Aeetes set down his cup without drinking.
“The fleece,” he said.
Jason had crossed a sea to ask for it. Now, with the words spoken, he could hear the water running in the palace court. No one at the king’s table moved.
“Yes.”
“You bring armed men into my country and ask me to hand you its treasure?”
“We have come to ask. We have taken nothing.”
Beside Jason, Telamon shifted. Jason held out a hand to stop him. They had eaten the king’s food; for the moment, that mattered. Aeetes had already told them what he would have done to strangers who had not.
Far behind them lay Iolcus, where King Pelias had sent Jason to fetch the Golden Fleece. Pelias had seen a young man arrive with one sandal lost in a flooded river, and remembered an oracle that foretold his death through such a man. He had found a voyage long enough, and dangerous enough, to send Jason out of his sight.
But the Argo had survived it. Her company waited now beside the river Phasis, within reach of the sacred grove where the fleece hung.
Jason leaned forward.
“If you have enemies, we can fight them. Let us earn what we have come for.”
The king studied him. Then his expression changed, just enough to let hope enter the room.
“There is work in my fields.”
Aeetes told him of two bulls with bronze feet and fire in their mouths. Jason must put them under a yoke and plough the field of Ares. Into the furrows he must scatter teeth from a dragon’s jaws. Armed men would grow where the teeth fell.
“Kill them,” Aeetes said. “Finish before the day is gone, and you may carry away the fleece.”
Jason looked down at his hands. A moment earlier he had offered to fight a war. Now he was trying to imagine keeping his fingers closed around a horn while flame poured over them.
The king waited.
“I will do it.”
From near the doorway, Medea watched the stranger rise.
She had seen men leave her father’s presence afraid before. Until that day she had never felt their fear settle beneath her own ribs.
Hera, who meant to bring Jason safely home, had sought Aphrodite’s help with Athena beside her. Aphrodite had sent Eros to the palace. Unseen among the guests, he had drawn his bow against Medea. Now the king’s daughter could look nowhere without seeing Jason’s face.
He passed through the doorway. She listened until she could no longer hear his steps.
The Shell
Medea lay awake with the cover drawn to her chin.
She knew the bulls. She knew what her father had promised. Somewhere beside the river the stranger was preparing to face them, and every time she shut her eyes she saw him fall.
A sound came at her door.
Chalciope entered and closed it behind her. Medea sat up. Her sister’s sons had come to Colchis aboard the Argo, rescued on their journey by Jason’s men; their eldest, Argus, had brought the strangers to the palace. Now their grandfather’s anger had fallen on them too.
“I dreamed of your sons,” Medea said quickly. “I am afraid for them.”
Chalciope came to the bed.
“So am I.”
For a little while neither spoke. Medea could feel the question between them. She needed her sister to ask it.
“Argus has come from the ship,” Chalciope said. “Jason needs your help.”
Medea pulled a loose thread from the cover and wound it around her finger.
“If our father knows—”
“He must not know.”
Chalciope caught her hands. The thread broke.
“Help them. If there is anything you can do.”
Medea looked at the hands holding hers. Her sister had carried her when she was small. The boys had grown up beside her. She could say their names to herself while she agreed, and keep the stranger’s name unspoken.
“At Hecate’s shrine,” she said. “Tell Argus to bring him there.”
After Chalciope had gone, Medea took out her casket of drugs. She knew each small vessel by touch. Hecate had taught her the properties of things that grew where other people were afraid to walk: what could heal, what could destroy, what could turn fire harmless against living skin.
She found the shell containing the dark charm she needed.
For a long time she held it without opening it. Then she laid it ready for the morning.
At the shrine, her attendants wandered away among the flowers. Jason approached alone.
Medea had prepared words for him. They deserted her as soon as he stopped before her. He seemed taller here, without the great columns behind him. For all the sea between their countries, he was near enough for her to see the dust on his feet.
“Your sister said you would help me,” he said.
She nodded.
“I cannot do what he has asked.”
It steadied her, hearing him say it. She drew the shell from the fold of her clothing and put it into his hand.
“Then listen carefully.”
She told him how to make his offering to Hecate alone at night, after bathing in the river. When he left the sacrifice, he must not turn, whatever he heard behind him.
“At dawn, mix this with water. Anoint yourself, and your shield and weapons. Fire will not burn you. Bronze will not pierce you. You will have strength enough for the bulls.”
He looked into the shell.
“For how long?”
“One day.”
He closed his fingers around it.
“And the men in the field?”
“When they rise, throw a great stone among them. Do not let them see who threw it. They will turn against each other. Then you must join the fight.”
She had given him everything he needed. Now she ought to leave him. Soon he would take the fleece and go out across the sea, and she would have to hear other people speak of him without lifting her head.
“Will you remember my name?” she asked.
Jason took her hand.
“Medea.”
She had not meant for him to say it now. The sound made her look up.
“When you have gone,” she said.
“I will remember.”
He began to tell her of Iolcus, of the land enclosed by mountains, the houses and the people who would owe their sons’ lives to her. She tried to see it. Nothing there had a face she knew.
“If you come with me,” he said, “you will be my wife.”
For a moment the river and her father’s palace seemed very far away.
Then a voice from the meadow called to one of her attendants, and Medea drew back. She looked towards the path to the city.
“Remember what I told you,” she said. “At night. Do not turn.”
The Field of Ares
The offering burned behind Jason.
He had washed in the river, put on a dark robe and made the sacrifice as Medea had instructed. Now he walked away from the fire through the empty meadow.
A hound howled.
He stopped before he could prevent himself. Another answered, nearer. The ground trembled under his bare feet.
He wanted to look. Every part of him insisted that he must see what was coming.
Instead, he took another step.
Light moved across the grass ahead, though the fire was behind him. He kept his eyes on that little patch of ground until he had passed it, then chose another. The cries followed him across the meadow. He did not turn.
By dawn he was back among his companions.
They watched as he mixed the charm with water and treated his weapons. One of them struck the shaft of his spear with a sword. The blade sprang back. A shout went up along the ship.
Jason rubbed the mixture over his body. Strength entered his hands until the spear seemed light enough to cast beyond the river. He flexed his fingers, astonished.
Then they took him to the field.
Aeetes waited by the water, armed and shining in his chariot. People crowded the slopes behind him. In the bare earth lay a bronze yoke and a plough. Jason set his spear upright and placed beside it the helmet in which he had brought the dragon’s teeth.
The bulls’ tracks led towards a dark opening beneath the ground.
He went forward with his shield.
Smoke burst out. Through it came a pair of horns, then another. Bronze hooves struck the earth so hard that he felt the blows in his knees.
Jason planted his feet.
Both bulls hit the shield. The shock went through his shoulders; he held. Fire rolled around its rim and closed over his arms.
He could still feel his hands.
The nearer bull tossed its head. Jason caught the horn before it could pull away. The world narrowed to the curved weight in his fist, the heaving neck and the bronze foot he had to strike aside.
He drove his heel against it and pulled.
The bull went down on its foreknees. The second rushed him. Jason struck it down too, dropped his shield and moved between them, forcing one head low, then the other, before either could rise.
“Now!”
Castor and Polydeuces brought him the yoke. Fire streamed towards them as he seized it; they sprang back. Jason fitted the bronze across the lowered necks and bound it tight. The bulls strained against him. He fastened the pole to the yoke.
For the first time, the two heads moved together.
A cry rose from the watching Argonauts.
Jason put his shield behind his back, took up the helmet and spear, and set his hand to the plough.
The first furrow dragged him forward. Great clods broke against his legs. He pressed down on the handle and drove the bulls with the spear. They swerved; he hauled them straight. Flame poured over the ground ahead of him.
At each pass he scattered teeth into the opened earth.
They were pale against the soil. He kept looking back, expecting a hand to reach from the furrow and catch his ankle.
Nothing moved.
The sun climbed. His mouth grew dry. The field seemed to widen every time he reached its edge and turned the team. Beneath his feet the earth resisted; ahead, the bulls fought the yoke. He had strength to master them, but every length of ground still had to be won.
At last the plough broke through the final strip.
Jason unyoked the bulls and drove them away. He went to the river, dipped the empty helmet and drank. Water spilled down his chest.
“Jason.”
He lowered the helmet.
A spear-point stood in the field.
Beside it, a bronze crest pushed through the soil. A face rose underneath. Farther off, another helmet emerged, and another. Shields lifted earth on their rims. The furrows filled with shoulders.
Jason set down the water.
The first warrior pulled a foot free. His spear turned towards the river.
Near Jason lay a round boulder. He bent and took it in both hands. The charm’s strength held: the stone came away from the ground. He swung it into the thickest part of the rising host and dropped behind his shield.
The crash was followed by a shout.
He peered around the rim. One earthborn man had turned upon his neighbour. The neighbour struck back. A third drove his spear between them, and the quarrel spread outward through the field faster than Jason could follow it.
He drew his sword.
Still crouching, he ran towards the nearest furrow. A warrior wheeled and struck his shield. Jason thrust beneath the lifted arm. Another tore himself free of the earth, stumbled into him and fell under his blade.
All around him bronze rang against bronze. Men fought the figures nearest them; others were still rising into the path of their weapons. Jason pressed forward before they could gather against him. He slipped, caught himself on one knee and rose with the sword still in his hand.
When the last spear fell, he waited for another crest to break the earth.
None came.
The sun was low. Across the field, Aeetes turned his chariot towards the city.
Jason watched him go. No one came forward with the fleece.
The Sleepless Guardian
That night, voices continued behind the doors of the king’s hall.
Medea could not hear the words. She did not need to. Jason had lived through the field, and her father was gathering his captains. Hera drove fear through her until every sound in the passage seemed a footstep coming to her room.
She could no longer remain there.
She gathered her drugs. Beside her bed she left a lock of hair for her mother, then touched the doorposts she had passed between since childhood. At the outer doors she whispered her spell. The bolts drew back.
Outside, she lifted her hem and ran.
Fire shone on the opposite bank of the river. The Argonauts were still awake. Medea called for Phrontis, her sister’s youngest son.
The water carried her voice away.
She called again. Across the dark an answer came. Oars splashed, and the Argo moved towards her.
Jason leapt ashore before the ropes were thrown. Medea caught his knees.
“He knows. Take me away.”
He bent towards her.
“My father will come for all of us,” she said. “I can give you the fleece. I can put its guardian to sleep. But swear before them.”
She looked past him at the men standing on the deck.
“Swear that you will keep your promise.”
Jason raised her to her feet.
“By Zeus, and by Hera who watches over marriage, I will make you my wife when we reach Greece.”
He took her hand before the company. Then she climbed aboard and told them where to row.
Before dawn, Jason followed her into the grove of Ares.
At first he saw only the spaces between the trees. Then gold appeared among the branches ahead. The fleece hung from an oak, heavy folds of wool gathering the faint light. It was larger than he had imagined.
Something lifted beneath it.
A long head rose out of the darkness. The hiss struck through the wood and went echoing along the river. Jason stopped. Behind the head, coils moved over coils; what he had taken for a ridge of earth was part of the serpent.
The protection Medea had given him belonged to yesterday.
She walked past him.
“Medea.”
She did not look back. She began to sing.
He could hear names within the song: Sleep, and the goddess who travelled through the night beneath the earth. The serpent leaned towards her. Its jaws parted.
Medea kept her voice steady.
One coil loosened. Another slid across the ground, slowly, with a sound like a heavy rope drawn through dry leaves. But the head remained raised, and the open mouth was still above her.
She dipped a freshly cut spray of juniper into her drug and lifted it towards the creature’s eyes.
Jason stood close behind her. He could see the small drops clinging to the needles. She sprinkled them across the serpent’s face.
A sharp scent filled the air.
The head swayed. Medea sang on. It sank a little, stopped, then lowered until the jaw rested on the ground. Far back through the trees, the last coils stretched out.
“Take it,” she said.
Jason moved towards the oak.
He had thought so often of this moment that the first touch bewildered him. The fleece was wool. His fingers sank into it. Yet light lay deep among the locks, and when he lifted them, gold shone along his wrists.
He gathered the weight against his shoulder and drew it from the branch.
A twig snapped beneath his foot.
He froze.
Medea stood beside the serpent’s head, still applying the charm. Her voice had not faltered. She glanced at him, then towards the path.
Jason backed away from the tree.
“Come.”
She gave the head one last stroke with the juniper and followed him. He carried the fleece high to keep it from the roots. Its light reached the ground beneath them; even in the darkest part of the grove, he could see where to put his feet.
The Open Sea
The men rose from their benches when Jason came aboard.
Hands reached for the gold. He drew it back and laid a cloak over it.
“To the oars.”
Medea stood alone amid the sudden movement. Jason led her to the stern.
“She brought us through,” he told the company. “Keep her safe.”
He put on his armour. Half the men took the oars; the others raised their shields along the sides. Jason cut the mooring ropes with his sword.
The Argo swung into the current.
On the bank, people were running. More came behind them, carrying weapons. Above the crowd Jason saw a chariot and the lifted flame of a torch. Aeetes had reached the river.
The king’s voice carried across the water, but his words were lost beneath the oars. Jason stood beside the steersman, close to Medea, watching the shore for the first spear.
She looked back towards the city.
He could not tell which of the distant roofs was hers. The cloak at her feet had slipped, exposing a narrow curl of gold. She drew it over the fleece again.
The river widened. Salt wind met them. Under the hull the smooth pull of the current gave way to the lift and fall of the sea.
Behind them, along the Colchian shore, sails began to rise.