So the Argonauts escaped for that time; but Father Zeus saw that foul crime; and out of the heavens he sent a storm, and swept the ship far from her course.  Day after day the storm drove her, amid foam and blinding mist, till they knew no longer where they were, for the sun was blotted from the skies.  And at last the ship struck on a shoal, amid low isles of mud and sand, and the waves rolled over her and through her, and the heroes lost all hope of life.

Then Jason cried to Hera:  “Fair queen, who hast befriended us till now, why hast thou left us in our misery, to die here among unknown seas?  It is hard to lose the honour which we have won with such toil and danger, and hard never to see Hellas again, and the pleasant bay of Pagasai.”

Then out and spoke the magic bough which stood upon the Argo’s beak:  “Because Father Zeus is angry, all this has fallen on you; for a cruel crime has been done on board, and the sacred ship is foul with blood.”

At that some of the heroes cried:  “Medeia is the murderess.  Let the witch woman bear her sin, and die!”

And they seized Medeia, to hurl her into the sea and atone for the young boy’s death; but the magic bough spoke again:  “Let her live till her crimes are full.  Vengeance waits for her, slow and sure; but she must live, for you need her still.  She must show you the way to her sister Circe, who lives among the islands of the West.  To her you must sail, a weary way, and she shall cleanse you from your guilt.”

Then all the heroes wept aloud when they heard the sentence of the oak; for they knew that a dark journey lay before them, and years of bitter toil.  And some upbraided the dark witch woman, and some said:  “Nay, we are her debtors still; without her we should never have won the fleece.”  But most of them bit their lips in silence, for they feared the witch’s spells.

And now the sea grew calmer, and the sun shone out once more, and the heroes thrust the ship off the sand bank, and rowed forward on their weary course, under the guiding of the dark witch maiden, into the wastes of the unknown sea.

Whither they went I cannot tell, nor how they came to Circe’s isle.  Some say that they went to the westward, and up the Ister[A] stream, and so came into the Adriatic, dragging their ship over the snowy Alps.  And others say that they went southward, into the Red Indian Sea, and past the sunny lands where spices grow, round AEthiopia toward the west; and that at last they came to Libya, and dragged their ship across the burning sands, and over the hills into the Syrtes, where the flats and quicksands spread for many a mile, between rich Cyrene and the Lotus-eaters’ shore.  But all these are but dreams and fables, and dim hints of unknown lands.

[Footnote A:  The Danube.]