We are all in dire straits now—the Hellespont is on the verge of becoming our watery grave.
With the loss of Tiphys, our expert helmsman, the Argonauts are as if bereft of limbs.The Argo has lost control, drifting violently into the rocks of the strait.A loud crash resounds from beneath as the hull splinters, and seawater floods in relentlessly.We hastily pry up planks from the deck to patch the breaches below, but no sooner is one sealed than another emerges.
It becomes clear to me that unless we can tame the rebellious Argo, we are destined to have our names etched into the annals of the Hellespont—a record no one would envy.
"Rowers, to your stations! We must retreat—carefully now, avoid further collisions with the rocks!" Achilles commands, his leadership emerging decisively amidst the crisis. In this moment, he seems more reliable than Jason himself.
We all assume our positions without delay.The rowers exert every ounce of strength to back the Argo away from the rocks, but the sea and wind seem intent on thwarting us.Each time we pull away, the waves and gusts drive us back toward the perilous rocks.
"Drop anchor—now!" Achilles shouts to the stern.
A heavy iron anchor, shaped like a mermaid, is cast into the sea. The Argo halts its drift toward the rocks, though it continues to sway and pitch, the relentless sea and wind showing no signs of abating.
We seize this moment to catch our breath. Despair is etched on every face; we cannot navigate past these treacherous rocks. The ever-changing sea and wind make charting a safe course nearly impossible. The Argonauts are trapped in the heart of the Hellespont, besieged by the fury of the elements. Advancing is unfeasible, and retreating is equally impossible. Our predicament mirrors the adage: "Between Scylla and Charybdis."
"Goddess Hera has truly cursed us; she desires our demise!" a crew member cries out, his sanity unraveling, inciting panic among the others.
"Silence—now! Anyone who doesn't cease will find themselves overboard," Achilles barks.
The ship falls silent; we all know Achilles means every word.
I, too, feel the urge to scream, to release the mounting tension.Were it not for the fear of Achilles tossing me into the sea, I might have done so already.Strange events surround me—the sudden deaths of Tiphys and Jason.In Greek mythology, neither met their end in the Hellespont.Why, then, do they perish here?I'm utterly perplexed.Someone, please, explain what is happening.
Some believe it's Hera's curse for our disrespect toward her statue, but I remain unconvinced.
The deaths of these pivotal characters—Tiphys and Jason—seem unlikely to be Hera's doing. Eliminating such central figures would derail the tale of Jason and the Golden Fleece, causing the legend to fade into obscurity. Even Hera would understand this narrative law. Thus, I dismiss the notion of her curse.
If not Hera, then who is responsible?
Think... I must uncover the truth. My mind replays the events: Tiphys stood at the helm, then suddenly succumbed to sleep and fell into the sea. Jason prayed to Hera at the bow, only to be struck fatally by her statue. There must be a connection between their deaths.
Yes... there's a link, but why can't I discern it?I loathe my own ignorance.Someone, guide me.
"The bow," a voice murmurs.
"What?" I whisper, turning to see the handsome physician Asclepius.
"Hmm? Oh, I just said 'the bow.' Is something the matter?" Asclepius responds with a serene smile. It's astonishing how he remains so composed amidst this chaos. I sometimes wonder if he even experiences other emotions.
"The bow—what about it? Why mention it now?"
"Oh, don't mind my words. All sons of Apollo are like this—occasionally uttering seemingly nonsensical things," Asclepius replies with a smile.
Nonsensical? I doubt it. Words from the son of the sun god must carry some hidden meaning, even if it's just a single word.
Could it be... yes, what the doctor said isn't mere chatter. It might be...
A prophecy.