elled
sceptre, which glittered like the stars; and sternly he looked at them
under his brows, and sternly he spoke and loud:

"Who are you, and what want you here, that you come to the shore of
Cutaia? Do you take no account of my rule, nor of my people the
Colchians who serve me, who never tired yet in the battle, and know well
how to face an invader?"

And the heroes sat silent awhile before the face of that ancient king.
But Hera the awful goddess put courage into Jason's heart, and he rose
and shouted loudly in answer: "We are no pirates, nor lawless men. We
come not to plunder and to ravage, or carry away slaves from your land;
but my uncle, the son of Poseidon, Pelias the Minuan king, he it is who
has set me on a quest to bring home the golden fleece. And these, too,
my bold comrades, they are no nameless men; for some are the sons of
immortals, and some of heroes far renowned. And we, too, never tire in
battle, and know well how to give blows and to take; yet we wish to be
guests at your table; it will be better so for both."

Then Aietes's rage rushed up like a whirlwind, and his eyes flashed fire
as he heard; but he crushed his anger down in his breast, and spoke
mildly a cunning speech:

"If you will fight for the fleece with my Colchians, then many a man
must die. But do you indeed expect to win from me the fleece in fight?
So few you are, that if you be worsted, I can load your ship with your
corpses. But if you will be ruled by me, you will find it better far to
choose the best man among you, and let him fulfil the labours which I
demand. Then I will give him the golden fleece for a prize and a glory
to you all."

So saying, he turned his horses and drove back in silence to the town.
And the Minuai sat silent with sorrow, and longed for Heracles and his
strength; for there was no facing the thousands of the Colchians, and
the fearful chance of war.

But Chalciope, Phrixus's widow, went weeping to the town; for she
remembered her Minuan husband, and all the pleasures of her youth, while
she watched the fair faces of his kinsmen, and their long locks of
golden hair. And she whispered to Medeia her sister: "Why should all
these brave men die? why does not my father give them up the fleece,
that my husband's spirit may have rest?"

And Medeia's heart pitied the heroes, and Jason most of all; and she
answered, "Our father is stern and terrible, and who can win the golden
fleece?" But Chalciope said: "Th