And as he drove down by the reedy river, he saw the Argo sliding up beneath the bank, and many a hero in her, like Immortals for beauty and strength.  But Jason was the noblest of all, for Hera, who loved him, gave him beauty and height and terrible manhood.

When they came near together and looked into each other’s eyes, the heroes were awed before Aietes as he shone in his chariot like his father, the glorious Sun.  For his robes were of rich gold tissue, and the rays of his diadem flashed fire.  And in his hand he bore a jeweled scepter, which glittered like the stars.

Sternly Aietes looked at the heroes, and sternly he spoke and loud, “Who are you, and what want you here that you come to our shore?  Know this is my kingdom and these are my people who serve me.  Never yet grew they tired in battle, and well they know how to face a foe.”

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 to the King.

“We are no lawless men.  We come, not to plunder or carry away slaves from your land, but we have come 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.  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’ rage rushed up like a whirlwind, and his eyes flashed fire as he heard; but he crushed his anger down in his heart and spoke mildly.

“If you will fight, then many a man must die.  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 labors which I demand.  Then I will give him the Golden Fleece for a prize and a glory to you all.”

So he said, and then turned his horses and drove back in silence to the town.

The heroes sat dumb with sorrow, for there was no facing the thousands of King Aietes’ men and the fearful chance of war.

But Chalciope, the widow of Phrixus, went weeping to the town, for she remembered her husband and all the pleasures of her youth while she watched the fair face 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 up the fleece, that my husband’s spirit may have rest?”

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, “These men are not like our men; there is nothing which they cannot dare nor do.”

Then Medeia thought of Jason and his brave countenance, and said, “If there was one among them who knew no fear, I could show him how to win the fleece.”