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And at last, they say, he stopped at Colchis, on the steep Circassian coast; and there Phrixus married Chalchiope, the daughter of Aietes the king; and offered the ram in sacrifice; and Aietes nailed the ram's fleece to a beech, in the grove of Ares the war god.
And Aietes bit his lips, for he fancied that they had fled away by night: but he could not go back from his promise; so he gave them the serpents' teeth. Then he called for his chariot and his horses, and sent heralds through all the town; and all the people went out with him to the dreadful War-god's field.
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.
Then the Minuai grew pale with fear for him; but Aietes laughed a bitter laugh. 'See! if I had not warriors enough already round me, I could call them out of the bosom of the earth. But Jason snatched off his helmet, and hurled it into the thickest of the throng.
Then Aietes' race 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.
You have helped these yellow-haired strangers, and brought shame upon your father and yourself! Medeia shrank and trembled, and her face grew pale with fear; and Aietes knew that she was guilty, and whispered, 'If they win the fleece, you die!
For at Pytho of old she who sitteth beside the eagles of Zeus nor was Apollo absent then the priestess, spake this oracle, that Battos should found a power in fruitful Libya, that straightway departing from the holy isle he might lay the foundations of a city of goodly chariots upon a white breast of the swelling earth, and might fulfil in the seventeenth generation the word of Medea spoken at Thera, which of old the passionate child of Aietes, queen of Colchians, breathed from immortal lips.
Then he turned and looked at Medeia. "This is your doing, false witch-maid," he said; "you have helped these yellow-haired strangers." Medeia shrank and trembled, and her face grew pale with fear, and Aietes knew that she was guilty, and he whispered, "If they win the fleece, you die." Now the heroes went marching toward their ship, growling, like lions cheated of their prey.
Then Orpheus took his harp and sang a song of praise, till the heroes' hearts rose high again, and they rowed on, stoutly and steadfastly, away into the darkness of the West. So the heroes fled away in haste, but Aietes manned his fleet and followed them.
And 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 jewelled 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?
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