Heroes: Volume II of Mythos

R ETURN TO I OLCOS Some years earlier, when Apollo’s son Asclepius had been his pupil, Chiron had detected in him preternatural skill in science and the healing arts, which led to the mortal, under Chiron’s tutelage, rising to become the foremost practitioner and theorist of medicine in the Greek world – and would later bring about his elevation to divine status.fn18 Although Chiron perceived little of such potential in Jason, he gave him a thorough grounding in medical and herbal theory, knowledge and practice, nonetheless. Mostly he saw in the child, and the young man he became, boundless courage, athleticism, intelligence and ambition. He saw too lots of words beginning with ‘self’, which gave him pause. Self-belief, self-possession, self-righteousness, self-confidence, self-love. Perhaps these characteristics are as necessary to a hero as courage. So Jason began to grow up. He knew the story of his father’s imprisonment at the hands of the usurper Pelias, but he was prepared to bide his time before setting out to avenge the injustice and claim the throne of Iolcos. One of the many virtues he learnt at the feet of the noble Chiron was patience. It might have been that any inward ambition to become a great hero was kindled by an unexpected visit from the hero Bellerophon, who landed one day outside Chiron’s cave on the back of a flying horse. ‘Chiron, you are famed around the world for your mastery of the healing arts. You are half-horse yourself – who better to help my poor friend?’ Pegasus, immortal but not immune from harm, had been badly burned around the neck and mane during Bellerophon’s fight with the Chimera. While Chiron set about smearing a medicinal paste on the wounds, Bellerophon related his adventures to a spellbound young Jason. Chiron was amused by Jason’s round-eyed wonder; but before Bellerophon left with a restored Pegasus, the centaur could not resist a lecture. ‘You are pleased with what you have done, Master Bellerophon,’ he said. ‘Certainly you have been brave and resourceful. But I hope you understand enough of the ways of the Fates and of the gods to know that only darkness and despair awaits those who believe that their achievements are theirs and theirs alone. Pay proper homage to the gods who helped you and the immortal horse without whom you would be just another insignificant little prince.’ Bellerophon laughed and exchanged an eye-rolling shrug with Jason, who giggled. Chiron shook his head as they waved Bellerophon and Pegasus off on their way back to King Iobates and the resumption of their adventures. ‘It is the fate of the young never to learn,’ the centaur sighed. ‘I suppose it is arrogance and unwavering self-belief that propels them to their triumphs, just as surely as it is arrogance and unwavering self-belief that unseats them and sends them plummeting to their ends.’ Jason hadn’t heard. He was watching Bellerophon and Pegasus disappear into a small dot in the distant sky. Chiron clapped his hands in front of the boy’s eyes. ‘You are in a trance. Wake up and tell me. Which herbs did I use in the poultice I applied to Pegasus? What was the juice I added to make the paste heat up, foment and fizz?’ And so the years passed, with Jason learning as much as he could while dreaming all the time of a heroic future. It would be too much to expect that he could ever be in possession of a flying horse, but he would find something – some symbol, some animal, some object – which would grant him everlasting fame. Soon, too soon in Chiron’s view, Jason had grown to be a fit, strong, tall and handsome young man, ready to leave Chiron’s cave on Mount Pelion and make his way down to Iolcos. ‘Remember,’ cautioned the centaur. ‘Modesty. Observance of the gods. In a fight, do not do what you want to do, but what you judge your enemy least wants you to. You cannot control others if you cannot control yourself. Those who most understand their own limitations have the fewest. A leader is one who …’ and on and on, precept after precept, warning after warning. Jason nodded and pretended to take in every word. For psychological effect, to draw attention to and accentuate the physique he had built up over years of training, he had dressed himself in a leopard skin. With his long golden hair, tanned musculature and burning eyes he would present a fierce and fascinating figure to the strangers he encountered on the way. ‘Don’t worry, old friend,’ he said, embracing Chiron. ‘I’ll make you proud.’ ‘You’ll make me proud,’ Chiron called after him, tears running down his cheeks, ‘if you don’t make yourself proud.’ Not long on his journey, Jason came to a fast-flowing river, the Anaurus. On its banks stood a frail old woman, bent double by age, uncertain how to cross without being swept away. ‘Hello there. Let me carry you across and don’t you worry about a thing, dear mother,’ said Jason, not meaning to sound patronising, but managing to, nonetheless. ‘Too kind, too kind,’ wheezed the old woman, who leapt with surprising agility onto Jason’s back, her fingernails digging hard into his flesh. Jason waded into the torrent, the old lady chatting into his ear and pinching his skin as she held on. The sharp pain of her grip at one point caused Jason to stumble. He caught a foot between two stones and nearly fell over. When he reached the other side and was able to deposit his garrulous burden, he realised that he was missing one of his sandals. He looked back and saw it wedged in the rocks where his foot had been stuck. He made to retrieve it, but the old lady was pawing at him. ‘Thank you, young man, thank you. How kind. I bless you. I bless you.’ Jason watched the sandal loosen itself and float away on the strong current. But when he glanced down to acknowledge the woman’s gratitude, he was surprised to see that she had disappeared. Extraordinarily fleet of foot for such a frail little thing, he thought to himself. We should have guessed straight away that this was no frail little thing, but Hera, in one of her favourite disguises. The Queen of Heaven knew very well that Jason was journeying to Iolcos to wrest the kingdom from his uncle, the same Pelias who had so outrageously and unforgivably desecrated one of her temples. Hera wanted to be sure that the enemy of her enemy was worthy of her support and protection. His uncomplaining courtesy at the river confirmed that he was. From now on she would do all that she could to help him. The same Hera that strove every step of the way to hamper and torment Heracles would strive every step of the way to guide and favour Jason. The motive, so typically of Hera, was not love of Jason but hatred of Pelias. When the people of Iolcos saw the mesmerising figure of Jason with his leopard skin, rippling hair and bulging muscles stride into the marketplace they knew at once that here was somebody who should be paid attention to. Palace messengers ran to find their lord and king Pelias, who never took kindly to being anything other than the very first to hear important news. He was seated at a map table in his great hall, planning games to be held in honour of his father Poseidon. ‘Stranger?’ he said. ‘What kind of stranger? Describe him.’ ‘Come in from the country, he has,’ said one herald. ‘His hair is gold, my lord king,’ said another. ‘And long. Right down his back,’ sighed a third. ‘He wears the skin of a lion.’ ‘Er, actually it’s leopard, not lion.’ ‘No, pretty sure it’s lion.’ ‘You can see the spots …’ ‘Markings, yes, but I wouldn’t call them “spots”. Lions have …’ ‘Thank you!’ Pelias cut in. ‘This stranger is wearing the pelt of some large cat. Good. Is there anything else?’ ‘Could just as easily be lynx.’ ‘Or bobcat, maybe.’ ‘A bobcat is a lynx.’ ‘Really? I thought they were different?’ ‘Enough!’ Pelias smashed a fist down on the table. ‘Is he tall, short, dark, fair? What?’ ‘Fair.’ ‘Tall, very tall.’ ‘And he walks with a limp.’ ‘Well, I wouldn’t call it a limp, exactly,’ said the second herald. ‘He’s lame, man!’ countered the first. ‘Yes, but that’s because, if you noticed, he’s only got one sandal, so naturally he’s going to list to the side a bit …’ ‘What did you say?’ ‘Well, my lord, just that it’s more of a list to one side than a full-blown limp …’ ‘Yes, your majesty. I’d call it maybe a mild hobble.’ Pelias grabbed the second herald by the throat. ‘Did you just say that he was wearing one sandal?’ ‘Yes, sire,’ gasped the herald, going purple in the face. Pelias let go of him and looked at the others. ‘You all saw this?’ They nodded. Fear gripped Pelias’s heart. The stranger from the country with one sandal! What could he do? To attack or imprison a visitor would be to defy the laws of hospitality sacred to Zeus and Nephele … Nephele! The mention of her name awoke an idea in Pelias’s mind. He strode out to the marketplace where he found Jason drinking at a fountain surrounded by a crowd of admiring children. Yes, there could be no doubt. The man’s left foot was unshod, naked. As bare as truth. ‘Welcome, stranger!’ Pelias managed to say, in what he hoped was an amiable, yet suitably grand, manner. ‘What brings you to our kingdom?’ ‘It is indeed “our kingdom”, uncle,’ was Jason’s bold reply. He had decided to be forthright from the first in his approach to Pelias. ‘Uncle?’ Pelias had many brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces and cousins, thanks to his mother Tyro’s multiple marriages. But the use of the word from this single-sandalled stranger struck dread into his heart. The oracle had warned him to beware not just of a man with one sandal, but also of a kinsman, a man of his own blood. ‘Yes, Pelias, son of Tyro,’ said Jason. ‘I am Jason. My father is Aeson, son of Tyro and of Cretheus, the former King of Iolcos. Aeson, the rightful ruler of this kingdom. I have come to claim our inheritance. What you have gained from your years of usurpation you may keep. All the cattle, treasure, buildings and land are yours. But from now on the kingdom is mine and you must release my parents from their imprisonment.’ ‘Ah,’ said Pelias, grasping Jason by the shoulders. ‘Welcome, nephew. You come at just the right time.’ ‘I do?’ ‘This land is yours by right, Jason, of course it is. I have been ruling in your place, but will happily step aside now that you are here, only –’ He broke off in some confusion. ‘Only what?’ demanded Jason. ‘Only this land is … cursed!’ ‘Cursed?’ ‘Oh yes, quite cursed. Isn’t that so, people?’ Those citizens of Iolcos who had crowded around to see more of the impressive and strikingly dressed stranger knew very well how to interpret the wishes of Pelias. If he wanted them to agree with what he was saying, they had better agree. And wholeheartedly. Neither by word nor sign did they betray their complete ignorance of any such curse. Instead they nodded their heads decisively and threw in vigorous words of agreement. ‘Oh yes, cursed …’ ‘Terrible curse.’ ‘Curse on the land.’ ‘A blight, a curse …’ ‘On the land.’ ‘On the land? All over it, more like …’ ‘But what kind of curse?’ asked Jason. ‘Ah, well.’ Pelias had never felt so inspired. A perfect plan was forming in his mind. ‘You know of my nephew – your cousin – Phrixus, son of your uncle Athamas and the cloud goddess Nephele?’ ‘Who has not heard of Phrixus?’ ‘He died not long ago in far Colchis. Since that moment a curse has descended upon us.’ ‘Upon our land!’ said one citizen. ‘Blighting and cursing and blighting our land,’ muttered another. ‘But why?’ Jason asked. ‘I wanted to know the answer to that same question,’ said Pelias, ‘and so I consulted the oracle. Didn’t I, people?’ ‘Certainly you did, my lord.’ ‘Who says you didn’t? They’re a liar!’ ‘How well we remember. Consulted the oracle, he did.’ ‘It had never been so consulted.’ ‘Yes, yes. The point is,’ continued Pelias, ‘that the oracle made plain that this kingdom could never know peace or prosperity unless its king went to Colchis and brought back the Golden Fleece here to Iolcos, where it should find its new home for eternity. That is what the oracle proclaimed. Did it not, people?’ ‘Aye, aye!’ ‘Exactly that. Word for word.’ ‘And since you are, as you say, the rightful King of Iolcos, you, Jason, must be the one to … fetch the Fleece and raise the curse. Am I not right?’ ‘Aye, majesty, aye!’ cried the people. They were not sure what they were celebrating or assenting to, but they could see triumph and satisfaction in the eyes of Pelias, and that was enough to make them cheer and cheer. Pelias was congratulating himself on devising a scheme that had in fact been all the work of Hera, who saw in Jason the heroic instrument to fulfil – with a little divine assistance, where needed – two of her desires simultaneously. He could unseat the brutish Pelias, who had so flagrantly dishonoured her temple. And he could bring the Golden Fleece home to mainland Greece where it could form the centrepiece of a magnificent new shrine sacred to Hera and Hera alone. The golden ram, it must be remembered, belonged to Nephele who, as a proxy in Hera’s likeness, had been the instrument of saving her from violation at the licentious hands of Ixion. The Fleece therefore was holy to the Queen of Heaven, and she did not like the idea of it being trapped in a Grove of Ares on the far eastern edge of the civilised world. Hera chose her champions well. It is doubtful that many other mortals would have considered so dangerous and groundbreaking a quest as this. The Golden Fleece was known to be guarded by a fierce serpent that never slept or closed its eyes. King Aeëtes and his soldiers would undoubtedly have added further protection over the years. The journey would have to be made by sea, and such a lengthy voyage through such dangerous waters had never yet been undertaken. But Jason was blithe, fearless and possessed of that supreme self-confidence which Chiron had recognised in the makeup of his pupil as both an attractive virtue and a less-appealing flaw. And ever since Bellerophon and Pegasus had visited Chiron’s cave when he was a boy, Jason had dreamed of an adventure, a quest that would prove his mettle and prove him worthy of the word Hero. ‘The Golden Fleece, eh?’ He smiled broadly. ‘What a splendid idea, uncle. It shall be done.’