Read Online Medea by Kerry Greenwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kerry Greenwood
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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were around my father's neck and she was kissing him. She had seemed to enjoy his embrace. She was not pinned and hurt like the centaur maiden. And afterwards they had slept companionably together, her head on his shoulder.
'Indeed, Master,' Jason joined in. 'Is there not true love between man and woman?'
'There is not, however many sentimental Achaean songs say there is. There cannot be. For, tell me, young men' - his old brow furrowed and his voice dropped to an impressive whisper - 'Tell me, Prince of Iolkos, what true allegiance can you give to a weak king?'
'None, Master,' answered Jason. His hair was long and he wound a lock around his hand as he listened.
'Then there can be no true love between a woman and a man. True love is for equals, or inferior and superior when there is proper respect. Women are foolish, powerless, enslaved for their good, for they are flighty and weak and there is no integrity in them. They cannot be trusted. One sniff of a man and they are gone, leaving heart, home and honour, and they will move from man to man and husband to husband without grief, for they are lacking in courage and bold only in their vices. If you find a woman who looks up to you as little less than a god, Jason, then you may feel safe with her, for woman is also religious and superstitious. But marry a woman who is learned, as far as such witless things can have learning, and has her own will, then beware, for she will destroy you.'
'But,' began Jason, and the old man cut him off with a fierce gesture.
'We centaurs know this. We keep our women as we keep our horses; with gentleness and discipline, but knowing that they are brute beasts, without understanding. They live apart and manage their own affairs, except for the four festivals, when we have connection with them to breed new men. Women are only the vessel for the seed, and as unreliable as the earth herself. In them lies no trust, and thinking of them can only weaken a man's spirit, and his body.
'The Aechaeans are a strong people, but think how strong they would be if they did not accept these creatures into their houses, allow them to take over their lives, complaining and caressing and filling their heads - even the king's head - with domestic concerns, with children and petty matters. The breeding of children is their business, and they do it well enough. But they must have no place in government or even in consideration. Do not think overmuch of women, young men. They are a necessary evil.'
'But do you need to hurt them, Master Cheiron?' I asked. 'I saw the maiden weep under the phallus - surely that bodes badly for conception.'
'If once our women tasted the joys of making love as your Aphrodite would instruct, Nauplios - ah yes, I have travelled, and I know of such things, and they are sweet, sweet and foul - they would be forever corrupted, and so would our young men. We are a pure people, and have no taste for sensuality. We need to breed, so let us mate as horses mate, who leap the mares. Our maidens conceive readily enough, for once they have conceived they may not go to the sire again for three years - four, if they produce a boy.'
'But I am an Achaean and a prince and will need to marry, Master,' said Jason. "Or am I to mate as the centaurs do?'
'It would be better for you if you did,' snarled Cheiron.
He would say nothing further on the matter. It was cold, down by his little fire. He told us stories of heroes and battles, and strange centaur stories about the striga, the seductive phantom, a woman with white skin and hair like fire, who came in the night and lay with young men, sucking their seed from them, weakening them, so that they grew pale and trembled, useless for hunting or herding, longing for the night. And when they died of exhaustion, she would steal their souls, so that they in turn became spirits who overlay and penetrated young women, sapping their energy from their household tasks, depriving their master of their labour, finally
'Indeed, Master,' Jason joined in. 'Is there not true love between man and woman?'
'There is not, however many sentimental Achaean songs say there is. There cannot be. For, tell me, young men' - his old brow furrowed and his voice dropped to an impressive whisper - 'Tell me, Prince of Iolkos, what true allegiance can you give to a weak king?'
'None, Master,' answered Jason. His hair was long and he wound a lock around his hand as he listened.
'Then there can be no true love between a woman and a man. True love is for equals, or inferior and superior when there is proper respect. Women are foolish, powerless, enslaved for their good, for they are flighty and weak and there is no integrity in them. They cannot be trusted. One sniff of a man and they are gone, leaving heart, home and honour, and they will move from man to man and husband to husband without grief, for they are lacking in courage and bold only in their vices. If you find a woman who looks up to you as little less than a god, Jason, then you may feel safe with her, for woman is also religious and superstitious. But marry a woman who is learned, as far as such witless things can have learning, and has her own will, then beware, for she will destroy you.'
'But,' began Jason, and the old man cut him off with a fierce gesture.
'We centaurs know this. We keep our women as we keep our horses; with gentleness and discipline, but knowing that they are brute beasts, without understanding. They live apart and manage their own affairs, except for the four festivals, when we have connection with them to breed new men. Women are only the vessel for the seed, and as unreliable as the earth herself. In them lies no trust, and thinking of them can only weaken a man's spirit, and his body.
'The Aechaeans are a strong people, but think how strong they would be if they did not accept these creatures into their houses, allow them to take over their lives, complaining and caressing and filling their heads - even the king's head - with domestic concerns, with children and petty matters. The breeding of children is their business, and they do it well enough. But they must have no place in government or even in consideration. Do not think overmuch of women, young men. They are a necessary evil.'
'But do you need to hurt them, Master Cheiron?' I asked. 'I saw the maiden weep under the phallus - surely that bodes badly for conception.'
'If once our women tasted the joys of making love as your Aphrodite would instruct, Nauplios - ah yes, I have travelled, and I know of such things, and they are sweet, sweet and foul - they would be forever corrupted, and so would our young men. We are a pure people, and have no taste for sensuality. We need to breed, so let us mate as horses mate, who leap the mares. Our maidens conceive readily enough, for once they have conceived they may not go to the sire again for three years - four, if they produce a boy.'
'But I am an Achaean and a prince and will need to marry, Master,' said Jason. "Or am I to mate as the centaurs do?'
'It would be better for you if you did,' snarled Cheiron.
He would say nothing further on the matter. It was cold, down by his little fire. He told us stories of heroes and battles, and strange centaur stories about the striga, the seductive phantom, a woman with white skin and hair like fire, who came in the night and lay with young men, sucking their seed from them, weakening them, so that they grew pale and trembled, useless for hunting or herding, longing for the night. And when they died of exhaustion, she would steal their souls, so that they in turn became spirits who overlay and penetrated young women, sapping their energy from their household tasks, depriving their master of their labour, finally
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