Free The Philosopher Kings by Jo Walton Page A

voice even as Mother would have. “I think this would be a splendid time to discuss it properly. We all know we’re heroes, except Neleus, sorry Neleus, but we don’t know what that means in real and practical terms. We don’t know what difference it can make.”
    Kallikles looked at Father, but Father was staring down at the blankets and said nothing.
    â€œI’m going on the voyage,” Neleus said, in a calm and decided tone. “I appreciate that you all despise me, but I am going. I have more right than anyone, and more need to prove myself than any of you. If the Chamber won’t accept me for the voyage I’ll stow away. I am her son. I am Simmea’s only son, and I am going to avenge her.”
    I made a little sound when he said he was her only son, because why should gender matter so much? But then I stopped myself from protesting, because he needed to be special, and when it came down to it he wasn’t a hero and I was.
    There was another long silence. Then Father spoke. “Being a god made me worse at being a human being. She saw that. And she saw that being heroes might be a problem for you. And she was afraid that you would be unkind to Neleus because he isn’t, and that he’d suffer from that.” She had been right to worry about that, because we had been and he had. Father went on without hesitating, still looking down at the bed and not at any of us. “She thought that people needed more training to bring up children than we had had, but she understood that we had to bring you up and take responsibility for you. Most of the people with the training left after we voted to have families, and the rest were rushed off their feet.”
    Now he looked up, and it was Neleus he looked at. “You are indeed her only son. She loved you very much. It almost killed her soul having you. She hated to give you up. She was so glad to get you back! I remember it so well, when we first brought all of you here.” He looked around the room, shaking his head at the memory. “She loved all of you, but Neleus was indeed her only son.”
    Then he looked at me, and I saw he must have been aware of the little noise of protest I made. “You are her only daughter, and the only child of her milk.”
    â€œWhat difference does milk make?” I asked, puzzled.
    â€œAll the difference in the world,” he answered, as if he thought I should know this already. “Mothers give their milk to their children, and with it their strength and their stamina, their ability to survive disease. There’s a bond in that milk.”
    â€œAnd I didn’t have her milk?” Neleus asked in a small voice.
    Phaedrus answered quickly. “You know you didn’t. You’ve read what Plato says, no mother shall set eyes on her own child—they went to the nurseries when their breasts were full and fed some random child who was there.” Phaedrus shook his head. “She might have fed me, but never you.”
    Everyone except me had read the Republic . Reading it was now part of the adulthood rite for our city.
    â€œShe fed you the night you were born, Neleus,” Father said. “She told me so. But after that you were fed by any woman but your mother, and the same for the rest of you. No doubt Plato meant it to even out the advantages given by the milk, so that all could share with all.”
    â€œPlato was crazy on some subjects, and that was one of them,” Kallikles said dismissively. “Father, where are you going with this line of argument?”
    Father hesitated. “I don’t remember.” He looked over at Mother’s bed, where Phaedrus was sitting, and then quickly away. Mother often used to be able to see when Father got ahead of himself and give him his next point. She had a way of laughing as she did it that I could almost hear. Father wiped his eyes with the corner of his kiton. “I just can’t lose all of