Athena's Child (The Grecian Women Trilogy)

by Hannah M. Lynn

‘You are right, I have watched you, child. I have seen that tongue of yours cut men twice your size to ribbons. I have seen you sell your father’s grapes for double their worth to men you knew could afford it, only to give away your profits to others with no worth. You have words, child, a library’s worth of words. Why do you choose not to use them?’

have not stood on a battlefield. I am no daughter of Sparta, born with the weight of a sword and the knowledge of a swing already coursing through me. I do not know wars, but I know of battles. Battles waged in my family’s name when my first suitor came calling when I was just eight. Battles I waged when I refused to let men’s hands wander where they felt they had a right to, or when I refused to follow them on a walk, down a path or into an olive grove. I know of the battles I have waged as I stood in a marketplace and demanded that men look not at my breasts, or my eyes, or my legs but at the fruit which I was selling. These were not battles of blood, it is true, but they are battles. Battles that I have fought and won.’

‘Those battles,’ she said. ‘They don’t ever end.’

‘He is stealing from me. Why would I give him food?’ ‘Because he is stealing from you. Offer him food. No man wants what can be given to him freely. Your fruits taste no sweeter than another’s. Offer your food to him. I would be surprised if he continued to steal.’

When faced with a monster, who ever looked to see beyond the teeth and talons?

‘There is no denying that this curse is … terrible. You committed your life to the temple and those that you trusted deserted you when you needed them the most.

‘You wish me to question those who never questioned me. Or you. Trust does not require answers, Perseus. Trust requires acceptance.’

Often, they laughed. The arrogance of men did not allow them to take orders from a woman.

‘Gods do not pay the price for their wrongdoings, Perseus. Mortals do. The gods, like the rich of the world, push their agendas onto those whose voices are not loud enough to speak for themselves. The women. The weak. The unwanted. And no one shouts for those who need it the most. Why would they? To shout for another is to risk losing something yourself. And man cannot see beyond the depth of his own reflection.’

Once, people came to me for help, for advice. Now, they come to make me a murderer time and time again.’

She remembered how her own feeble human frame had been ruined far more by the words of disdain from the Goddess than any physical act from Poseidon. She knew that true words from a man were more valuable than shallow gifts from a god.

But he was not here to end a Gorgon’s life, he realised with a sadness he could never have predicted. He was here to bring peace to a priestess.

This was what the gods intended for him. Not just to behead the Gorgon, but to bring her story to the world. Her truth.

The young girl, full of optimism, was long gone, although there, in the depth of her irises, she saw the slightest glimmer of hope.

Years passed, and Perseus went on to become one of Greece’s greatest heroes, held in such high esteem for his feats. Meanwhile, Medusa’s truth was lost, and all that remained was the story of monsters and heroes, though the world would never truly know which was which.