it was.
I wouldn’t be the first great lord, God knew, who’d
gotten his start
marauding. I gathered my crew together, and with the
first fair wind,
we sailed. We were lucky. Good breezes most of the
way, good hosts …
“We learned quickly. If men came down to us with
open arms,
glad to see strangers, eager to hear of our sea
adventures,
we made ourselves their firm friends — praised them to
the skies,
fought beside them if they happened to have some
war in progress,
drank with them, gave them our shoulders later when
they stumbled, climbing
to bed. And when the time for leaving came, they’d
give us
gifts, the finest they had — they’d load up our boat to
the gunnels,
throw in a barge of their own — and we’d stand on the
shore with them, moaning,
tears running down our cheeks, and we’d hug them,
swearing we’d never
forget. When we sailed away we’d wave till the haze
of land
was far below the horizon. They were no jokes, those
friendships.
Sooner than anyone thought, I’d prove how firm they
were,
when all at once I had need of the men I’d fought beside, sung with half the night, or tracked down women
with—
princes my own age, some of them, or second sons, nephews of kings, like myself, with no inheritance but nerve — courage and talent to spare — and their old
advisors,
sea-dog uncles, friends of their fathers, powerful fighters who’d outlived the centaur war, seen war with the
Amazons,
and now, like dust-dry banners in a trunk, waited, their
glory
dimmed.
“So it was with friends. But if, on the other hand, we landed and men came down at us with battle-axes, stones and hammers, swords, we’d repay them blow
for blow
till the rock shore streamed with blood — or we’d row
for our lives, and then
creep back when darkness came, invisible shadows
more soft
of foot than preying cats, and we’d split their skulls.
We’d sack
their towns, stampede their cattle in the vineyards till
not one vine
stood straight; and so we’d take by force what they
might have made
more profitable by hurling it into the sea before we came. Yet it wasn’t the best of bargains on either
side.
Both of us paid with lives, and more than once we lost a ship. Besides, the booty we snatched and hauled
aboard
was mediocre at best — far cry from the hand-picked
treasures
given with love by friends. Sometimes when the sea
was rough
the loot we’d loaded on the run would clatter and slide,
and our weight
would shift, and we’d scratch for a handhold, watching
the sea comb in.
“We learned. We were out three years. When we
turned at last for home,
we had seven ships for the one we’d started with. I’d
earned
my keep, I thought: a house like any lord’s, at least, and some small say in my uncle’s court I figured wrong. Sour milk and rancid honey it was, in the eyes of Pelias.
“The king had gotten the solemn word of an oracle
that he’d meet his death through the works of a man
he’d someday see
coming from town with one bare foot. It was soon
confirmed.
Just after we landed, I was fording the Anauros River,
making
for town and the palace beyond, when I lost one sandal
in the mud.
It was stuck fast, gripped as if by the hand of old Hades seizing at a pledge. The river was flooded — it was a
time of thaw—
so I left it there. Pelias was giving a great banquet for his father Poseidon and the other gods — or all but
Hera—
when I came where he sat, his lords and ladies all
crowded around him,
dressed to the nines, like a flock of exotic birds — long
capes
more brilliant than precious stones, deep blue, sharp
yellow, scarlet—
eating and laughing, plump as the mountainous clusters
of grapes
the slaves bore in. I bowed to him, dressed in the
panther-cape
already famous for midnight strikes, unexpected attacks from rooftops, pits of dungeons. I bowed, most
dignified—
except, of course, for that one bare foot. He looked not
exactly
gratified that I’d made it. He looked, in fact, like a man who’s gotten an arrow in his back. Pelias threw out his
hands,
tiny chins trembling, and said, ‘J-J-J-Jason!’ And said no more. He’d fainted. It was three full days before I
could see him.
“Well, no reason to stretch it out. I sat by his bed, summed up my winnings, and waited to hear what he
thought it all worth.
I heard, instead, about the golden fleece. I had the
m-makings
of a king, he said. He continually squeezed his hands
together,
winking. I thought he’d gone crazy. ‘J-J-J-Jason, b-boy, you’ve got the m-makings of a king.’ He was gray and
flabby, like a man
who’s been sitting in a dimly lit room for a full
half-century.
His legs and arms were spindles, the rest of him loose,
like a pudding,
his large head wide and flat, wrinkled like an embryo’s. In his splendid bedclothes — azure and green and as full
of light
as wine falling in a stream in front of a candle flame-he looked like a slightly frightened treetoad, blinking
its eyes,
cautiously peeking out from a spray of peacock feathers. You would not have thought him a child of Poseidon
the Earth-trembler,
but demigod he was, nonetheless, and dangerous.
“I waited, laboring to figure him out. I dropped the
idea
of craziness. He was sly, vulpine. The way he made his eyes glint when he mentioned the fleece, and wrung
his hands
and made me bend to his pillow, to let him poke at me, conspirators in a cunning scheme — I knew the old man was sane enough. He was pulling something. Yet this
was the plan:
Bring him the golden fleece, and he’d split the kingdom
with me,
half and half. I could see at a glance what he wanted,
all right,
though I wasn’t quite sure of the reason — not then.
But half the kingdom!
I looked down, hiding my interest, adding it up. I saids “You seem to forget the difficulties,’ and watched him
closely.
‘No d-d-d-difficulties!’ he said, and splashed out his
arms,
then wiped his mouth. “None for a muh-muh-man like
you!
‘I waited. He grinned like a monkey. Then after a while
he sighed,
allowed that it might be a long way, allowed that there
might
be ‘snakes’ (he glanced at me) ‘snakes and suh-suh-so
on.’ He sighed.
‘And if I … refuse your offer?’ He sighed again, looked
grieved.
“You’re young, J-Jason. P-popular.’ He looked out the
window.
And I understood. ‘You think I’ll reclaim my father’s
throne
despite all the horrors of civil war. But if, by
mischance—’
‘J-Jason!’ he exclaimed. His eyes were wide with shock.