King of All These Ruins

[ChrisGibson]

AS WE CLOSE OUT THE WEEK, MANAEN MAKES A SACRIFICE, AND THEN HE MAKES A FRIEND....


While Manaen and Mykon were planning to leave the house, and Jocasta was asking if she could come, Clio was in the atrium talking to her grandmother.
“That was when Dionysus returned to his birthplace, which is our city of Thebes. Then it was ruled by his cousin Pentheos. But the king and his mother, who was called Agave, and his aunts Ino and Autonoe did not believe he was a God even though the prophet Teiresias warned them—”
“Surely not the same Teiresias,” Phocis said. “He cannot be as old as all that.”
“Well, Grandmother, he is very old…”
“At the time you are too young to come with us,” Manaen told his daughter. “We must hurry, for the rite will be conducted at first darkness.”
“They arraigned him for causing madness among the women of Thebes,” Mykon heard his cousin continue, “but Dionysus used his divine powers to drive Pentheos insane, then invited him to spy on the ecstatic rituals of the Maenads. His heart was not true, and he hoped to see an orgy, so Pentheos hid himself in a tree. The Maenads saw him; maddened by Dionysus, they took him to be a mountain lion, and attacked him with their bare hands. Pentheos' aunts, and his mother, Agave, were among them; ripping him limb from limb. Agave mounted his head on a pike, and took the trophy to the city square...”
As they left the house, and the sun sank beneath the city walls, Mykon commented, “What a fierce god.”
“All the gods are fierce,” Manaen told his son as he pulled his hood over his head.
“Or else, what is their point?”

Against his will he could not stop looking at the priest from Axum. His name was Kybernets and he said he traveled all over Ellix to the dispersed people performing this service. He had, what Manaen assumed, was the accent of Axum, and he was golden skinned, his head shaven, with limpid eyes in a slender face, and a small beard about his full mouth. Why was he noticing how full his mouth was?
“But will you be staying for some time?” Manaen had asked as they left the bull pens, leading the bull down to the old temple the Axumi kept outside of the city.
The first stars were coming up in the sky, and Kybernets said, “I do not think I will be leaving the city anytimes zoon.” Rings glittered on the long fingers of his long hands and he smiled at Manaen. “One gets to lonely traveling from place to place with only the gods for company.”
Manaen nodded and Kybernets, leading the docile black bull into the cave said, “It is a good bull.”
“It is the best bull,” Manaen said.
“Still,” Mykon said, laying a hand upon the bull’s warm, breathing side as it snorted, “It seems a shame. Is this really required?”
“Sometimes the gods need such a things,” Kybernets said as another priest arranged for Mykon to stand in a low tub cut into the floor while Manaen joined him. The bull was led above them, lowing, and as Kybernets caressed him, smiling, the bull went to his knees.
“And then there ares other things, not necessarily gods, who crave such things as well. It is right to please them too.”
Manaen had said nothing, and now Kybernets said, “Now gentlemans, are you a ready?”
Manaen looked to Mykon and Mykon nodded.
At once, Kybernets lifted his voice and began to chant, eyes closed, hand raised in a claw.

Arabatistes Eímai i vasílissa káthe kypsélis
Eímai i fotiá se káthe lófo
Eímai i aspída páno apó káthe kefáli
Eímai to tsekoúri tis máchis
Poios allá egó eímai kai to déntro
Kai to fos pou chtypá to déntro!

His voice went higher, as he rose on the balls of his feet now, his voice ringing throughout the cave so that any small sniggering Mykon had done over his accent was gone.

Eímai ánemos péra apó ti thálassa
Eímai plimmýra apénanti apó tin pediáda
Eímai o vrychithmós ton palírroion
Eímai éna eláfi eptá névron
Eímai éna rodákino as ptósi apó ton ílio
Eímai i pygmí ton agrióchoiron
Eímai geráki, foliá mou se éna vrácho
Eímai éna ýpsos poíisis magikés dexiótites

Arabatates Geia sou agapás ton Io Io Io!

As he screamed the last, suddenly his knife swung down, the bull bellowed and a shower of hot blood and entrails fell onto Manaen’s upturned face and rained on the disgusted Mikon. Thick, hot blood, smelling of iron soaked into his hair, and all through his white clothes, plastering them to his body. The bull slowly sank to its knees, and its last screams filled the cave. The smell of hot offal and blood and shed life filled Mykon’s nostrils while Kybernets and the other priests began to cut up the bull, pulling out its heart and liver and Kybernets, with the still beating, bleeding heart, made signs and gestures over them, murmuring, his face turned to the ceiling, eyes closed, entranced. Mykon could only make our a few words.

Eímai plimmýra apénanti apó
tin pediáda
Eímai o vrychithmós ton palírroion
Eímai éna eláfi eptá névron

When he had finished, boylike, and as if he were not holding the heavy heart of a dead bull in his hands, Kybernets smiled down at them.
“This will ensure Maro’s protection?” Manaen looked up, blood dripping down his face.
“Absolutely!” Kybernets promised.
“Excellent! Manaen decided.
Then he said, wiping the blood from his face, and beginning to wipe it from Mykon’s hair, “Would you and your priests come to dine with us?”
Kybernets looked at his under priests, then nodded and said, “That would be wonderfuls.”






At first he did not know what they were. They were the geese in his dreams and the geese were blowing their trumpets, their long low trumpets. Ah, but geese do not blow trumpets. Or wear armor. Geese…
In the moments of early sunlight in the lengthening days toward summer, Manaen, mouth dried, limbs slightly achy, turned on his back smacking his mouth and heard now the trumpets blowing from the Citadel. He pushed himself out of bed and cross the room, pushing aside the curtain to look out over the balcony. There, from one of the high towers of the Cadmea, the heralds blew their trumpets. Drowsily, stretching only a little and turning to look at Manaen, Kybernets beckoned, “Come back to bed. It is early.”
“The Trumpets, so early,” Manaen said as he let the curtain fall back, darkening the room again and, naked, returned to the bed, climbing in beside Kybernets and pulling the blankets up over them. “They are calling the citizens.”
“But you are no citizens,” Kybernets told him, “nor am I, and that means we have the luxury of sleeping.”

Mykon, however, felt very much like a citizen. And he was becoming an adult. He knew enough to understand that since the priest had come to their house three weeks ago, and he was a funny and unintrusive man in a house full of people, he was sharing father’s bed, and it would be inappropriate to disturb them. Mykon had a horse brought from the stables and rode up the winding streets to the citadel where the men of the city were fathering.
“Mykon Anaxionades!” some called and, “Does Manaen send his boy to do his family business?”
“Not much of a boy any more,” one murmured appreciatively as Mykon dismounted and Cyron, approaching him, said, “Do not mind them. It is good you are here. “
“Men of Thebes,” King Creon cried out from the dais where he had been standing, “Hear me. Under the leadership of our generals Marophon and Pyramus, we have been defeated at Cyra.”
A great bellowing moan went up, and all Mykon could remember was the sacrifice, the blood. Maro, did he live?”
“The ships of Attika were nearly all burned. Only three of ours survived. We lost many men, some of our Sacred Band.”
“We are not naval fighters,” an old man murmured, fiercely. “We ought never have been there.”
“By all reports Marophon and Pyramus are still live.”
“Though disgraced,” Cyron murmured.
“They are disgraced,” another echoed.
“After such a defeat,” old Lycanor predicted, “they will be asked to give up command of the armies.”
“Well that is just it, the armies! They are army men and we tried to turn our armies into navies.” Grego said. “They knew we shouldn’t. All knew we shouldn’t!”
“When they return, command shall be taken from them,” King Creon decreed.
Murmurs of approval went about the mob in the main court of the Cadmea, and Cyron turned to Mykon looking truly concerned.
“Young Mykon,” he said, “what will you do in your house when they return?”
“It is my father’s house, Lord,” Mykon said, “but I will do as any true Anaxionade would. The agora of Thebes is fickle, championing heroes and sending them off to wars they cannot win, then turning their backs on them when they are defeated. I will welcome Maro back to us like a hero, for a hero he is.”


MORE NEXT WEEK

 

[CharmedFan28]

Wow that was different for sure! I did not expect the animal sacrifice but in made sense in this context. I hope Marophon makes it home safe. Great writing and I look forward to more next week!

 

[ChrisGibson]

The animal sacrifice is a bonus just for you. This is a very different world thant we've been in before, and there are going to be a lot of surprises before we're through.

 

[ChrisGibson]

“The rites of passage into adulthood are many, and only a few of them are pleasant.”

-Manaen Anaxionades


CHAPTER FOUR

TELETÉ

την έναρξη



“AWAKE! AWAKE MY LOVE! Arise my love!” he sang. “Time for little girls to rise and dress themselves. Time to greet another day.”
Except for on certain holy days when he had no intentions of getting up and didn’t care if anyone else did either, Father had always woken her like this. Mykon was out of bed, doused in cold water and at sword practice in the courtyard before the sun rose, but not so Jocasta, who loved the bed and pulled the blankets over her head, who decided that when she was mistress of her own house she would order the blackest of curtains hiding all sun, and no servants to wake her till noon.
“The day,” Manaen sank, his fingers dancing up and down her face, “is slipping away! Away!”
“Father, you’re a monster,” Jocasta growled, pulling the covers over her face, but having to surrender as he began to tickle her and Mykon entered.
“Wake up, wench!”
Sitting up, Jocasta looked at her older brother.
“Why is it that men wear no clothes but we women have to be wrapped in sackcloth for modesty?” she pronounced the word dubiously.
“Fiirstly,” began Mykon, who was dabbing his face and his chest after practice, “I am not naked,” which was true, though Manaen noted he wore the smallest of briefs, “and secondly, you are not in sack cloth, but in a silk night gown that Father got from a merchant who traveled all the way across the eastern routes from Seres and Kina, the Silk Lands, and lastly…” Mykon thrust out his tongue, “you are not a woman.”
So saying he left the room and Manaen shouted out, “Ready yourself, we are going to the coast to welcome the ships.”
“I’m headed to the baths, Father!” he shouted back. “Join me.”
As Jocasta rose, her dark hair an oriole of curls about her wide eyed face, she said, “I’m right, I’m not wrong. Mykon is nearly naked and nearly a man and I think he doesn’t quite know it. But from what I hear many men do know that, including Cyron.”
“What of Cyron?”
“He talks to Mykon. A lot.”
Jocasta turned to her father, “Had you thought of him being Mykon’s lover?”
“He’s older than me! He tried the same thing when I was a boy!”
“Well,” Jocasta said, pulling her fingers through her hair, “I’m just a woman, what would we know about men’s manners, but I had thought you intended Maro for Mykon, and if you don’t find someone for him soon, someone will find him and I think that someone will be Cyron.”
Jocasta stretched theatrically, on her way to breakfast, and outside the chickens were clucking at each other in the yard.
“Too grown for her own good,” Manaen murmured before correcting, “or more to the point, for mine.”
He remained in the sunlit room before then left it for the darkened hallways. When Sycharos approached he said, “Have my toiletries laid out in the bath house. My clothing for the day is already laid out?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Thank you.”
As Sycharos disappeared, Manaen skirted through the atrium, which was just barely lit by the morning, and came to the baths. Quietly, Mykon was washing his body and Manaen looked him over. One had to see his children, eventually, especially at this age, as others would. They were the same height now. If he had not known this was his son he would have looked over his body with pleasure, for it was well muscled, skilled from running and sword play. As he soaked his head under the shower and washed his face, his ringleted curls clung to his head, the water running down his chest to his sex, down his buttocks to his well formed legs. Yes, Manaen realized, his beautiful boy was a youth in the first flush of manhood.
Cyron would want him. Someone had better claim him. The day was approaching. It was Mykon, long limbed and handsome, who rode to the men’s meeting and the gymnasium in the chariot, flashing his smile, his dark eyes laughing, or sometimes grave. He was gaining the love Manaen had never been able to have or, if he had been able to have, had lost because of his father, and because of his rejection of Cyron and other men for Marophon. He did not blame his father, nor did he regret his choices, but he could not let his son miss all opportunities and lose the power he was just beginning to come into.
“Father!” Mykon turned from him, blinking and pushing his wet hair back. “Are you well? What are you thinking?”
It made him ache that he had never seen it before. Here was this beautiful man who did not know he was a beuaitful man, who still thought he was a boy, just his son, who gave him unending love.
“I am thinking I love you.”
Mykon, shutting off the water and shaking like a dog, cocked his head and smiled, the water dripping down his young body.
“I love you too, Father,” he said, “but you’d better stop loving me and get in this water so we can joing the others in time.”


“Are we the only ones who came?” Phocis wondered as she pulled the veil over her eyes and shielded herself from the sun.
“Maybe there are others,” Clio said, hopefully.
“There are no others,” Polyxena, the mother of Marophon said. “My husband is ill, or says he is, and Arcis has stayed home saying he will see his brother when he returns. There are only us, the families of the soldiers, and your family, for which I thank you.”
Though he older son had stayed away, beside Polyxena rode her youngest, the faired haired Megacles, and her daughter, dark haired, milk skinned Charis, whom Phocis remembered was the wife of Pyramus Aktade
Phocis opened her mouth to speak, but Antha leaned past her mother and said, “You are always welcome.”
After they had rode on a bit, closer to where Manaen traveled beside Mykon and Memnon, Antha said, “I know what you are thinking.”
“She should be thanking us. Where was that witch when my husband was disgraced, or half of these wretched bitches when your father publicly met his death and his wealth was taken away? Certainly not riding with us.”
“The past is past,” Antha said almost in a tone of warning.
“This is what the young say,” Phocis returned. “The old know that the past is never passed. It cannot be.”
“The old? Are you so old? Not yet fifty.”
“I am old enough to have six grandchildren, one on the cusp of marriage.”
“Seven grandchildren,” Antha reminded her. “Manaen has that other daughter.”
“Well, yes,” Phocis said with disapproval. “He should bring her back from that harpy’s house.”
“That’s an unwise way to speak of her. Merope is a priestess of Iacchus.”
“I can’t imagine such a god would want such a woman,” Phocis said, “and she is a harpy. Grapes and figs go out of season. The truth never does.”
Clio watched her grandmonther and mother’s heads close together as they conversed in the canopied wagon, but now she turned to her cousin.
“Casta, what is it?”
Jocasta’s coffee colored face was paler than usual, and she was grimacing.
“We have to stop, Cli,” she said.
“Should I call Grandmother?”
“No!” Jocasta’s voice was sharp. She decided. “Just tell them we have to make water, and come with me by those trees.”
As Jocasta rode off gingerly, Clio rode to her mother and Phocis.
“We’re going to relieve ourselves,” Clio said.
“We’ll send Hypatia with you,” Antha offered.
“No,” Clio said, sternly, and her mother asked no questions.
Clio dismounted, leading her horse to the trees where Jocasta was standing perfectly still.
“Help me get my gown off and find some new underthings,” Jocasta said.
Clio did not ask questions either, but as Jocasta stripped, she said, “You’ve started your bleeding. Teleté. ”
“Don’t say that,” Jocasta said offhandedly. I hate that word.”
“It only means growing up.”
“I knew it would happen eventually, but I didn’t know it would happen today on our way to the sea. Is anyone coming?”
“No,” Clio grimaced. “I wish we were near water.”
She took up an old browned cloth.
“I had brought these for me when the time came, so that’s a good thing.”
She poured wine onto another old cloth and said, “You can wipe yourself down and that will do till we can wash properly. Mother probably has better stuff. I wish you’d let me tell her.”
“No,” Jocasta said as she wiped down the inside of her thighs, “the moment Antha knows, Grandmother knows and that’s the moment they try to put a husband on top of me. This is my business and if I hear someone else knows, woe betide you, Cli.”
“Fine,” her cousin put up her hands, a bundle of winding rags hanging from the left one. “But if you won’t heed me at least stand still and let me bind you.”
The word teleté still seemed to stick to her like the wine and blood between her thighs. There was a tale that one of the gods, sometimes it was Iacchus but then sometimes Apollyon, loved to rape women in their sleep, and having tied up a woman and taken her virginity, when her child had been born, and he had abducted it from her, he had named this daughter Teleté, initiation, and to Jocasta this story changed the nature of growing up and the sexuality associated with it.
As Clio wrapped Jocasta, the younger cousin said, “Mykon said I wasn’t a woman this morning, but it turns out he was wrong.”


TOMORROW NIGHT: IF I SHOULD FALL

 

[CharmedFan28]

Great to get back to this story after a few days! I like where it is at the moment and am really enjoying exploring this world. Some of the younger ones are really starting to grow up which is interesting. Excellent writing and I look forward to If I Should Fall tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

It's my pleasure to share this world with you and to rediscover it myself. Yes, everyone is starting to grow, and the stories still young. Thank you for reading. Glad you enjoyed.

 

[ChrisGibson]

THOUGH THE CITY HAS TURNED ITS BACK ON MAROPHON AND PYRAMUS, MANAEN GATHERS A PARTY OF LOVED ONES AND LOYAL FRIENDS TO WELCOME THEM HOME. ONE THEIR WAY TO THE COAST, YOUNG JOCASTA HAS HER FIRST BLEEDING, BUT SWEARS HER COUSIN CLIO TO SECRECY



“Ungrateful bastards,” Memnon pronounced.
“I am ashamed of my own family,” a fair haired boy said, and Memnon said, “You have come, your sister has come and your brother is Cleomanes Marophon. You have no need to be ashamed.”
Manaen said nothing, but studied the almost pretty younger brother of Marophon. Cleomanes Megacles, the namesake of their father, tracing a circle in the sand, gloomy faced. Most called him Chiton.
“I should have gone to war!”
“You’re too young,” Manaen said. “And enough life was wasted. You are here when so few are, and that’s what matters.”
They were sitting around the fire, its sparks flying into the black night.
Manaen had lifted his hood over his head and looked about the encampment.
“So few that came with us, even of the families.”
“So many of them would have been women and little children,” Manaen said. “And most women are not expected to travel.”
“But that it should only consist of women and children,” Memnon spat, “that our whole city should not come out to greet our men. That’s why the Sphinx came all those years ago. That’s why we’re cursed.”
“Was there really a Sphinx?” Mykon looked to his father. Chiton looked up as well.
“It was before my time. What I have not seen, I do not speak of.”
But Memnon’s father, said, “There was. My father said that though it was difficult getting out of the city, it could be done. She was a wicked bitch of a monster, sent by the gods, for Thebes is a city that sins against the gods. But Oedipus killed her with his riddle. Only to suffer his own fate.”
“But at his own hands,” Manaen remembered, “and because of that so much more misfortune fell.”
“Too true,” Memnon agreed, “and now the whole royal house gone but for Creon, and who will come to power once he is dead?”
“I heard Cyron say his family was noble.”
“Cyron?” Memmon said to Mykon, “what are you doing talking to him.”
Manaen was glad he’d said it and Memnon continued, “You be careful of him. Though you do not remember, he was first to call for the head of your grandfather. He has been no friend to your family.”
Mykon nodded obediently, but Manaen wondered what his son really thought.
“Do we know they will be in the harbor in two days?” Chiton asked.
Memon said, “My family is not wealthy, but we are of the Agae, and the intelligence my uncle received says they are coming and awaiting a deputation. That our deputation is all they will get, I am sure they are not expecting.”




“I’m a glad I could change,” Jocasta said.
“So you are fine?” Clio said.
“As fine as you or any other woman that went through this. But you, sister. You are not fine.”
“I was talking to mother. And to Procris. I cannot be bothered with them.”
“No one said a word about Lysander.”
“He must be alive, Jo, he must be. We are to wed soon. I must have my beautiful husband.”
Jocasta caught Clio’s hand and said, “Come with me.”
“What?”
“To the river, Cli. Come.”
Clio shook her head and shook away her nerves. She walked with Jocasta to the water and the younger girl held out her arms.
“Give me your hands, Cli.”
Clio looked at her strangely, but obeyed.
“Great Mother, we come to you,” Jocasta said outloud, “without all the names and stories we come to you. We do not trust men or the gods of men but right now we come to you, girls to our mother, women to woman. I beg you, for my sake and the sake of my dear Cli, bring Lysander who is young and good and beautiful home. You are our mother. We offer you no blood and the life of no animal, but our love and our trust and even our fears. Hear them. You always hear us. So let it be.”
Jocasta’s eyes were closed tight and now she opened them, and unclenched her cousin’s hand.
“There.”
“Do you think that did it?” Clio asked.
“Yes,” Jocasta said. “I do.”



They arrived at the harbor late on the morning of the fourth day, and as they came, Mykon cried out, “This ships are already here.”
Manaen frowned, “How long have they been waiting, I wonder?”
“Waiting and wondering who would greet them,” Memnon murmured.
Some of the women who had come were jumping from their horses, out of their wicker carries, running across the beach as proud men came from the ships removing their bronze helmets with their hanging horsetails. The remnants of an army and the remnants of a procession.
“Are you well enough?” Clio asked Jocasta as she dismounted, and though Jocasta did not leap from the horse with all of her accustomed vigor, she said, “Cli, I’ve just started my courses, not been slain in battle.”
She held out her hand, “Come.”
There was, despite everything, a festive tone to the meeting of soldiers and loved ones, and some were frantically looking to see if their soldiers had come home, or their family had come to meet them. In this respect, Mykon noted, his father was lucky. For he knew that Marophon, now coming toward him, was alive.
Manaen had made to step back, to allow Maro’s mother or his brother and sister to greet him first, but Polyxena, humbled by the party Manaen had organized, pushed him forward. Despite being unshaved, and his armor the worse for wear, the fierce horsetail less fierce, a growth of beard on his cheeks, Marophon’s eyes blazed to see Manaen. He came toward him like a lion and beside him, slower, came another handsome man, bronze haired, green eyed, the sun shining on the bronze hair gleaming from his unshaven cheeks.
Marophon tilted Manaen’s face to his, saying nothing, but only looking into his eyes and smiling, and then as Manaen felt tears coming, Marophon stooped to kiss him deeply. No one else was there. He could have fainted and brought Maro to the ground with him, but Marophon was general of Thebes’ troops, and he was the head of the Anaxionade, and so, parting from him, he quickly ran his hands over his eyes and then bowed to the man beside him who had just released the shrieking Charis, “You are General Pyramus. Any friend to Maro is a friend to me.”
Manaen touched Marophon’s cheek with the side of his hand and said, “Greet your mother.”
As Marophon did, Manaen continued, “I apologize on behalf of our wretched city. We are all the assembly that has come to welcome you.”
“When we docked at Plataea the night before,” Pyramus said, “that was already a rumor. They will take command of the army from us.”
“Yes,” Manaen said.
“And disgrace us by giving no welcome, no parade and shutting all doors to us.”
“All doors are not shut to you,” Manaen said. “Even now my house is being made ready. There shall be great feasting. Not only Maro, but you shall remain in my house when we return.”
Pyramus was a tall and handsome soldier, lean and good looking.
“Now, I am ashamed,” he said.
“Of?” Manaen asked.
“When I knew Maro loved you, though I said nothing, I wondered why. There was jealousy in my heart, I suppose. I know to myself, to others, I said unkind things. And now I understand everything, sir. I understand, even, why your father the Lord Philemon did as he did. He chose his own loyalties and stuck by his friends no matter what any others might say or think. I see that in you.”
Pyramus nodded, and kneeling, offered his sword.
“For any service you may need,” he said, “I am yours.”





“I’m such a stupid man.”
“How can you say that?” Marophon said while they sat by the fire, and he passed his helmet full of water back to Manaen. “You are the very wisest of men and the most loving of men.”
“I understand the purpose of the Sacred Band.”
“Yes, that men do not shame themselves before their lovers in battle.”
“No,” Manaen said, “so that you always have someone who knows.”
Marophon stared blankly at him.
“I see when you tremble in the night,” Manaen said, “when you have memories of battle I know nothing about, when you talk of things I have never seen and suffer losses I know nothing of because I have never had to defend a life or take a life. What a good thing it is to have Pyrs.”
By another fire he saw Pyramus and Mykon with Charis and Chiton, laughing, “And what a good man he is.”
“Yes, Manaen, yes, you are right,” Marophon said. “It is good to be near men who have been in the thick of things with you, but it’s good to be next to someone who never has and never will, who is different from you as the night from the day and who knows it, who has not been where you are and knows it. To think that somewhere out there in those people who don’t understand us but send us to fight is someone who does understand you and waits for you.”
Marophon placed his hand on Manaen’s knee.
“I have been away from you all these months. These nights under these grubby blankets in this camp, hold me in your arms and let me wake in them.”


Antliclea sang at her lyre by the water fountain.

“Water is best, and gold, like a blazing fire
in the night, stands out supreme of all
lordly wealth. But if, my heart, you wish
to sing of contests, look no further
for any star warmer than the sun, shining
by day through the lonely sky, and let us
not proclaim any contest greater than Orthys.”


What would it be like to be free and a poet, Jocasta wondered? When they had been on the shore by the sea and cried out “Thalassa Thalassa!” Upon seeing the water, she had wondered about what was beyond the great sea, and when she saw Clio leap into Lysander’s arms, overjoyed at his return, when she heard women howl to know their husbands would never come home, she thought, what a sad thing to be a woman, always tied to a man.
The servants moved about under the sharp direction of Grandmother, preparing for the feast tonight. In the the same yard where Father sat chatting with Pyramus, and Antha was talking to Clio, the clashing of wooden swords could be heard, and in the court, Marophon sparred with Mykon.
“Ah!” Maro cried.
Jocasta turned to see.
The practice sword was at Marophon’s back, and looking at it as if it were a traitor, Mykon said, “I’ve never beaten you.”.
Marophon, looking around saw Pyramus and Manaen about to clap, but unsure. Marophon moved the sword point away and said,“I told you one day you would and today you have. You may not do so tomorrow. Or you may. A boy must become a man, Mykon.”
He wrapped his arm about Mykon who stood to his shoulder.
“You are to be a soldier like me. Perhaps, in light of what has happened, better.”
“No!” Mykon roared suddenly, pushing away from Marophon.
“Myka!” Manaen said. Jocasta kept silence.
“I will NOT have you say that!” Mykon said. “They wronged you. They wrong both of you!” he turned to include Pyramus. “You are the greatest general. You are not an admiral. You knew what would happen, and it was Attika that was in command and Attika that lost the war. I don’t give a damn what they say.”
Mykon lifted his practice sword.
“Fight me damn you!” he growled. “Fight me like the general you are.”
“Mykon…” Marophon lifted his sword, But Mykon aimed at him, and now they danced, sword to sword, Mykon’s eyes blazing.
“What in the world…” Manaen rose up, half afraid.
Pyramus looked on in wonder.
“The boy…. No, that young man,” Pyramus said as their swords clashed, “has brought the fire back into Maro.”
Strike, feint and strike, in weariness they still moved together, wishing to rest but not resting until Mykon slipped and Maro’s sword went to his throat.
“Tell me you aren’t playing me?” Marophon panted.
“No, Lord,” Mykon said.
Maro reached down to pull Mykon up, but Mykon pulled him down and jumped onto his chest, putting the sword at his throat.
“Gods!” Marophon smiled up at him.
“We are well met,” Mykon said, pushing sweat soaked hair from his face.
“It appears we are.”

MORE TOMORROW NIGHT

 

[CharmedFan28]

Great to get back to this story! Well the fighters have come back and have not been welcomed by most but at least by some who matter. A bit of conflict at the end and I wonder what will happen next? I will have to wait and see, excellent writing!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, as we come to the end we see Mykon starting to become a match for Maro, which is Maro's dream and the sign that he is training him well. The Sacred Band rejected by the city is aided by Manaen and we'll have to wait to see what happens next.

 

[ChrisGibson]

THE SURPRISES KEEP COMING AS MANAEN MAKES A CONTROVERSIAL SACRIFICE

Anticlea sang but then she stopped in the midst of the feasting, and Manaen said, “What, friend?”
She gestured to the door.
Manaen saw people standing in the antehall and he said, “Carry on. I will handle this.”
As Anticlea sang on, Manaen passed through those feasting.
Cyron was speaking to Mykon.
“It is a tribute to you that you have hosted the returning army so mightily. The Assembly is already speaking highly of you.
“Cyron,” Manaen interrupted, but Cyron looked at him guilelessly. With him were Menoptos and Triplocos from the Assembly.
“Merope?” he said, “I thought this was a bit late for your type of woman to be out in the city.”
Before she could open her mouth, Manaen said, “Mykon, say goodnight.”
“Yes, Father,” Mykon bowed. And left.
“Manaen,” Cyron began, “I warn you, do not ruin that boy’s chances.”
“Get out of my house. You’re too old for me, you’re much to old for my son. Get out. All of you.”
“Discourtesy!” Merope began.
“Discourtesy? When you withheld welcome to our poor beaten down troops which you sent out with no hope to their safety, where was your courtesy?”
“They failed the city.”
“You failed them,” Manaen said. “Now get out of my house, you included, you vile witch. And now that I think of it, return my daughter to me in the morning.”
“She is my neice!”
“She is my daughter. She is mine. She is Anaxionade. All that she has is mine. You shall send her before noon and for now, you shall send yourself, our of this house.”
As Manaen turned to leave, he heard Anticlea beginning her song of Cadmos traveling from Babalon in search of his sister only to found the city of Thebes.
“But his sister was Io,” Phocis said, “who was taken to the Isle of Axum. Some says she was taken by Zeon in the form of a Bull, but some say she turned herself into a cow, being a great goddess, and she went to Axum where she became the ancestress to the kings and queens and to our family, so that Thebes and Axum are one in the end.”

“They were slain by the spring's
guardian water-dragon,
which was in turn destroyed by Cadmos,
He was then instructed by Athena to sow the dragon's teeth
in the ground, from which there sprang a race of
fierce armed men, called the Spartoi…”

“That is where the Sparti come from?” Jocasta said.
Pyramus smiled on her, his white teeth flashing, “Lady, I thought you knew.”
“Truly, I never troubled to ask,” Jocasta said.
“And the Agae were those who came with Cadmos from Babalon,” Mykon added.

They grew more quiet as Anticlea sang into the deepening night, coming to the close.

Now Thebes stands, and now you might
be seen as happy,
in your exile, Cadmus. You have Ares and Venus
as your bride’s parents, and added to this the children
of so noble a wife, so many sons and daughters,
and dearly loved descendants, your
grandchildren, who now are young men.
But in truth we should always wait for a
man’s last day, for that time when he has
paid his last debt, and we should call no
man’s life happy until he is dead.



They drank long into the night, and sang till the moon had passed its arc. Tonight Mykon was half asleep on his lounge and Maro was still awake, holding Manaen’s hand.
“Maro. Get up, come with me.”
“Yes,” Marophon said, smiling.
“Mykon,” Manaen added, “come with us too?”
“Father?” the boy began.
“He’s a little touched by wine,” Manaen noted, touching his son’s hair indulgently, “But we should not let that trouble us.”
They went down the halls, and up the long stair, and Marophon said, as they entered, “I missed this room. These curtains, those jars and the chest.”
But Mykon was still with them, propping himself up a little and Manaen said, “I must talk to you. Both.”
“Father, what is it?”
But Manaen said, “I had thought… when I saw Pyramus I wondered if he was the solution. I thought of him.”
“For what?” Mykon said, though Marophon said nothing
“I thought, he is good, loyal. He will rise again. But… You cannot create love, you cannot mimic it. And there is no time.”
“Time for what?” Mykon began.
“In the end I still have to do,” Manaen continued, “what I always knew I would. What I knew we would.”
“Manaen, what are you…?”
“Do you love Mykon?” Manaen said, plainly.
Marophon blenched.
“Of course.”
Then Marophon said, “I love him like he was my son.”
“No,” Manaen said, “I love him like he is my son. Because he is. You must love him another way.”
“Myka?”
“Yes, Father?”
“Do you love Maro?”
“Yes,” Mykon said, but the word did not come out in one piece.
Then, in a movement swift, as Manaen had done with Marophon, he removed the chiton from Mykon, and the boy stood naked before Marophon.
“What are you doing?” Marophon demanded.
But Manaen came behind him, tugging off his chiton so that the boy and man stood naked together, and Manaen saw their penises rising to touch and, beneath his robe, his rose as well.
“I am giving what I love most to what I love most,” he said.
“Now kiss,” Manaen said. “Kiss him like you love him. If you do not love him, it will all be in vain.”
And then Marophon pulled Mykon roughly to him, pressing his mouth against the boy’s, and Mykon, legs unbuckling, pulled Marophon to him as he arched his neck for a more tender kiss.
They turned to Manaen, but he nodded, and bowed to leave the room, closing the curtain behind him. He did not leave. He went down the darkened hall to the parapet where the moon was high in the dark blue sky and he said, “I thought I’d find you here.”
Pyramus turned around.
“Lord Manaen.”
“I’ve told you about that.”
“Manaen,” Pyramus said.
“I thought you would be with Maro.”
“No,” Manaen shook his head.
When he turned, Manaen could see the curve of Pyramus’ buttocks under his short chiton. “No, that is not what happens tonight.”
They stood, looking over the parapet on the red tiled houses on Thebes, the walls of homes and shops blue white in the night. Their eyes traveled to the Cadmea, the great citadel, its towers high and white under the moon.
“Where sleeps our cursed king,” Manaen murmured.
Pyramus laughed bitterly, and Manaen said, “Pyrs, are you happy here?”
“Yes.”
“But not completely,” Manaen guessed.
Without turning, Manaen said, “you think that now Marophon is here I have taken him from you, but that is not it at all. You are still part of the Sacred Band.”
“The Sacred Band is done.”
“It cannot be done, for all my fortunes are now tied to its fortunes. No,” Manaen said, “It is not done. And so you all are not done. Love is not sex and love is not so…. Poor as jealous people make it.”
“Thank you,” Pyramus said, nodding to Manaen.
“Do you remember,” Manaen began, turning to look over the city, the twisting streets that led to the market before the temple of Herakles, “that I said all that was in my house was yours?”
“Yes, when we first met on the beach and I knew the kind of man you were.”
“It is very much true,” Manaen said.
“Wait for me here,” Manaen told him. “Just a moment.”
“Yes…” Pyramus said, “Manaen.”
Manaen went down the steps, heading to his room. But now he heard the panting on the other side of the curtain, the movement of the bed, and when he pushed the curtain open, he was surprised, for he had expected that if it had happened, it would happen the other way around, but Marophon was head down on the bed, his face in the pillow, and Mykon, his young body covered in sweat, his eyes glazed over with an ecstasy previously unknown, was pressing into him harder and harder, his thighs striving, his buttocks clenching. Manaen entered the room, trembling, and when he came they knew he was there, Maro’s face, flushed with desire turned to see him. Suddenly, thrusting deeper and quickly, Mykon roared, and his body, bucking up and up, he finally came down, bunching against Marophon while the orgasm wrang itself from his body.
Manaen clasped Maro’s hands and pressed them to his face, exhaling, feeling terror, gratitude, lust, horror, jealousy, all of it. Then, while Mykon was still panting, looking wet and exhausted. Manaen came to him, knelt, and kissed him.
“You seemed a man. Now you are a man. Men wished to claim you. Now you have claimed your man. Love each other. I will be back in the morning.”
Manaen left the room, weaving through the darkness to return to Pyramus.
“Is everything well?” Pyramus began, turning from the parapet where he had been overlooking the city.
Manaen’s eyes had been on a broken roof tile, and now Pyramus thought Manaen knelt to pick it up. But even as he thought it, Manaen’s hands were lifting up his chiton, swallowing his cock.
“Gods!” Pyramus moaned as Manaen’s tongue played over the head of his penis and sucked, licked and sucked again. Pyramus felt himself growing in Manaen’s mouth, but now the master of the house gently turned him around, and Manaen’s tongue darted inside of Pyramus, opening his buttocks while his hand gently tugged first on his balls, now milked his cock.
“Gods and damnment!” Pyramus growled, struggled out of his chiton.
Forgetting all his previous respect, he came to the roof floor with Manaen, while the other man struggled from his robe. He lifted Manaen, thrusting his tongue in him, pulling on his sex with his mouth. On the parapet of the house, under the great moon, the two men strived together, making free with each other’s bodies, unable to get enough of touching and tasting until Manaen planted Pyramus on his back and, mounting, rode him, until Pyramus did the same, until they came and then slept and then, under the stars and the dark night, went through all the permutations of sex, finally passing into sleep in each other’s arms.



IN THE MIDDLE OF the night, Manaen got up to make water. He had heard tales in the tavern of people who had made love, drunkenly, and woken up to the sunlight of a new day having forgotten the night before, surprised by themselves in the morning after.
He was surprised, almost, not that he had made love, that was nothing knew to him, but by the comfort and absolute abandon of it. The day he had met the priest Kybernets, he knew he would take him to bed, but tonight there was no bed. He was on the parapet of his house, in the small lane that wrapped about the roof, and he had awaken in more comfort than cold, his body pressed to a man he had once viewed as his rival, in absolute secruity. As he stood, feeling a little unsteady, and the moon shone full on him, Manaen looked down to see Pyramus, younger than him, but battle hardened, his long body curled like shell, his hands in fists, his jaw firm even in sleep. This was his lover’s lover, the younger man he had gone through all proper rites with to take as his beloved. And tonight, in an inspiration brought on by intoxication, Manaen had given himself—his creaking aching, drunken old self—to Pyramus in exchange for having given his son to Marophon.
And the feelings going through his body possessed no moral. When he had stripped his son naked, and then Marophon, and seen the two of them together, their penises rising, he had risen with desire. Almost immediately he had set out on his way to Pyramus. When he had come back and seen Mykon taking his pleasure, his son with his lover, he’d had to be a part of it, to bless it, to kiss them, to be with someone, to be with Pyramus.
He pissed from the parapet into the empty garden and came back to lie in the pile of clothes beside Pyramus, who was now awake, blinking at him.
“I…” Pyramus began in a croak, and gained his voice again, “I was not sure if I had dreamed what I dreamed. I woke up alone and naked. And now… here you are.”
“It was no dream,” Manaen said.
But yes, sex was like a dream, always, always two people who, in the civilized world conducted themselves with such limits, always drawing the proper circle of separation about themselves and others, now straining and striving to reach something that, truthfully, could only be found in the other. Not in the other’s body, but in the other. The pleasure that did not cause pleasure, the moan of passion that did not come from the depths of you or of someone else’s mouth, was no good. And they had had this tonight.
“Would you like to leave this roof?” Manaen said. “We could find a bed?”
“Your bed.”
“No,” Manaen said. “You must be angry at what I tell you.”
“Tell me.” And Manaen was not sure if Pyramus had said this as a question or not.
“I knew, at last, that Mykon must have a lover, and must have an important one. I had thought of asking you.”
“If you had asked,” Pyramus said, reclining on his elbow, “I would have seen my way to it.”
“But that is the thing,” Manaen said, “I did not want you to see your way to it. There was no time really. The passion and love must be there. I gave Maro to Mykon.”
Pyramus’ jaw dropped.
“You think me terrible.”
“I think…” Pyramus began, “I think you aren’t like anyone else.”
“It was a matter of my knowledge overcoming my desire. The Sacred Band is done for now. The city will have to re establish itself and its army, which means you and Maro and therefore you relationship is at a nadir. Maro’s career is at an ebb as my family is on the rise and Mykon being properly attached will make my family rise higher.”
“Are you not afraid of Maro dragging you down then?”
Manaen was not sure if Pyramus was mocking him or not, but he said, “No. No. See, the city will fight again, and they will fall again, and Creon will die and then you all will rise again. We fell apart, and at different times. But now we are bound. Now we are bound together. So we will rise together. That is the nature of love. As I see it. ”
“You are…” Pyramus pulled his hairy knees to his chest, “everything the city said you are. You’ve thought of everything. And me? Where did I fit into this?”
“I wanted you for Mykon. I thought. But as soon as I put that idea away I understood I just wanted you.”
At this, Pyramus’ face softened, and Manaen saw Pyramus’ penis stretch, bob up and down with life.
“What will happen with the four of us?” Pyramus wondered, his shoulder touching Manaen’s, the warmth of his strong arm touching the other man’s.
“Must we worry about that now?” Manaen said, “Can we not worry about the two of us tonight.”
“Well, Charis sleeps in my room, so if Mykon has yours, let us take his this night,” Pyramus said. “Let us sort ourselves out there.”
“I do not know what will happen in the morning, but tonight I am afraid you get the short end of the stick.”
“What are you talking about?” Pyramus said. “This is more passion than I’ve ever known.”
“Maro gets a young, lithe warrior of a boy, and you get this bald old man.”
“You are younger than Maro. I believe you are not even five and thirty. You want to be flattered,” Pyramus said, knowingly, “and I won’t do it. Besides,” he opened his thighs to reveal himself, “does it look like I mind?”


MORE NEXT WEEK

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion! Lots of surprises and Manaen did make a big sacrifice. I am still enjoying this story a lot and look forward to more next week! Excellent writing!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Early the next morning, when grey light came into the bedroom, the curtain over the doorway opened a little and, naked, Mykon stumbled in, and crawled into his bed, reaching for pillows, pulled at the cover and was startled by and startling, his father.
“Father?”
“Did you?” Manaen began, ignoring his son’s nudity and Pyramus naked and sprawled across the bed, “have a good night?”
Mykon nodded, sheepish.
“I don’t really know what to say about the whole thing.”
“That’s fine. You’re wanting your room again?”
“You can stay.” Mykon looked on the other side of the sleeping Pyramus.
“If you will give me your blanket,” Manaen said, “I will give you your peace.”
Manaen wrapped the blanket about himself and said, “Pyrs. Pyrs, come.”
Groggily, Pyramus blinked about, yawned, and then stood up, and Manaen noted Mykon looking at the other man, the feelings Mykon was not entirely sure of, stirring in him again, Pyramus trundled out of the room, into the dark hall, and then into the room where Marophon was sleeping, and the three of them piled into the the bed, Manaen in the very center, soon all of them drifting into sleep.

While he lay on the bed between Marophon and Pyramus he began to realize he loved them both. He kissed one and then the other, and he placed one hand on Marophon’s back, another on Pyramus’. He stroked them gently and Maro sighed, while Pyramus buried his face in the pillow and moaned. He moved his hand down to the small of their backs and they shuddered. He massaged their asses and they sighed, mouths open. They made child noises. Gently, he slipped a finger into each of them, and both boys’ mouths opened. Their eyes flew open in amazed wonder. While Manaen worked them they moaned, grasping their pillows, then the sides of the mattress.
Manaen kissed them. He kissed them down their backs, first Pyramus, and then Marophon and then again, all the way down until his tongue moved inside of them, from one to the other and they both cried out now. They shouted a little now. Marophon banged on the headboard with his fist and shuddering sounds escaped from Pyramus. Manaen’s mouth worked on them, his hands reached around and kneaded them. Marophon and Pyramus looked at each other, eyes wide. Suddenly they began to kiss. As they kissed fiercely, Marophon reached down and brought Manaen up. The two generals kissed, pressing together with Manaen between them, going up and down Manaen’s body until, gently, Marophon turned him on his stomach and Pyramus, enraptured, watched Marophon fucked him.
His mouth was half open. His eyes glazed over. Manaen grabbed the mattress and his eyes went dull under Marophon’s thrusting. It ended all too quickly in an orgasmic flood, Marophon’s hands bunched on Manaen’s shoulder, the cords of his neck strained, his red face to the ceiling, his cock, thick, wet, spewing, deep inside of the younger boy. But when Marophon came out of him, still stiff, his cock wet, Manaen reached for Pyramus, and Pyramus came to him. Now it was his turn. Now they were together. He wanted to hold it in. He did, a little longer, making love to Manaen the same way he did when they were in private, holding back his burst. Marophon was there, exhausted, on his side, watching. In a way it was like they were doing this for him. When it was time to let go, Pyramus almost mourned it. Manaen gave a long whimpering cry.
The room was hot, and it smelled like sweat and the long night and fucking. They all three, sprawled, limbs together, their stomachs sprayed by their semen.
They lay together shaking and now speaking, gently touching as if to reassure each other, not even wishing to clean themselves. Then, Manaen to Pyramus, Marophon to Manaen, they curled up together like an ear, sheltering each other, and drifted into sleep, the smells of sweat and sex, the soft, salty warmth of their flesh, a comfort.
It was some time later, waking reluctantly from such warmth, that Manaen heard a knock on the doorway and Marophon, half asleep, looked to Pyramus and Manaen. At that moment, Pyramus looked to Manaen and then Manaen, stepping out of the bed, slipped on his robe.
“Good morning,” the master of the house said.
“Father,” Mykon’s voice said on the other side of the door.
Manaen pushed open the heavy curtain, and Mykon said, “I thought I wanted to be alone, but I don’t want to be alone. Please let me in.”
The boy came in. Manaen went to draw the curtains and bring the room into darkness, and Pyramus moved over, making a place for Mykon and wrapping an arm about him.
Drowsily, he climbed into bed and Marophon pulled him in while Manaen, undressing again, made a pallet on the far side and felt Maro’s arm hooking about his waist.

The next morning after the feast where the soldiers were welcomed home, the night of Mykon’s teleté Merope, the sister of Father’s second wife came bearing a little girl with a frown on her face and said, “This is Alexandra, whom you have requested.”
But her half sister is a sour girl, displeased with the house, displeased with her sister nd grandmother and aunt, continually going on about being back at Merope’s large white house by the Cadmea.
Finally Jocasta says to her father, “If you want her, you’d better raise her. For I will not.”
The girl remains for some uneasy days before Manaen, very much obsessed with whatever is happening with Mykon, says enough is enough, and sends the girl to Antha’s house.
“Antha will be glad of a child to raise, and I will not, absolutely will not give her back to Merope.”
Jocasta is a little disappointed in her father. The man who does not behave like other men is, for once, behaving just like other men.


Mykon had begun the life of the gymnasium, the social circle for men, and now he attended with Marophon, the older man’s arm casually draped around him. He had never come there with his father but always with his uncle and male cousins. The baths were there, where the news of the city was discussed. As Jocasta had said, with a straight face, men talked of business and women chattered. Everything, every bit of gossip was business. When the sickness fell on the king’s lungs, and the closest of the nobles began to vie for who would rule next, and the city Assembly begged Creon to pick a successor, that too was business. Creon soon recovered and decided he would not die therefore need not trouble himself with successors.
“He is an old fool,” Marophon said, while they were stretching after running.
Mykon took Marophon in a new way. He could not explain it. Marophon seemed more uncertain, older, and this wasn’t a bad thing. Marophon seemed so vulnerable to him, and this did not lessen the way he felt for the older man. Only, the very night they had gone to bed together was the night of the day he had first defeated Marophon, and then demanded he fight until he won. They were not the same, no, Marophon was a many times decorated general and the head of the Sacred Band, even if that Band was currently disgraced. But he was still Marophon Cleomanes, and because there was currently no war to be fought, nothing was said of his demoted status.
But every time they wrestled, or the older man placed a hand on his shoulder, Mykon’s body responded to the memory of their kiss, their naked bodies together in passion, their sex, his entry in Maro and the spending of his seed, his opening to Marophon and being known by him that way for the first time. That night, under the influence of the full moon, and knowing in a way it had to happen, it had been very different, but in the mornings after, Mykon did not know how to feel.
“He… uh… needs to pick a successor,” Marophon said, and it seemed as if the man with curly dark hair who, no matter how many times he shaved always had a day’s growth of facial hair, was looking for words. That first morning, when he had waken up with Maro, he wanted to be a boy again. He had gone to his room and his father and Pyrs had left it. He was not surprised about his father. Father took lovers when it suited him and put them down gently until he took them up again. When Mykon found all three of them he was not surprised either. He needed the comfort of men, and not to be alone, and he needed the presence of Manaen. Perhaps he needed the old Marophon.
He needed a guard against this uncontrollable lust, this feeling awakened by the night before. Pressed to Pyramus he had stirred, and when the touching had begun to feel good, Manaen had simply risen, robed, and left the room. He did not even bring Marophon with him, and so, the morning after being with one lover, Mykon discovered what it was like to be with two.

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was an excellent portion! Very hot and interesting with what is going on. All the main characters in this portion seem to be enjoying themselves. Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

That first morning, when he had waken up with Maro, he wanted to be a boy again. He had gone to his room and his father and Pyrs had left it. He was not surprised about his father. Father took lovers when it suited him and put them down gently until he took them up again. When Mykon found all three of them he was not surprised either. He needed the comfort of men, and not to be alone, and he needed the presence of Manaen. Perhaps he needed the old Marophon.
He needed a guard against this uncontrollable lust, this feeling awakened by the night before. Pressed to Pyramus he had stirred, and when the touching had begun to feel good, Manaen had simply risen, robed, and left the room. He did not even bring Marophon with him, and so, the morning after being with one lover, Mykon discovered what it was like to be with two.
After this he was afraid of himself and stayed away from the two generals. Manaen’s morals had been about duty and personal respect. They had never prepared him for the night he was made into a man, or the feelings in his body afterward. Suddenly he noticed everything he hadn’t before, the turn of breasts in the young servants girls, the rounded rumps of the men. The girl Dorcas, whom he had always been nervous of, knowing her intentions. In truth, the way she looked at him, fed off her nerves had scared him a little. One morning, resentful of her power, and resentful of the stiffness of his penis, he had taken her into the dark pantry, lifted her skirt, then his chiton, and pushed himself inside of her. He thrust until she cried out and his seed spilled deep inside her, at last giving him relief from his lust. It was only as he was recovering from the orgasm that had made him groan and double over as if he’d been punched in the chest that he thought, “We have to get rid of her. I don’t want her in this house anymore, looking at me. Seeing me.”
He’d asked his father.
“What for?” Manaen said. “Is she a poor worker?”
Mykon had been in the comfort of the family bath house and his father had been using the strigel on him to take off his dirt and oil.
“No,” Mykon said. “I just… never mind.”
“Do you wish for me to dismiss her?”
“I… yes,” Mykon said, at last.
“Without good reason it isn’t fair, and doubtless you have your own. She isn’t a slave so she can’t be given or sold. But… I could ask Memnon and Antha to employ her Or, better, send her to Clio as a wedding present.”
“That would work, Father,” Mykon said.
“Incidentally, Marophon says you are distant from him.”
“How close am I supposed to be to him, Father? He’s your lover.”
Manaen put down the strigel and said, “As close as you always were. You have not talked to me either. About your feelings.”
“My feelings are I wished you let me be as I was.”
“A boy?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re a man.”
“Because you made me one. With these feelings. That don’t match up. Doing things I did not plan to do.”
“Yes,” Manaen said, at last, placing his hands on his lap. “I have thought on that. That’s on my head, but I saw no other way. Cyron is gone and I needed him to go away. And those other men. They are gone now and I needed you be with someone who loved you.”
“You had not thought of Pyramus?”
“I did,” Manaen said. “Would you be more pleased with him.”
“No,” Mykon said. “I would be pleased if I could control myself. If I understood myself. I feel like you put this monster in my body that I have to obey, that finds me doing things I wouldn’t.”
“And there it is,” Manaen sighed. “And poor Dorcas.”
“Yes, Father,” Mykon said. Then, turning around, “What do I do? What did you do?”
“Marophon chose me when we were both your age. I knew I’d loved him but did not believe he loved me and then… He did. And we made it known all over the city. But… the way you are feeling now, I felt the same way. You must learn that your feelings are not an enemy. They are a teacher. Don’t be so afraid of where they lead you. Letting your fear twist your desires around will just lead you back to Dorcas or someone like her, and I don’t want to have to dismiss another servant.”
“Yes, Father,” Mykon said, his face heating. “Marophon is coming for me soon anyway.”
“To take you to the gymnasium?”
“No,” Mykon was silent for a moment, nervous to Manaen’s thoughts. “We are attending the the Assembly in the Citadel.”
“Oh, yes,” Manaen said. “I never know when those things happen. I am like a woman when it comes to that.”
“I’m sorry, Father,” Mykon told him, taking the strigel and turning around to scrape his back. “It is a discourtesy to you.”
“No,” Manaen said. “Besides, this is the reason I have done everything I did for you, so you could have in this city what I forfeit. And never forget, I did forfeit these things. I am no victim. Ouch, not so hard.”
“Toughen up, old man,” Mykon slapped his back playfully.
“I’ll show you tough,” Manaen murmured. “And pray, what is the council meeting about?”
“A border dispute.”
“Another war?”
“A dispute.”
Manaen made a noise.
“If they’re going to send troops,” Manaen said, “it’s a war.”




Manaen did not go into the temple of Herakles or the Temple of Apollyon, or any of the great temples of the city, not even for show, though in the days when his father had been respected he had accompanyied him to the temple steps on important events or when notices were read. Like the women and like the foreigners, he kept his shrine in the house, and unlike the good people of the city who went to temples occasionally for public worship, every day, and in the evening, and in the afternoon, in the very late hours, he robed himself, took up the dark headdress, opened up the small oratory, lit the lamps and the incense, and adored the gods of Axum, and revered the spirits of the house.
In the mornings the whole family gathered before the house altar while the offerings were made and incense burned, but in the late afternoon the doors were closed and the prayer room was his, and if business was needed, then people stood in the main room on the other side waiting for him. The lamplight shone on the gods of Axum, and the incense drifted past their faces, not the classical faces of the state gods people were ceasing to believe in, but older faces from older stories.
There was the god with rhe body and swollen cock of a muscled man, and the sage head and ears of a stern rabbit, holding the sun in his hands, the goat horned god with the lamp burning between his horns, the woman whose head dress was a white tree top branching out, and whose eyes were covered by an inscrutable mask, and also there was the Goddess of the Earth, sitting in perfect peace, round and grey green brown as the ground.
At last he lay face down before the altar, and spread out his hands. Then he rose, blowing out lamps and incense Legs criss crossed beneath him, he sat in meditation in the darkening room, and then rising, shook the pinpricks of numbness from his foot and lower leg before opening the doors. The family was there, but before them was his son and behind him Pyramus and Marophon.
“They are marching with Attika into Phocis to put down a rebellion.”
“You’d think we would have learned to stop marching with Attika at all,” Manaen said.
“They have put Triptolemus in charge of the armies,” Pyramus added.
Manaen looked at Marophon, the light gone from his eyes.
“Listen,” he said, “better Triptolemos than you. He and the army are bound to fail.”
“You musn’t say such things,” Pyramus said.
“I know you are bound to the army,” Manaen said, “but for all our sakes the truth is best to note, and better for the army to fall under Triptolemus than under the two of you.”
Jocasta hung in the background saying nothing, but she looked over the three man, and Manaen did as well. She sensed their thoughts as, Jocasta realized, her father must have.
His son, and his lovers, all fighters, looked on him with a mild rage. Civilian, cunning man, what did he know?
Manaen took a breath before speaking.
“You are my household,” he said. “We are… low in spirit. Sick in spirit. Rest yourselves. Bathe and then dress yourselves.”
“Whatever for?” Pyramus wondered.
“Tonight,” Manaen said, “we are going to a Gathering.”


MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

I am glad Manaen and Mykon had a much needed chat. It seems like something that had to happen. Now war is approaching again. Great writing and I am really enjoying this unusual story!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes they really did need that talk. Mykon needed a father's guidance, and look: more war on the way, but let's hope our friends come out of this one better than the last.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT, MANAEN AND HIS FAMILY TRAVEL TO A GATHERING AND MEET AN OLD FRIEND



The race of men called the Pelasgo were the first to live in these lands and worshiped. They remain unharassed only in Arcadia though, since they never left, they must be the root stock of all Ellixians. Next came the Danaan, called the Achaeans, who built mighty cities but expended their strength in the war against Illium. After them it is said the Dorian swarmed, and then lastly, the tall white skinned men who called themselves the Heraklid and possess the north, including Thebes. We are all tangled in these folks, and some of our ancestors, such as Cadmos, seem to fit into none of them, but I would divide them simply into the oldest, who walked beside the gods, the second, who strived against the gods and the third, who move between indifference and superstitious fear. This is why, no matter what we are, we must return to the beginning, to the time when the serpent was not monster, but mother.

-Clio Arabatitus

CHAPTER FIVE

THE SERPENT

Δράκων


They set out after sundown, the women in the contraptions like netted baskets, on top of asses, the men on horses. It had been some time time since Jocasta had been to Chio. There were certain members of the family who had never come. Phocis, raised in the city and Thebes born, though she was half Axumi, never came. Aunt Antha had with Clio, but never with Memnon. Their cousins, the descendants of her great-grandfather Rulon would already be in the town of Chio where they were journeying. For the very first time, riding on either side of Mykon, came Marophon and Pyramus.
For five miles that wound through the hills, southwest of the city they traveled until they heard the drumming in the village, and when they arrived in Chio, long before they reached the square. They saw the lights.
Under the shadow of the hills they entered firelit space. As the sky darkened, the light increased in the village of Chio. This whole town was established by the Axumi, and everyone here was dark, darker than the cream and molassess of Mykon and Jocasta or Manaen’s caramel coloring, and Manaen in his loose black robe, told the story.
“They say in Thebes that Io rode on the back of a bull and that bull was Zeon, and that her brother Cadmos followed her and ended up settling the city of Thebes. But in Axum it is told that Mother Io was always a cow with the power of transformation about her, as the cow she departed with the Great Bull, him who sometimes the Ellixians called Zeon and sometimes Poseidon but whom we call neither. They skipped across the sea to the isle of Axum which was already ancient, which was the sacred seat of Mother Rhea, the great goddess who beats her drum before the Cave of Mysteries and keeps the time of the universe, she who was the mother of the Bull, though the Achaen stories tell of her differently. In Axum, Io gave birth to Radamanthos, the father of the necromancers, and Sarpedon the father of many eastern peoples including the people of Ilion and lastly, Mmos, the father of the Kings of Axum who live in the great Knossos, the labrynthine Temple. Each one of those kings is schooled in magecraft, and each is named Minos either at birth or upon taking the throne.
The fathers of the fathers of the Anaxionade were of their blood. There have been many Minos, though most of them are confused one with the other.”
They are by a tree and by the tree have been left coins, and Jocasta asks why a woman says, they are for the musicians are coming, and tonight they will play the music that will heal all brokenness of soul. Mykon jokes, as he tosses three gold coins into the pile of copper, “We could use some healing for my soul.” But to his sister this is no joke, only keen observation.

And now, under the firelight, the men are coming, some caramel, some golden butter colored, one old man as dark as the earth, a face full of wrinkles, men with turbans twisted about their heads, and now from the stone houses come the brown skinned Axumi or Nyssans, and there are some folk here white as Maro or Pyramus. How sad they have looked, and how handsome and strong, how brave Pyramus is. Now the musicians draw out their long pipes, their drums, their shawms, and begin to play.
The music is gentle and sweet. Jocasta, sitting beside Clio, linking her slim feet with her cousin’s, realizes she is wondering what it would be like to be Charis and be wed to Pyramus, to have this golden, young general smile upon her the way Maro smiles on Mykon. And then, beneath the gentle music, the drums race like heartbeats, and shawns drone in and out like buzzing bees. The music rises, and though the drummers do not rise from where they sit, cross legged under the tree, the people rise. As the night deepens, the people rise, and Marophon, who has been so still, standing beside Mykon, unburdens himself of his heavy cloak, and then even of his chiton, and only in a white thong, his buttocks high and proud, sways to the music he has never known, entering the slow dance.
There, beating the drum, sweat running down his chest, and gleaming on his shaven head was the priest who had come home with Mykon and Father that night, during the war, and who had remained in the house for some time. Kybernets. His eyes were fierce and his mouth set as he beat the drum, and they were chanting:


This is a land of hills and valleys,
This is the land where the great Cow
walked and led her seeking brother
And now we are here, now we are here.
All praise the Bull. Praise his name.

But tonight the hills and the air are moist with the warmth of a coming spring.

As the dancers twirled, Jocasta looked up to see Pyramus was rising now, stripped down to snug briefs, clothing cast off, sweat trickling down his chest and from his damp hair. He moved up and down in jerking motions to the rhythm of the music, and his face was like one in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes unfocused, feet and shoulders seeming to move of their own accord. Only this afternoon, after their defeat, when there was nothing to do but drink and take Mykon and Maro’s brother Chiton to the whore house, after the women were gone and Mykon was fucking a girl downstairs on a table, while Chiton was getting his cock sucked against a wall, he and Maro had begun to make love in the room upstairs, just like old times, and then felt the approach of someone else, entering for water or for towels perhaps, only to see Mykon, handsome, his eyes dark with desire. He hadn’t needed to speak, Quickly he undressed, eagerly they had made room for him. All that afternoon, their sorrow and disappointment drained away, at least for a moment, and the three of them had exulted in each other.

“As the music plays,” Clio said to her cousin, “the Oreads and Dryads,spirits of the hills come out to heal the people, and to protect the land, to accept the energy offered, and be one with those who offer it.”
“The Spirits?” Jocasta said.
“And the Gods.”


Under the hills the music increases, and now Jocasta is the one left beside Clio and her father as the others dance. She sees what she has never seen. While Mykon and Maro, Maro and Pyramus, Pyramus and Maro, Kybernet’s eyes turned to the heavens, mouth slack as he beats his drum go into an ecstasy with the others, more forms, long forms, shadow and light together, come from the trees.
“They are here,” Clio whispers, trying not to be afraid, but Manaen only says, “Niece, do not be afraid. They always were.”
Somewhere in the midst of the dancing, Mykon and Marophon and Pyramus had tripped off into the shadows to be seen no more , and as the fire died down and Manaen came to take up the drums, beside the half naked Kybernets, he did not worry for them. They said the great God Pan made his home in Arcadia, that he was the wild son of the Lord Mercury, and the grandson of the Lady Maia, but there were older tales, tales of the eternal Pan named such because he was in all places and all things, Pan, and here he was right now.
He was the goat god, and one could see him and his satyrs, the same satyrs known to Iacchus, dancing in the shadows. But he was also Aegipan, the wild shadow brother of the Thundering One, the Bull God, born to Rhea on far off Axum, and tonight, as the dancers whirled about and the drums were beaten, turned over, turned again and smacked, the far off land was here. The gods, dreadful and wild, were not to be dreaded or run from in wild terror. As he heard cries in the trees and bushes of those giving themselves up to ecstasy, he knew the gods cared for those who gave themselves into their care
When the dancing was at an end and the fire dying, Manaen led Jocasta fallen asleep by a tree, and Clio, already yawning, to the stone house where his cousins stayed. It was a rougher, smaller version of the great house in the city, with one courtyard instead of the two courts of the great impressive house he’d grown in and a small second story.
Kybernets, smelling of the sweat of the evening, having placed his white robe back on, stood beside Manean, half carrying the drunken and sleepy Clio.
The house in the city had most likely begun like this, but where in their home there were corridors with rooms on each side, here there were no corridors but only a great porch that wrapped about the courtyard and the two men brought the two girls to the door of the womens’ room, and after Manaen kissed his daughter good night, he linked hands with Kybernets, and then they walked about the courtyard to the little textile pantry.
They stared into until Manaen said, “What an unfitting place.”
But Kybernets had gone in and drawn out blankets.
“Under the stars of Teleia the Queen is the most fitting place. Come, friend.”
And so they went out of the house altogether, past the tree where all the music had played and the dying fire and into the dark, cricket chirping sounds of the olive grove. Kybernest laid the pile of covers out. Without a word, the old acquaintances linked togther, kissed, tangling arms, disrobing, and falling into the blankets.

 

[CharmedFan28]

Well the gathering was certainly very cool and interesting to read about! This world is rich in detail and always interesting to visit. Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, there's a lot that's starting to go on here, and more to follow

 

[ChrisGibson]

AS WE END THE WEEK, WE ALSO END PART ONE OF OUT STORY, AND KYBERNETS GIVES MANAEN A WARNING


When Manaen slept, he dreamed of tree branches poking into him, and brushing his face. They were tender and curled around him only to uncurl, brushed him lightly, wrapped around his ankles in a way that terrified him, and then at last seemed affectionate. As he pressed his back into them he felt their roots. For a brief time Kybernets lay beside him. Uncharacteristically, the somber mage smiled at him and then he flew away, his cloak unfurling into a blue bird.
Manaen blinked in the mist. All around him he felt a writhing, a moving. The mist was like smoke and Manaen was still sure he was dreaming until Kybernets said, “Between waking and sleeping comes truth.”
“What am I feeling? It feels… like something slithering. Above me. On me.”
“Then that is Pyah Cthon, the Earth Serpent.. This is the one slain by Apollo, My Goddess, Mea Deusa, the Snake Haired Woman behead, the Monstress, the Eaya Drah, she of many heads, each chopped off growing ten more to replace it, She whom lie upon lie as been told about, who, if slain lives again and again. Python is the Power in this land. Python is this mist twining about you. That Serpent flows through the trees and the strength of your arms.”
“And In your magic?”
“And in your magic too. For you have your own sort. And in the tingling of your toes.”
Manaen sat there, feeling the hum of the Serpent Mother through his body, feeling her coiling lengths tangle through the wood, over roots and over branches. There was a thunder and then a flash, and he thought he saw eyes.
“Stop,” Kybernets said, simply. “It wants to enter you.”
“Enter—”
“Enter you,” Kybernets said.
“The Dragon is all around us night and day and how many sense it? Few. It is the inheritance of the people of the Land, yet how many people inherit it? Few. But you have.”
“Do it. Simply lie back down and breathe.”


“You know,” Kybernets said, “there is powers in you?”
“I’m not a witch,” Manaen laughed into the darkness.
“Are you not?” Kybeernets said. “You have managed to bewitch me.”
“Unfortunately you left town so quickly.”
“How could you have had rooms for me?” Kybernets demanded, touching his thin little beard about his mouth. “What would I have done with the Lord Marophon and the Lord Pyramus as your lovers too?”
“You make me sound such a scandal,” Manaen said, leaning on one elbow.
“No, but I am such a scandal!”
“And you have given your lover to your son.”
“I imagine they are all together right now. And where Pyramus fits into the whole thing, who knows?”
“You should know,” Kybernets said. “You have been with him. Have you not?”
“How would you know?”
Kybernet’s smiled and traced a finger over Manaen’s shoulder. “It isn’t like you to pull back your hand from anything you can touch. And I know things. As you shall from now on”
“Speak,” Manaen said.
“You have been opened to the Python of the Earth, the living spirit and power of the Mother, she called by some the Red Serpent, and from now on you will have all manner of senses, experiences. You will be what men call magissa, magos, beloved of Cybele.”
“Witch.”
“Aye, but all in the high arts of Axum are called that. Even me. Especially me. I embrace it.”
“And you have done this to me.”
“Lover you did it to yourself. It was always in you. Now it is unlocked.”
“Well,” Manaen said, after thought, “I shall accept this as it comes. As I try to accept all things. You will teach me what you can while you remain?”
“I will teach you to be awake to what the gods wish to teach. Yes, but they are your teacher. You know this. You are young yet. Not even five and thirty. But as for this Pyramus?”
“Ah… yes,” Manaen said. “I had not forseen anything about him, only that he should remain with us, that he was Maro’s lover and perhaps that he would one day be Mykon’s. That he and Maro would be having the father and then the son while having each other…”
“You has, my friend,” Kybernets said, turning over so that Manaen admired the smoothness of his back going down to his buttocks, “the makings of a mess unless yous finds a way to controls it before it controls you.”





PART TWO

WAR DRUM
Κινητοποίηση


“It is good to remember that even the high myths for which men give their lives and pour blood upon the earth are, in the end, stories. If we could remember this, then we could find in each myth ourselves, and in ourselves, the voice of the Living God.”

- Clio Arabatitus



CHAPTER SIX

STORIES

Θρύλοι



“ATHENE IS THE GREATEST CITY in the world, have no doubt, my prince,” Pausanios told him, “and you are born from the noblest of stock.”
He was prone to disbelieve many of the tutor’s words, but here it was hard not to believe it. Theon had been to other cities, but here, as far as the eye could see was the great city of white stones, white stone houses and shops climbing up the seven hills and threading he valleys, the great agora with its shops, red tiled houses and theatres below, and here, above it all, the highest of hills, the great rock, the Acropolis, with its long temples of high marble pillars and, above them, the great bronze image glinting in the sun of the Virgin. Everywhere he looked, respectable men were walking, arguing about the matters of the city. Young men were on their way to the gymnasium. In his childhood he had climbed the long stair to stand beneath the Goddess and hang from the rails that overlooked the boiling blue green sea in the rock walled narrows far below. There were other cities, some very fair, but this was the fairest.
“It was made by the gods and by godlike people,” Pausanios said, “And the blood of the gods is in you.”
First there was Acteos, a creature from ancient times, a man they said who had no father and no mother but the Earth, for he had grown out of Her, and his kingdom was all of Attika and he had many strong and earthborn daughters. One of them, Athene, had wed Kekrops. There he was in stone, immortalized in the Acropolis, and another great image of him in the agora. Earthborn as well, he was like the Python and bore her wisdom, for he had the great tail of a serpent and from it came the torso of a man. He and Athene had founded the great city on seven hills and one stone table land which he named for his Queen. They said he had given law and religion to the people in the distant past. The King and Queen had had many daughters, and whether they had serpent tails or no, no one could say, but their daughter Herse was glorious and lovely, and it was said one of the Wheel Eyes, the Cyclopes, had been invited to the city to make armor for its first army, for the Cyclopes, Earthborn as well, were great craftsmen. He had seen Herse and pursued her, but she would not be had, and as he struggled against her, his semen dropped to her thigh. Before having slain the Cyclopes, and buried his head on Wheel Hill, she wiped the semen off her thigh and onto the grass. With Herse herself being Earthborn, she had made the semen powerful enough to impregnate the earth, thus was Erysicthon born. His mother placed him in a wooden chest, nursed by two serpents, and in time, he succeeded his grandfather Kecrops as king. Some said he also had the body of a snake, but if he did he was the last of the serpentine kings.
After him was Amphictyon then Apheidas then Cecrops II followed by Codrus, Cranaus and Demophon of Athens who’d had no children but turned the throne to his first cousin Erichthonius of Athens who had blasphemed the gods but cutting down the sacred tree of the Mother. She had cursed him with starvation, and he had died eating his own flesh. After his death, his daughter married the general of the city, who also had the blood of Kekrops, and he was Megacles. From their union had come many others, and then Aegeus, who was childless or so he thought, not knowing he had produced Theseus, the greatest king of all, he who had gone to great and ancient Axum in the south, and slain their Minotaur, and rescued the people of Attika from the desperate tribute they had paid to the tyrant king Minos. All these kings ruled in the ancient times, before the the Achaen kings from great Mykenae went to war against Illium, before the Dorians came and ravished our already impoverished land. All of this was before the Heraklids swarmed from the north, claiming Herakles as their ancestor. We are the Earthborn, the First Men, of all the great cities, we alone are descended from the Pelasgo, those born of the Mother Earth."
“I know these stories,” Theon had stated. He was tall, broad shouldered, dark haired, nut brown skinned, green eyed. “I have known them since my birth. But why do you tell them to me now?”
He looked over the great bronze coils of Kecrops. He had played in those coils with his brothers. Could possible still slither through them now, Kecrops, their serpentine ancestor born of the soil.
“Because the delegation of Thebes is with us now, and they spin such pretty tales of their city. You must not forget the nobility of your own.”
“Delegation!” Theon laughed. “They are only women. Women visiting women and coming to say hello to Father and to Terpsichore. Because she was a princess of that city.”
“Delegation,” Pausanios said. “For the King of Thebes is dying, and many scrabble for his throne. These women held allegiance to the old house and would see one of the descendants of Oedipus on their throne. And, I imagine, they would see an end to the allegiance Attika has had with Thebes”
“But… they should have sent men. This cannot be official.”
“It does not have to be official to be effective, and as for men… In Thebes they do things differently.”