Medea Takes the Golden Fleece — Greek Mythology

Strangers in the Palace

The Argo sailed eastward across the Black Sea, through cold winds and lifting waves, until at last it reached the river mouth of Colchis. The land lay so far from Greece that the heroes felt they had come almost to the place where the sun rose. Tall woods stood along the riverbanks, and in the distance shone the palace of King Aeetes. Its pillars gleamed with a metallic brightness, and water ran through the courtyards, carrying the sound of that strange country to the feet of its guests.

Jason entered the palace with a few companions. He did not draw his sword or try to seize anything by force. He stood before the throne and declared his purpose: he had come all the way from Iolcus to recover the Golden Fleece. That fleece had once belonged to a wondrous ram, bright with gold, and now it hung in a sacred grove in Colchis, watched over by a serpent that never slept.

King Aeetes listened, and his face did not change at once. But murder had already risen in his heart. The Golden Fleece was the great treasure of his land. How could he rest easy when a young foreigner arrived with a ship full of heroes and said he meant to carry it away? Yet in front of all those present, the king did not break into open anger. He only said coldly that if Jason was truly a hero, he must first prove it by performing a task.

Jason was to yoke two bulls. They were no common cattle, but bronze-hooved bulls made by Hephaestus, with fire streaming from their nostrils and horns sharp as iron. Jason had to master them with his own hands, plow the field of Ares, and sow dragon’s teeth in the furrows. Once the teeth touched the earth, armed warriors would grow from the soil, wearing armor and carrying spears. Only when Jason had subdued them all, the king said, would he give up the Golden Fleece.

Everyone in the palace understood that this was not a trial, but a road to death. Jason heard the terms, and his heart sank. He was a brave man, but bravery alone could not make flesh withstand flame, nor could one warrior easily face a whole host springing armed from the ground.

At that moment Medea, the king’s daughter, was also in the palace. She knew the powers of herbs, incantations, and the secret forces that move at night. She saw Jason standing before her father—young and weary, yet unwilling to retreat. The power of love had already fallen upon her in secret. Her heart was struck as if by an invisible arrow, and from that moment it would not be still.

Medea’s Night

That night Medea returned to her chamber, but sleep would not come. Outside the palace, the river murmured through the dark, and torchlight flickered in the cracks around the door. She thought of her father’s command, of the fire pouring from the bronze-hooved bulls, of the warriors rising from the dragon’s teeth. If Jason obeyed the king’s order, he would most likely die in the field the next day.

One moment she reproached herself: he was a foreigner—why should she betray her father for him? The next, she imagined him burned to ashes or pierced by spears if she did nothing. She went to her chest and turned back again; she lifted her veil and laid it down. She feared her father, feared the judgment of the city, and feared the gods who punish those who abandon their kin. Yet more than all these, she feared hearing at dawn that Jason was dead.

At last she secretly sent for Jason and told him to meet her near the temple of Hecate. The night was deep, and dew lay on the road. Jason came as promised. Medea was already waiting there, her face pale in the moonlight, a small box of ointment hidden in her hands.

She did not waste words. If he wished to live through the next day, she told him, he must rub the ointment over his body and also upon his shield and spear. A strong divine power lay within it; for one day it would protect him from fire and iron. When he came to the field, he must not fear the bulls’ flames. He must seize them by the horns and set the yoke upon them. And when the dragon-born warriors rose from the earth, he must not try to fight them one by one. He need only throw a great stone into their midst; they would turn upon one another and destroy themselves.

Jason listened as though he had caught hold of a rope in the darkness. He swore to Medea that if she saved him, he would never forget her. He would take her back to Greece and make her his wife. Medea heard his oath with joy and terror mingled together. She knew that from that moment on she had set herself against her father.

Before they parted, she gave him the ointment and told him again and again how to use it. The wind moved through the grass before the temple, and the torches were close to dying. As they went their separate ways, both of them knew that after dawn there would be no turning back.

The Fire-Breathing Bulls

In the morning, the people of Colchis gathered around the field of Ares. King Aeetes sat in a high place, wishing to see with his own eyes how this foreign youth would die. The Argonauts stood to one side with weapons in their hands, but they could not step forward and complete the trial for Jason.

Before he went out, Jason did exactly as Medea had instructed. He rubbed the ointment over his whole body and spread it over his shield and spear. It had a strange scent, like freshly cut roots and like incense burned in the night. When he had finished, warmth seemed to rise within him. His limbs felt stronger than before, and his heart grew steadier.

When the bronze-hooved bulls were driven out, the ground itself seemed to tremble. Their hooves struck the hard earth with a sound like metal on stone. The two bulls lowered their heads, and tongues of fire burst from their nostrils. The flames rolled toward Jason, heating the air until it glowed red. The crowd cried out, and even the Argonauts held their breath for him.

Jason lifted his shield and went forward. The fire struck the shield’s face and streamed away along its edges without burning his arm. As one bull lowered its head and charged, he swerved aside and seized it by the horn. The beast thrashed wildly, trying to fling him to the ground, but Jason clenched his teeth, dug his heels into the earth, and would not let go. The other bull came rushing from the side, breathing flame; he turned to meet it and used his spear to force its horns away.

After a fierce struggle, he finally set the yoke upon the necks of both bulls. They still bellowed, and fire still poured from their nostrils, but the yoke held them down. Jason took the plow handle and drove them forward. The plowshare cut into the field of Ares, wet soil turned over, and black furrows stretched behind him one after another.

King Aeetes’ face darkened. He had thought Jason would not survive the first blast of fire, yet now the field had been plowed. Medea, hidden among the crowd, saw that Jason was still alive. Her heart eased a little, though she did not dare let a smile show.

Warriors from Dragon’s Teeth

When the plowing was done, Jason took up the bag of dragon’s teeth and scattered the hard white teeth into the furrows. No sooner had they fallen into the soil than the earth began to stir, as though something beneath it were heaving upward with its shoulders. Soon helmets broke through first, then breastplates, shields, and spearheads. One by one, armed warriors stood up from the ground. They were not infants, nor did they grow slowly like ordinary men. They came out of the earth already full of murderous fury, their eyes fixed on Jason.

More and more of them gathered. Shield struck shield, and every spear was turned toward one man. If Jason had fought them in the usual way, they would soon have surrounded and killed him in the middle of the field.

Then he remembered Medea’s counsel. He bent down, lifted a heavy stone in both arms, and hurled it with all his strength among the warriors. The stone crashed to the ground with a dull thunder. The men who had sprung from dragon’s teeth did not know who had thrown it. Suspicion seized them at once. One turned and stabbed the man beside him; another raised his shield and struck back; then more and more were drawn into the fight.

The field rang with the clash of iron. Spearpoints pierced breastplates, shields split apart, and the warriors who had just risen from the soil fell back one by one upon the same earth that bore them. Jason did not stand still and wait for death. He seized the moment of confusion, rushed in with his sword, and cut down those who still attacked him. Only when the last armored man had fallen did the field of Ares grow quiet again.

The Argonauts shouted in triumph. The Colchians stood silent. King Aeetes looked on with mounting anger. He had set the terms, and Jason had fulfilled them, but the king had no intention of keeping his word. The Golden Fleece still hung in the grove, and the serpent still guarded it beneath the tree. If he could delay until night, Aeetes could find another way—to burn the Argo, perhaps, and kill these strangers.

Medea saw what was in her father’s mind. She knew that although Jason had survived the trial, he had not truly won the Golden Fleece. If they waited for Aeetes to act, everything would be lost.

The Serpent in the Sacred Grove

After nightfall, Medea came to Jason again. This time she spoke little of love. She told him urgently that they must go at once to the sacred grove. The Golden Fleece hung in the woodland of Ares, and the serpent that guarded it never closed its eyes. Its body was coiled among the roots and trunk of the tree, and its scales gave off a cold gleam in the darkness. Without her herbs and spells, no one could approach it.

Jason called a few companions and followed Medea in secret. The palace-city slept behind them, with only the occasional footfall of night watchmen carrying through the dark. They passed along hidden paths and came to the edge of the grove. No birds called within it. The shadows of the trees stood close together like a black wall. The farther they went, the heavier the rank smell became, and on the ground they saw the marks where some enormous body had dragged itself.

At last they saw the tree from which the Golden Fleece hung. It was draped high upon the branches, and the night could not hide its brightness. It shone like a golden cloud lit by the moon. But beneath the tree, the serpent had raised its head. Its neck was thick, its eyes unblinking, and its tongue flickered in and out with a low hiss. Its body lay coiled among the roots; with one lunge it could wrap itself around anyone who came near.

Jason tightened his grip on his sword. Medea stopped him. She drew out a drug from her clothing and gathered an herb that carried the power of sleep. She sprinkled the potion before the serpent’s eyes and over its head. Then she began to murmur incantations, calling on the powers of the night and summoning sleep to descend. Her voice was not loud, but again and again it overcame the serpent’s hissing.

At first the serpent twisted restlessly, its scales scraping against the roots with a dry rasp. It lifted its head as if to strike, but the scent of the drug and the force of the spell gradually wound themselves around it. Those eyes that never closed grew slow and heavy. Its head and neck sank lower, and its great body loosened its hold on the trunk. At last it lay upon the ground like a fallen black tree, sunk in deep sleep.

Medea turned and looked at Jason. At once he stepped forward, climbed onto the roots, and took down the Golden Fleece. As it fell into his arms, its light shone upon his face and upon Medea’s pale expression. She knew that from this moment on she was no longer only a princess wandering the halls of her father’s palace. She had placed her father’s most precious treasure in the hands of a stranger.

Fleeing with the Golden Light

They did not dare linger in the grove. Though the serpent slept, no one knew when it might wake; and King Aeetes might discover the theft at any moment. Jason wrapped up the Golden Fleece, and with Medea hurried toward the river mouth. Branches caught at their clothing, night dew soaked their ankles, and behind them the sacred grove stood dark and silent.

The Argo lay at the water’s edge. The heroes had already been warned and were making ready to sail in hushed voices. When Jason and Medea arrived with the Golden Fleece, the crew broke into astonished joy. Some helped Medea aboard, some loosened the mooring ropes, and others thrust the oars into the water. The ship shuddered lightly and slipped away from shore.

The river flashed cold in the darkness. The Argonauts bent hard to the oars, and the ship glided toward the sea. Jason stood on board, guarding the Golden Fleece in his arms. Medea looked back at Colchis as it receded, and her heart tightened. There were her father, her home, and everything she had known since childhood. But she could no longer turn back.

Near dawn, the palace finally discovered that the princess was gone and that the Golden Fleece was gone with her. Aeetes fell into a rage and ordered pursuit. By then, however, the Argo was already carrying the heroes, the princess, and the shining treasure away from the shores of Colchis.

Jason had completed the task Pelias had set him, and Medea, with her herbs and courage, had changed his fate. The Golden Fleece had been taken from the grove of Ares, and the peace of Colchis was broken with it. As for Medea, the night she left her homeland became the beginning from which she would never be free.