at the world’s end and flowed southward into our own broad-breasted ocean. When we emerged finally into a place of warmer weather, new storms caught us and spun us around, driving us northward again past the coast of what we surmised was Italy. We fought our way south once more, entering at last into the Tyrrhenian Sea that we knew would take us back to the Hellene lands, only to find ourselves confronted by the isle where the Sirens dwelled, those seductive singers who are put there to lure mariners to their destruction. “There is no other way for us,” said Ancaeus, “but to go past their shore. But who can resist the Sirens’ song?”
Well, I had sung three-headed Cerberus into pleasant slumber, and I had soothed the serpent guardian of the Fleece the same way, and now I took lyre in hand to get us past this peril as well, for I knew that other tasks awaited me beyond this voyage and we were not destined to end our days here.
These Sirens are my cousins, daughters of my mother’s sister Terpsichore the muse. Their voices are clear and beautiful, and when travelworn seamen pass their island they sing out in chorus, beckoning them ashore to supposed delights, but actually intending their deaths. They offer soft bosoms and a warm resting-place to weary travelers, and few can say no to them.
But I know a little about the art of song myself; and as the Sirens began their lovely song, I cut across it with a rousing chanty of my own that entirely canceled out their alluring harmonies, breaking over them and engulfing them in robust manly rhythms. I sang to the oarsmen of all that we had endured, and all that we had achieved, and of how close we were now to home and the glory that awaited us upon our return. My song lifted their spirits, and, exhausted and famished though they were, they pulled hard at their oars, and the Sirens were powerless to make themselves heard above my voice and the steady thrumming of my lyre. Only one of our number, young Butes of Iolcus, was able to tune his ear to their song instead of mine, and leaped overboard and swam on toward shore, where those devilish sisters pounced upon him in the surf.
To Sicily then we came, King Alcinous’ realm. There we were met with a welcoming feast. But even as we rejoiced in this comfort after our hard voyage, dark sails appeared off shore: yet another fleet of Colchis, sent out by Aietes to rove the seas in search of Medea and the Fleece. Of course they could not attack us while we were Alcinous’ guests; but the Colchian envoy who went before the king accused us of theft and worse, and asked Alcinous to turn over to them all that we had stolen from their king. And Alcinous, fearing to make an enemy of Aietes and unwilling also to bring the wrath of thundering Zeus upon himself, showed a willingness to do so.
Jason was unable to refute these accusations, and was helpless and baffled here. But Medea stood up boldly before the king and begged for mercy from him, pleading with him not to separate her from Jason, whom the gods had destined for her as her mate. Surely, she said, her father, who had never loved her and now looked upon her as a traitor, would put her to death if she were brought back to Colchis. Did Alcinous, that wise and generous king, mean to send a guest of his household to such a death?
Alcinous was moved by her tender words, just as Jason, earlier, had been swayed by her angry ones. The king declared that if she was still a virgin, he would indeed send her back to Aietes, for Aietes had a father’s right to her and Jason had none at all. But if Medea and Jason were married, he would not come between a husband and his wife. That night we poured the wine and honey for the gods, and sacrificed the sheep, and built a wedding bed for Jason and Medea with the Golden Fleece spread upon it as a coverlet; and so, in haste, their marriage was consummated in this foreign land instead of in Jason’s father’s house in Iolcus, as he had intended. It may have been a happy night for them but there would be little happiness for these two in the years ahead.
Concerning the remainder of our long time of tribulations I will be brief. When we left Sicily we were caught by a northerly gale and blown toward sun-parched Africa, into the Gulf of Libya, where our ship was caught by one of the wild tides of that place and carried far up onto the desert shore. Ancaeus the helmsman gave way to grief at this; for not only were we beached, but he knew that when the tide returned it would sweep us just as irresistibly out upon the rocky shoals that rose everywhere in this desolate place, and our hull would be shattered beyond hope of repair. So there was no alternative for us but to take the terrible weight of the Argo upon our backs, lifting the ship and hauling it across the desert, day after brutal day, an effort that very nearly was beyond our ability. At last, just as we were coming to the last of our endurance, we reached navigable waters beyond. No suffering in all the time since we had first set out was equal to the suffering that this portage imposed on us; and we were weeping tears of blood by the time we staggered at last to the brink of a brackish lake and put the Argo’s keel into water once more.
To the open sea we sailed, and thence to Crete, and by one way and another we made our way homeward. You will know that Jason took the Fleece and his bride to Pasagae, where there was great rejoicing. Even King Pelias, he who had sent Jason on the long quest, pretended to be pleased at his return with the Fleece. Old Aeson, Jason’s father, had died during his absence. Medea, who by then was with child by Jason, charmed Pelias into believing that she could through her witchcraft make him young again, but that monstrous woman gave him poison instead of some magic elixir, so that he perished in a terrible way and Jason became king in Iolcus. After which, as you know, he strayed from Medea in his affections, embracing Glauce, the daughter of the Theban king; but fierce vengeful Medea slew not only Glauce but her own two young children, leaving only their corpses for Jason, and fled from Thessaly to many other dark exploits elsewhere, of which I need not sing here. And the last years of splendid Jason were blackened by grief and shame.