Jason and the Argonauts Read Online Free Page A

stood naked as a flayed steer.”
    “Vanquished Ares, did he?”
    “Well, not quite. Ares is Ares, after all. But I was able to intervene, and it ended in a draw, more or less.”
    Each of his words were like one of those arrows piercing me. “So you left the brave young prince on his island?”
    “I did.”
    “You didn’t speak with him?”
    “No.”
    “What exactly do you want me to do?”
    “You must understand, son, that Diomedes III, now called Jason, has incurred the wrath of two expert architects of doom, namely, Hades and Ares. You should also be aware that, under the law of Zeus, gods can no longer kill mortals with their old freedom. But the Lord of Tartarus and the Lord of Battles have many resources. They can employ mortals to do their killing for them. Or monsters. Their next move may well involve Pelius, who is Jason’s natural enemy and has an army and a battle fleet at his disposal. This is where I want your help. You shall keep me informed about what Pelius means to do—and, of course, hold yourself ready to help Jason in any way you can.”
    “Yes,” I murmured, trying not to hiss. “I look forward to making Jason’s acquaintance.”
    “To know him is to love him,” said Hermes. “And to serve him is to please me.”
    “And to please you, Father, is my dearest wish.”

EIGHT
    E KION
    P ELIUS SPRAWLED ON HIS throne, sucking at his teeth. He did this when he was hungry, and he was always hungry. He’d grown so fat he couldn’t see his feet; it made him wheeze and pant just to climb the three steps to his throne. For the past few days he had been in an ugly mood. An oracle had told him that an enemy was coming. I tried to explain to him that all kings always had an enemy somewhere preparing to attack, and that oracles made a living out of such foolproof prophecies. But he didn’t believe me. He chose to believe that someone was preparing an assault, and that this someone was Jason.
    So we at court were having a difficult time. When the king was unhappy, he liked to share his pain, and for the past days he had signed so many death warrants that he had sprained his wrist and had to shift to his left hand. Every time I turned around suddenly, I saw him glaring at me, thinking how much better I’d look without a head.
    His baleful glare was becoming unbearable to me, and the muffled terror of the courtiers had become thick as a stench in the gloomy throne room. I melted into the deepest shadow and slid out the great brass door without anyone noticing.
    I went looking for a lad I knew, an apprentice smith named Rufus because of his red hair and fiery eyebrows. There was a Hephaestus cult in the country. The metal workers of Iolcus worshipped the smith-god and were considered priests. So the apprentice, Rufus, was not a slave but a novice and worked harder than a slave. He was a blunt, simple-hearted lad, the closest thing to a friend I had.
    I scouted around the courtyard of the sacred smithy, but he didn’t come out and I couldn’t linger. So I set off alone. I missed my brothers more than I’d ever thought I would. I missed my mother, whichever sister she was, and my beautiful aunts. And Hermes hadn’t come to see me.
    But it was so good getting off among the trees and gliding through the fretted sunlight that I forgot about being lonesome and being prudent. I raced through a glade, leaping logs. I shouted and sang. I found a hollow tree and searched it for honeycombs, half hoping a bear would come and try to catch me as I fled. It was the kind of day on which your life changes forever and you can feel the change coming.
    I reached a clearing. It was cut by a little stream, swollen now because the rains had been heavy these past weeks. The damp pine needles were steaming faintly, casting a maddening fragrance. My staff twitched in my hand. The snake that entwined it raised its carved head and spoke. Its voice was a silky whisper.
    “Take leaves from that laurel tree. Cast them upon