This is what no one tells you, in the songs sung about Jason and the Argo. When he spoke like this — so proper and persuasive — his voice was filled with laughter. The amusement was never unkind, it always seemed generous. So the idea that my nephews — scarcely more than children — might be capable of protecting me was not risible, exactly, but somehow enjoyable to him. The way he bestowed his affection was almost regal, as though he were the princess and I were the adventurer. And every word felt like a gift, even as he acknowledged his promises to me.

I didn’t know this at the time, of course. I just thought it was one of those vocal mannerisms that foreigners sometimes have. It was only later, when I had seen him under different circumstances, that I knew he found delight in these moments. He loved to be asked for help, he loved to feel that he was granting wonderful favors. He believed his own generosity was the cause of anything he did at another’s request: He might use the language of obligation, but he never felt the weight of a debt owed.

This part of his quest has been forgotten too, by everyone but me. But as he swore his oaths — by the king and queen of his gods — he was laughing with delight.

My nephews rowed us towards the sacred grove. They understood too well the swiftness with which Aietes would act. As we hurried upstream, I whispered instructions to them: They must wait on the shore, ready to leave. They must not come after us, or they could distract the dragon I had promised to subdue. I felt Jason’s pleasure subsiding as we approached land again, his fear starting to mount once more. He had no idea what he was about to encounter, but he did have the sense to know it could kill him.

The place we set down is called the Ram’s Bed, and it is the exact spot where my brother-in-law first landed in Colchis. The altar where Phrixus sacrificed his companion to Zeus is still blackened by the smoke of his offering. There is a narrow, overgrown path behind it, which leads to the grove. Jason and I left the boys behind, and I told him to be silent no matter what he saw. The path wound its way through the trees, until they thinned out a little. On the far side of the grove was a large oak tree, sacred to Zeus. Wrapped around the tree, its huge coils filling the grove and disappearing off into the darkness, was the dragon. The moment it saw us — it never sleeps — it began to emit a deafening hissing. I felt Jason stiffen beside me, and the noise was horrifying, even though I had heard it before. The dragon raised its scaled head from the ground and reared up. A shudder went through each coil as it unfurled itself and began advancing on us. Jason gasped in fright and I grabbed his arm to keep him silent. As the monster’s head drew level with mine, I held its gaze. I knew I needed to keep it from looking away, if my magic was to work.

I called upon Hypnos, the giver of sleep, and I called upon my goddess, the night-roaming, gracious queen: I asked for their aid in our task. My song was a powerful invocation, and they heard me, I knew. The snake was still staring at me, but it was affecting him too. As I repeated my prayers, the monster’s coils relaxed and began to sink to the ground. I sang the words again and watched the twin forces raging behind the dragon’s eyes: Its body was betraying it but still it opened its mighty jaws to swallow us both whole. I heard a whimper from behind me, but I ignored him. The monster’s open mouth was exactly what I needed. I raised my hand and sprinkled a powdered drug into its eyes, which quickly drooped shut. Then I dropped more of the powder onto its tongue and around its teeth.

Its gigantic head sank and its lower jaw collapsed to the ground as its eyes finally closed. Its body no longer served it: huge, scaled muscle lying useless between the trees. It had been impossible to calculate the quantities required, and I did not know how long the creature would be incapacitated, or whether I had poisoned it. I squeezed Jason’s arm again, but he could not seem to move. I took the risk of leaving him unguarded and crossed the grove myself, stepping carefully across the vast, sinuous coils at my feet.

I had seen the fleece before, but never touched it. To call it golden does not do it justice: it shone in the dark, as though lit by torches. I reached out to take it, and it was warm and softer than you could ever imagine. Phrixus would never talk about his voyage on the back of the golden ram, because he had lost his sister on the journey and, I think, because he had struggled to slit the throat of the ram even on the orders of Hermes. Phrixus was soft-hearted in every way: He could not even raise his voice to his own children. I lifted the fleece down from the branch which had held it all these years, and I turned to make my way back.

The dragon still slept, and I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to kill it with Jason’s sword, which was what I had planned to do if it woke. Jason was not standing where I had left him, though. He had hidden himself behind a small clump of trees, his eyes fixed on the snakish head. He was holding his sword but he could not possibly have used it: His arms hung useless at his sides. I made my careful journey across the grove and held out the fleece.

“Here,” I murmured. But he looked at me, mute.

I took his hand and tugged him away from the clearing, trying to keep him from stumbling as he kept looking behind him to check the dragon was not following us. Only when we were almost in sight of my nephews did he finally reach for the fleece. But when he touched it, the transformation was extraordinary. Its glow illuminated him, as though he were lit by the brightest torches. He buried his hands in its depths, his fingers lost in the enveloping gold. He was a still image of wonder as he lifted it to his face and stroked it against his cheek. In that moment, he looked like a child besotted with her new dress, turning it to see it sparkle in the moonlight. I watched him, helpless.

We were soon on the boat, my nephews buoyant with relief at our return, rowing hard to ferry us back to the Argo. Jason’s companions surged around us when we arrived, all of them desperate to touch the fleece. He took a finely woven robe — of a foreign design I did not recognize — and threw it around the fleece to keep it unharmed and unseen. And then he told them to bend to their oars now, with me onboard, because I was the one who had seized the fleece. At this point he put his hands around my waist and lifted me up onto the stern so the men could all see.

They cheered and whistled. Jason was laughing again, as he told them the success of their voyage was all down to me and that I had agreed to be married when we arrived in Hellas. So they must make haste or I would accuse them of delaying unfairly, when I had done everything they asked of me and more.

I had not done everything yet, of course. Because at this point, my brother still lived.