Master of All Sorrows: Book Two of the Ellix Saga

[ChrisGibson]

PART THREE

THE GOD OF GROWING
THINGS

Διόνυσος



There is no more noble garment in which a man can cloak his sins than Family honor.

-Manaen Anaxionade






CHAPTER TWELVE

HOUSES

Οικοσ





“WHEN YOU LOOKED AT ME that way, I thought your eyes would burn me,” Mykon murmured, turning over and lying on his stomach while he stretched out smiling at his pillow and Manaen’s hands hooked in the strength of his curls. His fingers ran along his neck, down his back, the palm of his hand massaging his body, Manaen curling up next to him.
“How could you blame me?” he demanded, kissing Mykon’s shoulder, “packing me off like a woman—”
“Packing you off like my precious un-battle trained father whom I would give my life for,” Mykon turned around sharply, and when Manaen protested, Mykon raised a finger.
“You brought me up to be a soldier, and not just any soldier. What in the world was I supposed to do?”
“I understand it,” Manaen said. “I understand it now.”
“And if I had not packed you in that sedan, Marophon or Pyrs would have. You just have to reconcile yourself to the fact that three men in this world love you very much and we all have the swords and shields to protect you.
“Still,” Mykon grinned as he leaned back on one shoulder, “the way you looked at me there was only one thought in my head.”
“That I would kill you.”
“No,” Mykon shook his head, grinning, “I’m a nineteen year old man. I just kept thinking, he’ll never sleep with me again!”
Manaen laughed and turned around while Mykon threw his arms around him, pulling him closer.
“Have you stopped wondering about us at last?” he demanded. “The rightness of it?”
“No,” Manaen said with a sigh. “Or, yes. I mean, you are my happiness, that’s all there is to it. We live in a city where for years a mother took her son to bed and bore him four children. Poor Terpsichore’s mother was her grandmother, and her father was her brother. And once you look around the various kingdoms of the world you see love has so many forms.”
Mykon pressed his forehead into Manaen’s back.
“I do wonder at people knowing, though. I wonder for Jocasta’s sake, really. How she would take it.”
Mykon frowned, then bit his father’s shoulder, playfully.
“She doesn’t have to take it any way at all. It’s none of her affair. But finding a husband is.”
“Oh,” Manaen turned around, “are you in charge of that?”
“No,” Mykon sat up, pulling his knees to his chest, and Manaen’s hand cupped one knee and then slid down his shin. “I would never tell Jo a thing. But she’s sixteen now, you know, and she is the one who has been speaking about it. She came to me.”
“Before she came to me?”
Mykon shrugged. “I guess so.”
“She had an idea.”
“Maro,” Mykon said. “She says he’s part of the family in every way, by which she means he’s fucking the both of us, but that he has no children of his own, no house. She says she can give him what we can’t, and what’s more he will give her the freedom to do as she pleases. Or, as she put it, ‘I will allow Maro to be as he is, and he will allow me to be as I am.’”
Manaen sat up in bed.
“It’s strange. Incestuous. Not that I should talk.”
“Not that either of us should.”
“And elegantly convenient. He’s the right age. She’s getting older and he’s already older.”
“He’s your age,” Mykon teased.
Manaen swatted him. “He’s a year older.”
“Your son-in-law will be older than you!”
“That’s the most normal thing about the arrangement, but yes,” Manaen said, “if Maro is good about it, there’s no reason it shouldn’t happen. I would like to see grandchildren. But, more importantly, I would like to see Maro with sons and daughters, with his own legacy.”
Mykon stretched and climbed, like an old man, out of the bed. Stretchiing again, he rose and stood in the sunlight of the open window.
“Don’t move,” Manaen said, watching the light on the lines of his body, the rounded muscle of his shoulders, the copper in his curling hair, “let me look at you.”
Mykon smiled, wolflike. “You lecher!”
“Maybe.”
Mykon took up the bowl of wine in the window ledge, warm now, and lifted it, drinking, a trickle of it going down his chin, to his breast.
“No, I am the lecher,” he said. “I knew I loved you when I was twelve, and the first time you talked of giving me to Maro I cried all night. I cried all night because I didn’t understand why I couldn’t have you. And now I have you every day.”
Then Mykon said, “Shall we go to the Assembly together?”
“No, I will stay. It is enough for the three of you to go.”
“Merope should have bided her time,” Mykon said as he pulled on his chiton and reached for his robe and belt. “If she was as thoughtful as she was wicked and greedy, she could have waited until we had left the city and troops were away, and then made her plan to implicate Terpsichore and us. Instead she just caused a skirmish in the square and her own virtual house arrest. A stalemate.”
“Well, not exactly a stalemate. Like it or not, Terpsichore lives in the Cadmea again, and Jocasta and Clio attend her.”
“You couldn’t resist that,” Mykon said.
“I went against you all. We had won. There was no need to not have a queen in the rook even if, technically, she is not queen and truthfully she does not rule.”
“In truth the Assembly rules.”
“In you truth you rule,” Manaen said, pulling on his black robe, and cinching the belt of Mykon’s white one. “And good thing, for someone should rule this city, and we are awaiting the dukes of the land. Theon is at your side. All Attika and Phocia know he has your support. They will make you Autarch. Or Pyrs or Maro, and then we will have a strong kingdom, and I will leave for Dacan as soon as possible.”
“Father,” Mykon turned around and looked down at him, “what is it you hope for in the end?”
“Dacan as our firm territory, Evio and Attika as our strong and steadfast allies. At the very least. Akxa and Maesa and Thermedon strong with us as well. Cyra and Illyria with no hope of even attempting war with us.”
Mykon’s eyes had drifted off, and Manaen reached behind him, pulling him close, surprised and joyful as the strength of his body, the beating of his heart.
“You are thinking something else.”
“I am thinking,” Mykon said, as he pulled Manaen tighter about him, “that we are on the defensive, but true success will come not when we have stopped Cyra and Illyria from coming for us, but when it is the other way around.”
“Mykon!”
“I’m a soldier,” he said, kissing Manaen’s wrist, “I’d like to bring the war to them.”




How, Julia wondered, had they ever become like this? And when would it end? Would they get bigger and bigger until, like a topheavy man or one of the giants of old, they collapsed on their own weight? And what good had that weight done? What good had that weight done to any of them? Certainly it did her little good. She would be a princess if they had princesses and her brother should have taken the throne after their grandfather, except because he not called a king, one could not call his seat a throne.
And yet the thing one cannot say is more real, Claudia thought, because everyone can see it.
Had the misery of Cyra began with Carthage? For years they had fought with that kingdom across the strait, just north of Nyssa. Sometimes they were ruled and sometimes they did the ruling. Once, their general Hamilcar had crossed the sea on great ships and raided the land with elephants, great grey creatures with ears of leather and feet like drums, trunks for noses, great flexible hoses strong as trees. But then, three hundred years ago, they had destroyed that old power and annexed their kingdoms. Mauretania, Tingetana and Sitifenses. This had not been a matter of hard headed conquering, no, the people of Carthage were divided and ruling over divided kingdoms. The Cyrans had made allies of these client kingdoms.
This was not only how Cyra came to rule Nyssa from Carthage to Lybia, but how, in their own land, the city of Cyra had come to rule one massive island. Long ago, in the south, the people of Onesse and Achaea, especially the people of Thebes and Achaea had set up colonies and rich cities. This was the reason even a few years ago they’d attempted and lost a war with Cyra. There had been the other tribes, especially the ancient witch people, the Etru, with whom, in all honestly, most Cyrans had some blood ties by now. But it was Cyra that had come to rule the whole land mass and renamed it for itself, and then taken the three Punic kingdoms. Once Cyra had that strength, they turned to their long desired war with the Onesse in the south of Ellix.
The Onesse sang in their old poems of how they had ruined the great city of Ilion, the ancestral home of the Cyrans. Long had the Cyrans wished to avenge this ancient grief, and now they could. The war was twenty years, and crushing, and it was practical as well. According to tradition, the Cyrans, who had no king, had once been ruled by Etru kings and when the last had been put aside, then the people had established the Publica. They would never have a king again. But some Cyrans liked the idea of a king, and those who wished for crowns could rule on the soil of their ancient enemy. And so in Cona, the House of the Vetodii was established, and in Onesse the Vipsanii, the Harmanae and the Iulis took up their seats. For the last two centuries the Cyrans on their isle and over their three kingdoms seemed almost distinctly different from the ones in Ellix, but over the last fifty years, Claudia noted, this had changed.
The will of the people was the Senate, but the might of the people was the army, and the head of the army was the general. The preferred idea was that the generals rose up to take power in time of war, and done with war returned home to do their farming. This was the idea, and accordingly, it had sometimes worked. But in the last century or so, the generals had not received this memo, did not agree, stayed in power a little longer, took on titles and consulships, and all the powers of the king, made the Senate a play thing and divided power amongst themselves.
It was ancient history now how the generals Claudius and Antonin had divided the Cyran world between themselves. Antonin had declared himself overlord of Onesse, and was tied to the House of Cona so that, for the very first time the Cyrans blinked, looked around, and realized they had an empire. For one moment they had attempted to extend that empire into Axum, but the Axumi were a mysterious people possessed of magic as well as military power, and the Cyran war for conquest had come to a bad end. Also they had the sense to leave the mighty and ancient land of Kemet alone.
Ah, but if only they could seize the rest of Ellix forever, and truly and once, possessing it, move on to take that mighty tongue of land, Phrygia, the door to the East! Why they should possess all this, why nothing and no one should stop them, they could not say.
“But Claudius and Antonin could not last,” Claudia said.
“How could they? How can greed stand next to greed?”
In the end Antonin had succumbed to Claudius and Claudius alone was ruler of the state. He marched into the city in triumph.
“But he played his hand too hard to soon,” Claudia murmured.
He made himself dictator for life, and the people were not ready for a king, which is what he would have been.
“And so they killed him. In the very temple of Juno.”
And so the civil war had begun.
Then came my grandfather. Then came the Triumvirate. Then came the time when Claudius’s great friend, Pompey, took control of the city, but his heir was my grandfather, nineteen and puny and underestimated, and also the old man that everyone forgot, who was bought out in time. The three of them came together and drew up the proscription lists, murdering all enemies. The powerful Senators moved into the east and east fought west. Then, when they fell, Pompey moved into the east and east fought west until they met at Platea, at the great sea battle, and Pompey fell and Grandfather was the only one left.
They called him Constantin in those days, Constantin Claudius, and they called him Princeps, Prince, the First Man. They made him Consul, and then Consul again, and then Consul for life. They called him the Pontiff, the Bridgebuilder, which is our word for priest, the priest and Pontifex Maximus, the Highest Priest, the greatest of bridgebuilders. At last they called him the Divine One.
“No wonder he is the way he is.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

Great to get back to this story with a new part of it. Manaen and Mykon are still close and I wonder how people will react if they end up telling them about just how close their relationship is? It will be interesting. Meanwhile Julia has a lot on her mind. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, we've introduced the new characters from Cyra, and Julia, who is one of my favorite charachters. Meanwhile, in the city, Manaen and Mykon are still very much a couple, and Jocasta plans to marry Marophon,. Where this goes will be interesting.

 

[ChrisGibson]

WHILE CLAUDIA TELLS THE STORY OF HER IMPERIAL FAMILY, JOCASTA MAKES HER OWN STORY

He was more than his uncle had ever hoped to be. He was more than a king, and though they had no kings in Cona, they now had an emperor.
“But no safety for his family,” Claudia noted as she wrote her thoughts down.
“Is there ever safety for a royal family, even when the family is not royal because there is no crown? Or is a princess the thing to be pitied more than anything in the world?
“No, no,” Claudia thought. “A prince. Certainly it is a prince who is most to be pitied.”
The protector of the world was a worthless protector to his own family. The man who upheld family values, could not stay loyal to his own wife. It was good to remember Drusilla was not her grandmother, but a poisonous old witch who had no love even for her own blood, and Drusilla was not her blood. It was good for Claudia to remember that her grandmother was Scribonia Auloria who had died on the isle of Planasia, exiling herself for the love of her true daughter when all true love was gone.
Scribonia Auloria was the wife of my grandfather’s youth, and early in the days of the those wars she had born him the first Claudia, my mother. It is important to remember, though now they are so old they would make us forget, that Drusilla was married to another, with a son already, and that she climbed into the bed of my grandfather and then said she was pregnant by him. Grandfather divorced Scribonia to marry Drusilla and a child was born. Only later did Drusilla confess the child was her husband’s. She gave both her sons to him to raise and set to being the first lady off the city, rising and rising and raising my mother far from Scribonia who, in this new world could only look on. But Drusilla never stopped being jealous, no, never stopped seeing her first born son as the one who should have all of her husband’s power one day.
It made since, but then my mother married. She married her cousin, Claudius’s nephew, but he didn’t last, and then she was married to one of Claudius’s generals, Maecenas. This was my father. This was where we came from. My brothers, one after the other, Gaius, Lucius and Postumus. Me and my sister, Pina. But war was made upon that house. My grandfather had heirs enough, but none of those heirs was Drusus, the son of Drusilla, and so one by one, my brothers disappeared. Pina saved herself after a manner of speaking, by marrying one of Drusilla’s grandsons, but she is now off in the Three Kingdoms, for he is a soldier and not very well liked by Drusus his uncle. I, on the other hand, do not know how much longer I can save myself.
“But you speak of shadows, Claud. You do not tell the whole story.”
The whole story is of Drusilla, a woman who so wanted to be empress that she lied to her husband and seduced my grandfather, and then, when it suited her, murdered that first husband and brought her children back into the newly formed royal house. Drusilla, who wished to marry her oldest son to my mother, and was dismayed when she married my father instead. They needed Maecenas, but when Maecenas got in the way of Drusus’s glory, then he was gone. We were fatherless. One by one his sons came up in power. Gaius leading armies, Lucius the right hand of my grandfather. Gaius died in Onesse of a mysterious summer sickness, and then Lucius died in a boating accident that made no sense. After this only me and Pina and Postumus were left. My grandfather made his stepsons Drusus and Postumus his coheirs. At the time Postumus was just a boy. He said, “I am afraid,” and though Pina and I were still girls, she whispered to me, “He should be.”
For by then, our mother was gone. Her crime would not have been a crime among the Amazons to the north. She and our stepfather never had children. We now know he hit her. He despised her. Grandfather would not allow them divorce, such was his power by now he could make such a thing so, and so when our stepfather was exiled, she was left not a wife and not not a wife. I was a girl, I do not know if such tales were true, but the tale was told that she took half the city for her lovers, the rich men of the great families, servants and slaves as well. Whether the tale was true or not, Grandfather thought it was, and this was how she was exiled to Planasia where she is to this day.
In this family sex is only a tool. It’s just a weapon. Though one forgets it easily, Drusilla had a second son. She could not fix her hopes on Cyran because he was not ambitious and did not want to be emperor. So, though he was stronger and worthier than Drusus he was, in his mother’s mind, nothing. His son, as mighty as he, as good as he, is Africanus. He and Pina loved each other immediately and my sister is proud and beautiful like a queen. She should be queen, but neither of us will be. As long as Drusus and Drusilla live, none of the true born descendants of Claudia, none of the seed of Constanin Claudius, the August One will inherit his power. For Drusilla only had eyes for her first born son, and she sought to unite him with my mother and create a child born from her and her husband. When she could not, nothing else interested her but destroying us.
“Burn this. Burn this. All of this must be burned, or you will find yourself in the same place as your mother, the same place perhaps as your brothers. Or what of your living brother, Postumus, under guard, day and night, in living death?”
And yes, what about him, the surviving grandson of the Princeps, this true heir? It is hard to believe, it is a crime actually, that in the end he was bundled away for the same thing as our mother. A word against him, a woman he had spent only a few minutes with accused him of rape. They say it was the true born granddaughter of Drusilla, Pina’s own sister in law. At any road, no trial, only a word, and he earned the everlasting rage of our grandfather. Better to be his sow than his son, and now, these five years he has been on Pandateria and I am here, alone. To be the sole surviving grandchild of the emperor is to be like a fly under glass. Everybody sees you and you are not sure when the glass will be lifted so that the fly may be killed. I married a man of the city, one of old senatorial rank. How I wish I’d done like Pina and gone off to the Africas. I avoid Drusilla, the woman who calls herself my grandmother. I avoid my grandfather, except for dinners. He needs to see me to remember I exist, hear my pleasant jokes. At dinner he speaks of my stepfather Drusus’s impending marriage to a princess of Cona, the reminder that the divorce was eventually granted, much too late for my mother, and Drusilla speaks of Drusus’s son Castor being wed to a princess of Illyria. Yes, it is so, they plan to swallow the whole earth, and while doing it, catch Ellix in our jaws. But before Achaea is gone, I fear I will be. I fear in attempting to swallow the world, Cyra will devour itself.


The very night Merope had been shut in her house and the city troops were holding the Cadmea, there was a great feast in Manaen’s house. They drank long into the night and Marophon called, “Anticlea! A song! Anticlea a song, or is it too late late, and are you too drunk?”
“It is too late,” Anticlea said, “but I am never too drunk.”
She was, though, Jocasta felt, and then Anticlea said, “if you fetch my harp I will give you my song.”
Jocasta could not see who went to get it, and while she waited, sitting on her stool in pale blue, Anticlea hummed and sung, her voice falling back into hums again. When the harp arrived, Anticlea said, “I will not sing you one of my songs, or even an Ellixian song. I will sing you a new song, from Cyra—”
“Cyra!”
“Cyra!”
“Fuck Cyra!”
“Fuck Cyra if you will,” the poetess said, “but do not fuck their music. This is from their greatest poet, a man called Ovid.”
She sang a song of a woman called Myrrha who was full of desire, and said it was an old story. Parts of it Jocasta had heard, but the way the woman and her desire was described, how she could barely speak it, how it tore at her heart, and her longing nearly drove her to suicide, how she had stood under the noose but it had broken, and her nurse had heard the noise and coaxed the story out of her, Jocast had never heard. Myrrha could long for no man but her father. Her desire for her father mounted to such a fury that she had to win the help of her nurse, coming to her father’s room in the dark when he could not see and while her mother was gone.
Not that Jocasta desired her father, not that she ever could, but hearing about Myrrha’s desire filled her with desire. She looked about the room. Charis was curled in the arms of Pyramus, and Clio’s head was on Lysander’s lap. Mykon had been reclining on Father as he always did, but now he sat up, looking a little disturbed.

The father admitted his own child
into the incestuous bed, calmed her
virgin fears, and encouraged her
timidity.

Perhaps he also said the name,
“daughter”,
in accordance with her age,
and she said, “father”,
so that their names were not absent
from their sin.

She left the room, crammed with
her father’s seed,
bearing impious seed in her fatal womb,
carrying the guilt she had conceived.

Here Mykon rose, and as Jocasta heard the rest of the poem, she watched her brother walking away.

The next night the crime was repeated:
nor did it finish there.

When she rose to go to bed, Jocasta was surprised by how wobbly her legs were, by how much the wine had effected her. She wandered through the halls, and when she had first heard the sounds of hot fucking, she covered her mouth, and then tiptoed in the dark to the doorway where she’d heard them. She pushed back the curtain lightly. Clio, dear Clio, happy and married Clio’s thighs were wrapped about Lysander and he was fucking her against the bedstead, almost kneeling. His hair was plastered to his head and his eyes were dim, his tongue darting out between his lips. The more Clio cried out, the more he fucked her, and Jocasta lay against the door frame, full of desire and curiousity. For a moment, Lysander turned and saw her. She was shocked, but he did not look angry or guilty. His eyes were hazy, his mouth smiling stupidly. He turned away from her and Jocasta let the curtain fall and left them to it. She passed her father’s room where similar sounds came. This was no surprise. Father always had lovers, and so she went to Theon.
But he had finished. Theon lay naked on his side and the servant girl was lying on her back asleep. Jocasta entered the room, and Theon sat up.
“Forgive me,” he said.
“For what?” she said.
The girl, Kalia, was waking, and Jocasta said, “Please leave us.”
The maid dressed quickly and nodding her head, she was gone.
“Jocasta,” Theon began.
Jocasta loosened her gown and she was naked before him.
“I am full of longing,” she said.
She came to the bed and lay beside him.
“I do not understand,” Theon said,
Jocasta looked down his body, to where his penis was rising.
“I think you understand very well,” she said.
She guided him on top of her, between her thighs.
“I have thought of this since I met you,” she said.
She pulled his face down and kissed him, and now he kissed her hungrily, his mouth tasting of wine, sucking on her mouth, pulling her to him. Their bodies drew together and he growled out a moan.
“Ohhhh damn,” he said.
“Hold me,” she said. “Then, have me.”
They had each other, mouths on mouths and on nipples, on sides and stomachs, between thighs and, when it was time, she guided him inside of her. She moaned slowly and he did too, his eyes widening along with hers as he pressed himself inside of her as she reached up to seize those arms, those shoulders, feel that back, feel that body, like a piston thrusting into her.


MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

Claudia’s family history is a great read. In the present a lot of fucking is going on and Jocasta has confessed her feelings to Theon. That was some excellent writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Theon lay naked on his side and the servant girl was lying on her back asleep. Jocasta entered the room, and Theon sat up.
“Forgive me,” he said.
“For what?” she said.
The girl, Kalia, was waking, and Jocasta said, “Please leave us.”
The maid dressed quickly and nodding her head, she was gone.
“Jocasta,” Theon began.
Jocasta loosened her gown and she was naked before him.
“I am full of longing,” she said.
She came to the bed and lay beside him.
“I do not understand,” Theon said,
Jocasta looked down his body, to where his penis was rising.
“I think you understand very well,” she said.
She guided him on top of her, between her thighs.
“I have thought of this since I met you,” she said.
She pulled his face down and kissed him, and now he kissed her hungrily, his mouth tasting of wine, sucking on her mouth, pulling her to him. Their bodies drew together and he growled out a moan.
“Ohhhh damn,” he said.
“Hold me,” she said. “Then, have me.”
They had each other, mouths on mouths and on nipples, on sides and stomachs, between thighs and, when it was time, she guided him inside of her. She moaned slowly and he did too, his eyes widening along with hers as he pressed himself inside of her as she reached up to seize those arms, those shoulders, feel that back, feel that body, like a piston thrusting into her.



It was in the most beautiful part of the morning, the darkest part before even the servants had risen, and only the first birds were chirping, that Jocasta awoke. She parted from Theon, though she wished to wake up with him, and dressed herself. She stretched her limbs, looking over her body, wondering if she would feel different now that she was no longer a maiden. She looked no different and she felt, yes, better. Better, more full now that this thing she had desired with that prince sleeping there had been done. Her eyes lingered over him, the bunched muscles of buttocks and thigh and bicep under soft skin, the mouth open a little like a baby’s, and then she left the room, pressing past the curtain. She passed her fathers room, but this time she did push open the curtain. She felt, now that she was a woman, she should no longer live like a child, not knowing.
There they were, Manaen and Mykon, naked together. Mykon’s head pressed to his father’s breast, mouth open, his strong thighs curved about Manaen. There was no shock, no surprise. Jocasta felt, well yes, this is how it should be. And beside them, abandoned in slumber so that Jocasta’s eyes lingered on his round, high white buttocks, was Marophon. It was then she knew. Marophon would be her husband, Marophon who was so thoroughly a part of her family, who had loved her father and then her brother and still loved them when they were loving each other. She understood it. What other woman would? Marophon had no children. His only wife had died. She would give him children and he would give her freedom. He would give her a great and ancient name. She would give him her understanding. She lingered over the three of them a little longer, and then she let the curtain fall, filled with desire, and went on her way, not to her lonely room, but to the bed she had just shared with Theon.




The morning Alexandra returned from Merope’s house, Mykon slapped his sister across the face so hard her neck snapped.
Alexandra fell across the floor.
“Get up!” he commanded her, his voice not rising.
When she did not rise immediately, he said, “Get up, you filthy slut!”
He came forward, yanking her up.
“Father would not let you treat me like this!” she said.
“Father does not need to know everything,” Mykon said, “and Father is too kind sometimes. You nearly endangered your whole family. You almost cost our father his life! What are you? Are you Anaxionade or are you Merope’s spy?”
Alexandra trembled and Mykon said. “Half sister, my affection is small for you. I’d as soon kill you as exile you. It took only a little moment to realize what you had done.”
“Mykon forgive me!”
“You will not be forgiven,” Mykon said, shaking her icily. “You will be exiled. But for now you will stay in the women’s quarters as if you were a girl in Attika. You will not leave. You will certainly not see your wretched aunt. That bitch’s days are numbered.”
He closed the door behind her and Alexandra collapsed to the floor weeping.
Outside of the door, Jocasta stood, eyes wide.
“Sister, what?”
“You were so savage to her.”
“I am a fighter,” Mykon said. “I am the general of the army of Thebes. Did you not know I was savage?”
“I’ve never seen you so,” Jocasta said, “And you never should be so in our house, toward your family.”
Mykon’s brow was knit. His face was full of anger.
“Don’t you see? She betrayed us.”
“Perhaps it was done in innocence,” Jocasta pushed her hair back as the two of them walked down the hallway.
Mykon turned on her, “Do you really believe that?”
Jocasta exhaled.
“I believe we are family,” she said, “And we are all we have.”
Then she said, “Look, I will take her with me. Grandmother has sent a letter. She is on her way from Akxa and thinks that I should join Harmonia.”
“Is that what you wish to do?” Mykon touched her hair.
“I know you had a touch of adventure, that being stranded in a wealthy house living the life of a lady is not for you.”
“Of course you know,” Jocasta laughed, trying to lighten her brother’s heart. “That’s why you taught me the sword and shield. And yes, I must go. And I will see the Amazons. But… I do not wish to be an Amazon.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I am of the age where I should marry, where I am almost too old not to marry.”
“Ah,” Mykon scratched his chin.
“You could think of marriage too,” she said. “If you married Harmonia it would give you a claim to the throne.”
“Little sister, you are always thinking.”
“We have to always be thinking in this family. And Harmonia is a good woman. She’s strong. I like that about her. And you are a good man, the kind who would not be put aside by her strength. You could begin a new dynasty.”
“Yes, well maybe. For now she’s clear on the other side of Achaia. And… there are things right now. I mean. I may be…” he cleared his throat. “There is love in my life.”
“Myka, let me speak plainly.”
“You always have.”
“I know you love Father. But that is a different sort of love. It would not have to end because of your marriage.”
Mykon studied his sister’s face.
“How long have you known?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she shrugged. “This is our family. This is the way of it. If it were possible I would marry Pyrs, but he has a wife and three children. I have given this thought. Maro has no children. He is widowed for years. He has been part of our household, but he has no household of his own. And Maro knows me. I would give him sons and he would give me freedom.”
“And we would be tied by blood to someone we are tied to several times already.”
“Yes.”
Mykon nodded sharply.
“I will speak to him of it.”
“Make it happen,” Jocasta said. “Do not simply speak of it. I do not think I could love another.”
“Really?” Mykon said, raising his eyebrow. “There isn’t any other?”
“Theon will marry a princess,” Jocasta said.
“There are fewer and fewer princesses to marry these days,” Mykon noted. “Think about it, sister.”
“I have thought about it,” Jocasta said. “Marophon is my choice.”


By custom the parents would have made the betrothal, but Marophon was the head of his family and twenty years Jocasta’s senior. When he came to her she was surprised by how young and a little afraid he looked. He knelt before her in his white robe, his curly hair was light, and she wanted to touch it, was surprised by wanting to touch it.
“Are you certain of this?” he asked her. “ I am a man old enough to be your father. Older than your father. And you could have any man in this city.”
“Not any man,” Jocasta said, “and there are very few in whom I am interested. I believe Father would have had it this way long ago, and I would have it this way too.”
Marophon nodded and then took her hands and kissed them. Looking up her, his blue eyes solemn, he said, “I would be a husband to you.”
“Whatever else would you be?” she asked him. “I think I know you. You have always cared for me.”
“But as the daughter of my dear friend,” Marophon said. “Things will change. I will be your husband and things will change between us. I hope you can look upon me as a husband.”
“Maro,” Jocasta said, lowering her eyes, at first, “I am not entirely sure what that means. I trust you, and I look to you in trust.You are my father’s love, and have been Mykon’s. You have always been loving to this family, and I imagine you will be loving to me. I will never nag, never be a shrewish wife. I will give you your freedom, and I know you will give me mine. I will give you sons. You will give me your name. We will be loyal. One to the other.”
She had always looked on Marophon with awe, Marophon commander of battles. Now he knelt before her, though kneeling he was still nearly as tall, and she stopped and placed her face in the curls that were softer, wavier than Mykon’s. She kissed him, and then she loved him

TOMORROW WE RETURN TO GESHICHTE FALLS

 

[CharmedFan28]

Wow that was some portion! Family fights, a wedding and more discovery of who is sleeping with who. I hope Marophon and Jocasta can be happy in their marriage. Great writing and I look forward to reading more if Geshichte Falls tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

We're meeting Alexandra, the worm in the apple, and things that were secret are being uncovered. A marriage is on the way to boot as well. Excitement is soon to come, but maybe it's already here! Thank you for reading. I'm so glad you enjoyed.

 

[ChrisGibson]

It is widely enough believe to banal that my enemy’s enemy is my friend, but this has seldom proved true in politics, This is due to mankind being a contakerous lot so that most often my enemy’s enemy is my enemy as well.

-Manaen Anaxionade










CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ALLIES

σύμμαχοι
















“THEY HAD SPENT THE afternoon climbing up the scraggly slope, helping each other over one and then the next rocky step, each made of boulders the size of a man. Now, as Harmonia stumbled and fell, Aeon reached out to her, but she shook her head and pulled herself up. Above them all, in her black, Phaedra, pink haired, looked at the girl, then at her pea green haired cousin and thought, “She has a strength to her, this princess. I sensed it. I sensed it in the woman Phocis as well, but now I see it is true.”
Here, at last, among the ruins they walked. To one side the land rose up into the hills and on it, above a group of old houses was the rotunda style temple where the Pythoness remained. On the other side of them, the land dropped into a dark valley, and then across it, stretching out to the north east and to Thessaly with the blue black mountains, their peaks capped in white, the thin clouds moving past them. As the small company wasy approaching the village, people came out. Those working, sanding down bowls and feeding chicken, marching scraggly goats through pebbly streets, stopped to notice the new arrivals. Few came to the place of the Pythoness these days, and certainly none looked strange as these.
“Should we ask them what is the procedure?” Aeon turned to his cousin.
Phaedra shook her head, “We will just walk. If we do anything out of line they will certainly let us know.”
They went down the main step, and it seemed to Harmonia that the temple became larger the closer they came to it. From a distance tt has seemed a small round structure, domed and pillared all around, but now it was a large thing, and from between two of its pillars came a woman, small enough in contrast to let them know how large the temple was. She was of medium years, perhaps, Harmonia thought, the same age as Phocis, though a little worse for wear. She sat down on the steps and out of the temple came, harmless and odd to see, three red chickens.. She scattered seed for them to peck on the temple steps and then, as the three visitors came nearer. The chickens squawked, and then, with unsuccessful vaults, fled, not away from the visitors but toward them and past them.
And now Harmonia saw, slithering out of the temple, so dark she had thought it was a shadow at first, a serpent, and then another, and there were three and they all stopped at the same step the old woman sat on. She rose now, and and she seemed no longer past her time, but tall and noble, and when she spoke, her voice echoed, not at all lost in the valley and the moisture of this day.
“Aeon of Akxa, Phaedra of Arcady and Harmonia of Thebes, what do you seek?”
When neither Aeon nor Phaedra answered, Harmonia cleared her throat before speaking.
“Lady, I seek news. I seek advice.”
The woman looked on her, and every line had fallen from her faee. Her expression was not severe, but it would not suffer silence for very long.
“I wanted to know what is the best way we could, in time, stand against the Cyrans and the Illyrians.”
“Is that what you truly want to know?”
“Yes,” Harmonia said. “We have come together. All of Ellix is coming together, though often we have been miles apart. We are seeking the answer to what will make us able to stand against coming enemies.”
“And what answer have you arrived at so far?”
“Making allegiances,” Harmonia said.
The Pythoness raised her hand, and even as she raised her hand, the snake rose up beside her. Harmonia feared the Oracle might strike her, but instead, pointing to the lentil she commanded, “Read.”


Μάθε τον εαυτό σου


“Know thyself,” Harmonia read.
“If you do not know yourself you cannot ask a true question,” the Pythoness said. “And if you do not know yourself you cannot decipher a true answer. So,” she spoke again as one of the great snakes rose and began to twist itself about her like a girdle, “Tell me what you wish to know?”
“Should I be Queen of Thebes?”
“Do you wish to be Queen?”
“Yes!” Harmonia cried. “It is my right. My father died to be king. People gave their lives. Yes.”
“Then the question is not should you be queen, but will you.”
“Yes,” Harmonia replied, her hair in her face, her head bent almost in defeat.
“I will tell you this,” The Pythoness said, “with no need of fumes or vapors. If you return to Thebes, even now, you will be Queen in name, but if you would be Queen in deed, continue the path you are on.”
Harmonia nodded, but the Pythoness continued, “You do not understand. You believe this whole thing is about crowns and kingdoms, the petty wars of men that always rage across the land. You think you stand against Cyra or against Illyria, and the small desire of their kings. These are things that matter not at all to the Pythoness. Look at this land, untouched by wave after wave of invasions, by men come and men gone.”
She stopped talking. To Aeon’s eyes, the Pythoness had suddenly gone smaller, almost collapsing in on herself, and she said, “Go now. You have wearied me. Go to the common house. Eat, drink. Talk with others. But before you leave come back to me, for the God of this place has a word for you. All three of you.”




“Cousin, you look strange,” Aeon said.
“She looks strange because she is smiling,” Harmonia returned in the sarcastic tone Phaedra was becoming used to.
“Perhaps,” Phaedra agreed.
In the last weeks, but especially this evening, having stood before the Pythoness, Phaedra was becoming used to the term “we.” We had always been so small. Akxa and Akxa and Maesa and Akxa and Maesa against the power of two great empires, never properly able to be sure if other kingdoms would stop their squabbling and come to their aid. And then, being a child of Melissa or of Maia, being descended from Oreads had made them particularly singular, and though the bond she’d had with her brother and her cousins was strong, the thought that there was no one but them had made her feel equally weak.
And now, here she and Aeon were with the Attikan princess who wanted to take back her city, a city which had connections to Akxa, for Danayos their first kind was descended from Cadmus’s sister Io, and perhaps they would help her be a queen and perhaps it would save the very world they lived in. Eco and Xian were together, venturing through the Cyran empire and trying to destroy or to save—she wasn’t quite sure—a noble house. Suddenly, despire everything, Phaedra felt a tremendous connection to a world that, somehow, she had always looked down on with contempt.



In the end Eco said, “You need to relieve yourself before I tell you what I have to say.”
She did and Claudia returned, fully clothed, Xian had a cup of something sweet and dark and strong.
“It is called coffee. It is from lands southeast of Aethiopia. Drink it. It will make you sober, for your must be sober for this.”
“The others,” Claudia gestured to the room where Ovid and Junius were asleep.
“They will not wake,” Eco said. “For now, I need you to dispense with unbelief and frivolity, to hear my words. The gods are not cruel or capricious like our stories. We are cruel and we make the gods in our image, but they weep over all and exist over all moving through each world. Creation is like a diamond and it reflects itself over and over again, and every reflection varies. Listen to me, the worlds are like the cells of a beehive, a like, but not completely, touching upon each other, the same, but not the same. There are other Achaeas and other Cyras, other worlds where your grandfather is the first emperor. Sometimes that place is called Rufainy or Cyra.”
“Cyra sounds familiar…”
“And there are other Akxas,” Eco said, “some like mine and some not. And other yous. And sometimes the road followed once, can be avoided and all things change. Right now I speak of the Cyran world, which is closest to yours. There your name is Julia as was your mother’s, as is your clan. The story is nearly identical, down to the name of your brother Postumus, exiled. Down to your brothers, killed by treachery. There also you are under suspicion only your sister Pina lives in the east, for there the empire has already spread. In that world our times do not converge. The me in that world is long dead.”
“How can you know these things?”
“Princess listen,” Xian said, gently.
“You are pregnant even now,” Eco said. “You think you do not care for life, but there is life in your, and there are children born to you that sting you back to care. You are thinking of plotting but not daring to plot. For you did last time—”
“And my husband died, and I was never forgiven.”
“That’s right,” Eco said, “and Drusilla bides her time and when she finds you in scandal she will send you and that poet away. He will die in exile. You will nearly die.”
“And Postumus?”
“Dead at the hands of his own guards. At the order of your stepfather.”
“These things anyone could see,” Claudia said, but not with scorn, only reflection.
“Could they see your pregnancy?” Eco said. “Or your grandfather turning his head and having the child exposed on a rock. Or your desolate return to this city and sad death. All the visions that come sharply. That would have come for sure if we had not come to you this night.”
Claudia was quiet. She sipped from the cup of coffee. It was good and sweet and strong and the only comforting thing she had right now.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, at last. “I cannot say I am surprised. I am so used to misfortune I don’t know what to do. How to change it.”
“Change it by action,” Xian said. “The sacrifice the gods demand, the true sacrifice to the true gods is action.”
“Friend, I like you,” Claudia smiled at Xian, “And yet I know little of your gods or the sort of faith you seem to have. Still, I would like to save my brother. And my baby. And Ovid. Even if I cannot really muster the concern to save myself. What should we do?”
“Leave,” Xian said. “You might want to get the poet and wake his ass up. You should all leave this very night.”
“Every vision I’ve had,” Eco said, “involves the guards coming for you, bringing you and him to the palace. These things certainly cannot happen if you are not here for them to happen to. Yes. We should go.”


MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great start to the chapter! Advice has been given to Harmonia and the others and it was good advice I think. I hope Claudia is able to escape. Excellent writing and I look forward to reading more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

No Manaen, and no Thebes, and yet a lot going on in this little chapter, as some of our side characters from the last story meet these new characters.

 

[ChrisGibson]

WHILE HARMONIA AWAITS THE PROPHECY OF THE PYTHONESS, ECO AND XIAN WORK TO SAVE CLAUDIA


The next morning it was Harmonia who reminded them that the Pythoness had a prophecy for them. It was cold and frost rimed the ground. Part of Phaedra, battle trained, great black sword at her side, still longed to sleep, and she was surprised at this girl who was up early, ready to hear a prophecy and then make her way down the slopes and back into the country, heading for their ship.
They came to the temple and this time entered, kissing the ground, and found the Pythoness standing, waiting. Serpents, ingoring them, surrounded her, and behind her was the raised tripod she usually sat on to prophesy.
“The word has come to me from Apollyon,” she said. “You have been told that part of the year Apollyon rules here and then another part of the year, the dark Iacchus rules here. This is for the simple, for those who do not understand that the God of Growing had more than one face and that Apollyon and Iacchus are one. You,” she said, to Harmonia, belong to his city, and so he has these words for you.”

Seek me in the south
Seek me in the horns
I dwell in the dark place
There was magic born
At the source of all, where the bull dies
And where the goat cries,
Between the mountain and horn
Where no many sees
Light the candle between the eyes
And find your remedy.

“And,” the Pythoness continued, “remember this. The Apocolypse and the Titanomachy are one. Though one is at the end of things and one placed at the beginning, the two are one and both happen right here and right now When you see Pyramus, remind him of this.”
“Who is Pyramus?” Harmonia began.
“Pyramus Aktade, General of the Sacred Band.”
“But,,” Harmonia continued, at a loss, “I do not know him.”
“You shall,” the Pythoness told her. “And that very soon.”




As they reclined on couches in the lamplight, and the servants poured more wine, Silanus took one of Claudia’s fingers, sticky with the sweet fig sauce from dessert, and she eyed him, tongue rolling in her mouth, as he sucked on one finger and then the next.
“Do you mind?” he looked up at her from hooded eyes. “Do you mind, terribly?”
“No, but the emperor would,” she said.
“Well, the emperor minds everything.”
“You better be careful what you say,” the poet, hair tied back, warned, strumming his harp. Behind him the marble cherub spat a fountain of water tinkling back into the pool.
“When we have to mind everything we say in this house,” Claudia turned lanquidly, dipping her fingers in the scented water, “It is a sad day indeed.”
“Of course we have to mind,” the poet twanged his harp. “Even the walls have ears.”
“Not these walls,” Claudia said. “Not in my house.”
The poet looked more perturbed than poetical and he said, “I feel it’s only right to warn you that your mother and brothers thought the same thing.”
“Maybe,” Claudia said, “in the end they just didn’t care. Maybe like me they were tired of waiting to be caught. Maybe they just wanted to say,” she turned on her back and shouted, “Catch me! Take me!”
Claudia laughed, drawing her legs up as if, she thought, she were giving birth. Now there was a thought. Then she relaxed again.
“Fuck me,” she murmured. She turned over and stretched out.
“Ovid, give us one of your love songs.”
But the poet did not look in the mood for singing. He still looked perturbed and she said, “I am a princess, and I am begging you, Ovid, give me one of your love songs.”
“In times like this we need as much of love as possible,” Junius said.
“Times like these, times like these,” Ovid murmured. “But why must there even be times like these? Very well,” he stretched. He was not in his first youth. He was a man of middle years. and as he unfolded himself, he felt his forty-nine turning to fifty. He began to strum.
“This is not of high love. This is of simple love. These are just silly songs.”
“Stop,” Claudia said, taking the cup of wine to her lips, “with the preamble. Sometimes we just need a silly song.”
Ovid recited, not singing like the Achaens did:

If there be anyone among you who is
ignorant of the art of loving, let him
read this poem and, having read it
and acquired the knowledge it contains,
let him address himself to Love.
By art the swift ships are propelled with
sail and oar; there is art in driving the
fleet chariots, and Love should by art be guided.

Claudia smiled and clasping her hands, she sang, earnestly, “Guide me.”

“Automedon was a skilled charioteer
and knew how to handle the flowing reins;
Tiphys was the pilot of the good ship Akxa.
I have been appointed by Venus as tutor
to tender Love. I shall be known as the
Tiphys and Automedon of Love.
Love is somewhat recalcitrant and
ofttimes refuses to do my bidding;
but ’tis a boy, and boys are easily
moulded!”

Claudia closed her eyes in the first true pleasure she’d felt all that day, and lifting Junius’s fingers to her lips, she kissed them and sang, “Guide me. Guide me. You both will be guide me.”

The crickets were chirping and the night air was warm. She was still half drunk, half high, floating in that delightful place. Hands were on her, strong, delicate, lovely hands, and fingers splayed across her back. She rose up. Passed out and naked on the bed, all of them dimly lit by the low lamps and pink gauze, were the poet on one side and Junius on the other. How sweet the drunken love they had made. So it was true, she was turning out just like her mother.
Claudia rose from the bed to find the the piss room. Surely, her exile was at hand. Surely she would find atonement on some rocky shore along with her brother, and finally repent for the life of debauchery she had led. She threw on a gauzy chemise, and stepped from the dim pink light of her room into the darkness of the anteroom, taking a lamp with her.
But as soon as she entered, the door clicked behind her, and her lamp lit upon a stranger.
“Do not scream,” a calm voice spoke behind her.
As Claudia looked on a man the same height as her, not very tall, in a great coat over a pink shirt with spiky hair as pink as the shirt and narrow, almond shaped eyes, he said, “Listen to my cousin and do not scream. I command you be silent and listen.”
Though some strange invader, nearly from another world, had entered her house, and though Claudia realized she could not have screamed if she wished, she next knew she did not wish it, that the very strangeness of these people who were obviously not the imperial troops or spies of her grandfather, relieved her.
“May I turn around?”
“Turn,” the young man allowed. Or possibly he commanded.
She did, and there was, in the rough clothing of a hunting man, a girl with wide black eyes and, yes, dark green hair.
“Who are you?” she wondered.
The girl said, “We are from that same Akxa your poet sang of before fucking you lustily. We did not watch, but we did hear. Sorry about that. I am the Princess Xian, sister to Queen Xanthe, and this is my cousin, Eco, a most accomplished mage. Our hair is distracting and that shall be taken care of soon enough, but we had to show you something of ourselves.”
“Are you here…” Claudia began, surprised by the thrill in her voice, “to kill me? To abduct me?”
“No,” Eco said. “We are here to save ourselves and our land, for great things are done by the smaller.”
“Great by the smaller,” Claudia murmured, shaking her head, realizing she was still quite drunk and in need of the restroom.
“Yes,” Xian said. “Eco is witchblooded, and sometimes gets lost in what he is trying to say. If your grandfather the Emperor moves as he is moving now, then your stepfather will be emperor and he will, in time, go to war with Akxa and all the lands of Ellix. No magic is needed to see this. What will prevent it is a different tale, a tale where…”
“A tale where you and your brother and all of your line avoid your fate,” Eco said, “which right now is exile, persecution and in the end, death.”

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

I am glad Eco and Xian are working to save Claudia, it almost sounds like she had given up before meeting them. I look forward excitedly to reading what happens next after that ending! Great writing!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, I think she had given up and was just going to let herself be tortured or even killed. She's clearly tired of fighting and Xian and Eco had to get her back to a place where she cared about her own life again.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT, A WEDDING TAKES PLACE IN THE HOUSE OF MANAEN AND MYKON APPEALS TO CLIO FOR HER WISDOM

Clio, Antha, and her grandmother burst into Jocasta’s room the morning of her wedding, and though her aunt and cousin kissed her, Phocis said, “You can get out of this if you wish.”
“Mother!” Antha said.
Jocasta kissed her grandmother on the cheeks. “But I do not wish to get out of it. Not at all.”
They fed her honey cakes and a little wine and Charis arrived singing:

Oh the roof on high,
sing Hymnaios,
raise up, craftsmen,
sing Hymnaios.
The bridegroom comes like Ares,
Sing Hymnaios!

Terpsichore had come from across the city as well, along with Polyxena, the mother of Marophon, and while they led Jocasta to the bath, Charis said, “And now we shall be sisters indeed, and share many great things. We were close before, but now the bond shall be even closer, as it should be. And Maro will be a good husband to you, as he longs to be.”
As they combed her hair out, and scented it with oil, Polyxena looked out of the window and said, “Look at that. Snow. Just for your wedding day.”
The snow was falling gently outside, and inside Anticlea played the harp. They knew the song:

Do you leave the flowers of spring,
The lilies and the rest,
And plant your little sting
In Heliodora’s breast

To show that in love’s wound,
So deep and terrible,
A sweetness may be found
That makes life bearable?

The bridal party in white, with lamps, led Jocasta in white, and she rejoiced and was surprised by the rejoicing as, in the presence of their families and loved ones, she stood before Marophon. He was tall and handsome, his hair gleaming with oil and a laurel wreath upon his head, and Father stood before them. She gave him gifts, three bracelets, a ring and sheath for his sword, and he gave her gifts, a spindle and textiles, a ring and Jocasta heard slight laughter around her because no one could see her with a distaff. He circled her seven times and then she him, and then he lifted the veil and kissed her, and she could not believe the joy with which he looked into her eyes. She placed a hand on his cheek and felt the slight roughness of it despite him having shaved. Right now, in this room, despite all, there was only them.



The solemnity of the wedding morning gave way to the feasting of the wedding night. Jocasta’s head swam and she looked into Maro’s laughing eyes. Charis supported Pyrs on his way to bed and now, she saw plainly, Mykon lying at ease in her father’s arms.
“Maro, I don’t want to have to drag you to bed the way Charis does Pyrs,” she said.
He laughed, looking at her.
“Shall we?”
She nodded solemnly, and he stood up. She held out her hand, but instead, he lifted her up, and those still sober applauded. As he carried her away, Jocasta heard Charis singing

The trees they do grow high,
the leaves they do grow green
Many is the time my true love I've seen
Many an hour I have watched him all alone
He's young,
but he's daily growing.


Past the curtain, in the room she had spent all of her life, she stood before Marophon, and though he was a little drunk, he was shy. She turned around.
“Undress me, husband,” she said to him.
His hands fumbled with the garment, and she helped him a bit and then turned around letting it fall, the wine perhaps making her careless of her nakedness. And now, Marophon let fall his robe and they stood together. He bent down to kiss her.
“I will be very gentle with you.”
She thought of saying, “Not too gentle,” but this moment was too fragile for joking. She lay on the bed and pulled him to her.
She clung to him, her thighs held him in. attempting to take in the entire scape of his back, of his shoulders, feel the dampness of his dark hair, savor his mouth on hers, on her shoulders, the way he moved inside of her, his dear, dear, tender ass, those thighs.
“I’m going to come,” he warned her, but she pulled him deeper in.
“I’m going to…”
She pulled him inside of her while he struggled, while his body buckled. Her hands were frantic, up and down his back, on the smooth, light hair of his buttocks, in the orgasm that overtook her. They clung together for a while, not speaking, only breathing.
As they lay together in the dark, after the lovemaking, Jocasta thBasiled with the memory of Maro inside of her. She longed for his touch. In the early winter night his long, great body gave off a high heat. She wished to hold him, cling to him again and now him like a wife.
His child could be in me already.
And then she thought, “That probably isn’t true. It cannot happen quick as all that.”
And yet his seed was in her, and would be again. She longed to have him again and to be his wife.
“Jo,” he said, half asleep.
“Yes, husband.”
“I am your husband,” he said, “and when you go to Attika to negotiate with Theon’s father, I will accompany you. Will you mind that greatly?”
She suspected that if she had minded it greatly, it would not have changed his mind, and she loved this too. She said, “No, Maro. Now that you’ve said it, I would have it no other way.”



From where she sat on the parapet of her house, Clio could see her cousin riding down the narrow street, and he could only be riding to her. She came down onto the balustrade surrounding the second story, down the stair, and into the courtyard. She went out the gate and was there to receive him, Mykon, on his black horse, helmet under his arm and electric blue cloak falling behind him. He leapt off the horse, and she had the servants take it to water while she held out her hand to her cousin.
“You are thirsty,” she said without asking. “Come to the living room and I will pour you water.”
“My thanks, Cousin,” Mykon bowed as he entered her house, and she showed him a couch. This house was not as lavish as Manaen’s or even as lavish as the home of Lysander’s family. This was the home the two of them had with their children, away from the business of their larger clans, and in the cool darkness of the living room, looking out onto the courtyard, Clio handed her cousin a pewter mug.
“It is good to see you,” Mykon said while Clio’s youngest came toddling to her, and she took the child on her knee.
“It is good to be seen,” she said, “and though I would love to flatter myself and believe my younger cousin has come purely for the pleasure of seeing me, I think there are other reasons.”
Mykon finished the cup, and Clio took it, pouring more cool water and returning it.
“I came because you are a holy woman.”
“I am devotee to the God as are many,” Clio said.
“But you are truly devout, and silent and thoughtful,” Mykon said. “You are touched by the God, and so I wanted to know your thoughts.”
“Speak cousin, and I will say what I can.”
“Merope.”
“What of her?”
“I know in days of old Teiresias spoke for the God, and spoke in councils, but somehow I cannot think it is right that the High Priestess be so… involved in politics. So in bed with our enemies.”
“Cousin, I will ask you this question,” Clio said, “if she were on your side, would you wonder about her?”
“I do not know,” Mykon said, “and what is more, I am so convinced that my side is the right side, that I cannot wisely say. This is why I ask you. When I hear Merope speak out against us, or the other priests of the city so involved in the city matters, I feel the voice of God cannot be in them. But I imagine it is because Iacchus is the God outside the Gates that I cannot imagine Merope is really speaking for him.”
“Oh, it is not for me to say,” Clio said. “I mean, it is not for me to judge her. But I think I have had the luxury of wealth and importance that has kept me silent for so long. I thought that my silence was holy, that my rising above the quarrels of the city, only devoting myself to the God was divine. But recently, at the holy spring feast, the night Jocasta came home with Terpsichore, the Old Man—Teiresias—came to me. At first I did not know him, he looked so old and wretched and poor. He said, ‘Bless you, Little Sister,I have a while to go, and then I will return.’ And then he said that he… wanted to lay eyes on me before he returned, before, he said, my glory. I must have looked surprised. I am surprised, for he said, ‘Glory is coming to you. But also judgment.’”
“Judgment?” Mykon sat up.
“Yes,” Clio nodded. “That is what I said. “And then he said, ‘Why fear? Judgment is for as well as against, and your heart is pure, and at this time Thebes must be purified.’ But what in the world can that mean?”
“You have heard the rumors, all along the coast, and you have heard of visions,” Mykon said. “But. I, as a soldier, my father’s obedient man, a general... Visions and such were past me. But Father—I am the heir to what he is and all he has. I have worked the magic with him. It changes me. Still I thought I was little more than an acolyte following him. But the same night the Old Man came to you, he came to my father, and to the priest Kybernets. It was only later, later after something had happened to me, that Father told me all about it.
“He spoke to Kybernets and said that long ago men drove God away. But God is Two, the Younger and Older, Mother and Father, the Twins. One part of God fled to heaven, but the other roamed the earth, becoming the Wandering in search of Her human children. To be like the Goddess we must be homeless, he said, and so he had become the Wanderer in order to wander with God.”
“Yes,” Clio said, lifting the cup to her lips, and Mykon said, “And though it makes sense to you it made little to me. It seemed true, and yet it made no sense to me. But then the Old Man also said, ‘Soon I will return, and my returning will be prophecy, and judgment will be in that prophecy.’ He said guard what you believe to be secret. For this is a time of treachery when secrets you thought you held will not last long. He said guard well, and keep vigilance well. Pray for the Holy Child, and let your magic be unflagging. And ever since then, in our ritual, we have worked for the coming of the holy child, though we do not know what it is.”
Then Mykon said, “I have always thought that my purpose was to gain glory for my family, to raise us up from the shame the city cast upon us. But… and I cannot describe it, I experienced him, the God. I was filled with so much love. I offered my body on the battlefield to the God of Battles, but not really, for I was not willing to die. No soldier truly can be. But now I offer myself to the Mother of Grain and the Lord of the Vine, to be picked, to be scattered, to be the scattering. To be crushed. And now, Clio, general that I am, one of the most powerful men in this city at such a young age, I do not know what will happen. Only that He is coming, and I am fine.”


TOMORROW NIGHT WE'LL SEE WHAT'S GOING ON WITH CLAUDIO, XIAN AND ECO

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was an excellent portion! A wedding took place and of course the wedding night. It’s nice to hear from different characters from one portion to the next. Excellent writing and I look forward to reading about Claudio, Xian and Eco tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I'm glad you enjoyed nd so sorry that between vacation and sickness I've been sch a no show. I'm just getting around to comments now, but as always there will be more story, so thanks for reading.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Pessimism and unbelief are neither strong nor courageous.

-Clio Aristikion










CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ADVENT

έλευση

















“CAN THAT BE IT?” Claudia wondered from the ship’s deck. “Can that be Ponza?”
“My lady,” the tall man beside her said, “that is the isle of Ponza, and we can let you onto it and smuggle your brother away if you let us.”
“Will you go with us, Autolykus?” Xian turned to him.
Auto-Lycus, the Wolf Himself. Eco said nothing, only looked at the handsome man in green, who stroked the black hiar of thin beard.
“It would be a challenge.”
“It is more than a challenge,” Claudia said, soberly. “Do you know, when I was a girl, and my mother was sent to Pandateria, Grandfather would tell me, she is on vacation? I would look at the murals on the wall where the water was blue as sapphires, and the little round islands were golden with swaying trees. Beautiful birds flew above and the clouds and sky were done in milky blue and white and silver tiles. This is how I thought of her island, of the islands of exile where you never saw those who had troubled my grandfather. Now see this barren rock, grey stone coming out of grey water, slabs of rock covered in lichen, the barren trees, hardly any trees, and that prison sprung up out of the rock. Is that the place where they keep him? What could he have done that is so terrible? He was not cautious. He loved women. He fooled around. But he was no traitor, no murderer to be locked away on a rock like this.”
She stopped talking and now she looked to Xian.
“We could stop the ship at the town across the island, and stay there tonight. From there we could plan our entry into the… into your brother’s new house.”
“If this is Ponza, what of Pandateria?” Claudia said. “All I know is that when my mother left, my grandmother left to live out her exile with her. But what must that isle be like?”
Above her head, Autolycus murmured, “Nothing good.”
Claudia turned to Autolycus. “Can we really get there? Can we really get to my brother?”
“My lady, between the three of us,” he pointed to Eco and Xian, “you can get anywhere.”
“I wonder,” Claudia murmured, “if I will even know him when I see him again.”



people of the shore went to their knees.


He didn’t know how it all started. He never did. That was the thing about him, Everything seemed to happen so quickly, happen ahead of him where he could not see it. He could never put the patterns together, so he hardly knew how he ended up here. Postumus Maecenas, named for his father, the man he had never known and could never live up to. His brothers had. Once upon a time there had been five children and five reasonably happy ones. Gaius had been the oldest and the light of Grandfather’s eyes. Everyone said he looked just like grandfather, but with the shoulders of their own father, Maecenas. Grandfather’s closest friend. Gaius had led the armies against the Votidii and the Belgae, against the Cololiquii, and Gaius had been greatly revered by the King of Illyria. He was Grandfather’s natural heir, adopted as his son, and then he had died in the in the Mauretania, everyone had gone into deep mourning. He had been so young and so handsome, so very full of promise. Grandfather, practical as ever, wiped his tears away and set his sights of Lucius, the next brother in line.
Lucius did not disappoint.. He was as gifted and as handsome as his brother, and in those days everyone assumed he would be the next emperor. These were days when people turned a blind eye to things. Mother had been happy in her first marriage. She had been wed to her cousin Marcellus. He was the light of her eyes and Grandfather’s original successor, his own nephew. But he had died, and that was how Mother had ended up with Father. Though he was much older than her, she had given him several children, and if he had not been the love of her life, then it was supposed that she loved him enough.
Two marriages and five children should have been more than enough, but at the insistence of his wife, Drusilla, Grandfather now married Mother off to Tiberius, her son. Maybe Drusilla thought this would make her son her husband’s heir, for there was no love between Drusus and the Emperor. But there was no love between Claudia and Tiberius either, and in time there was even abuse. Mother’s black eye and bruises had him sent away, but Grandfather would not allow her to divorce, and so Mother had turned to the thing all bored and would be rebellious women turned to: adultery.
It was said she had seen the ceilings of half the nobles in Cyra, and some of the servants and slaves as well. This was something Postumus could not attest to. All he knew was women had needs as well as men. But Grandfather was doing his best to create a new and noble state, to enforce morals, and when Mother’s antics had come to his attention—or when he could ignore them no longer—she was sent off to Pandateria.
In those years, though he ached for his mother, Lucius was still there, and so were his sisters. He did his crying at night. Grandfather had no patience for that. He had put Mother out of his heart as well as his first wife, the grandmother who had followed Claudia into exile. In those days, if Postumus thought about his mother’s island prison at all, it was like something painted on a mural, or the pleasure isles dotting the river outside of the city. He had no idea islands could be like this.
And then Lucius had died in a boating accident, and Postumus had been made joint heir with his stepfather. This was when he had begun to fear. If his family was no the object of human intrigue, then surely the gods were against them. His brothers were dead, and every heir picked by Grandfather had fallen.
Looking back, if he had not responded by drinking, whoring, going on pleasure trips, hunting and fishing, if he had been a more thoughtful or enterprising person, he might have found a way to get rid of his stepfather or even his step grandmother. But there had been other plots, come to think of it, and those always ended up badly. So maybe he was best as he was.
As he was, Postumus Maecenas was rash and unthinking, relying on muscle and passion more than sense. As he was, he had been passed over for army commands and serious posts. Tiberius’s son, his stepbrother Castor was no soldier, but rose high in the ranks of government. Africanus, the nephew of the long dead Marcellus and the grandson of the Lady Drusilla, covered himself in glory in the West. But not Postumus.
“You are too rash!” Grandfather would say in irritation. “You do not think. You will not think.”
After another blow up that he did not rightly understand involving a whore and a senator, Grandfather had stripped the title of Claudio from him.
“You will be exiled,” he said, simply.
And exiled he was, to a villa twenty miles outside of the city, surrounded by pleasant swamp lands and heavy hanging trees. Except for the lack of women, it was the perfect place to be exiled. His wife, for whom he had never cared, had been quietly divorced from him and married to a new powerful man. So he put her out of his mind as well and went on with his quiet life.
And then, one morning, they had shown up at the house, bearing spears and swords, the Emperor’s guards. They were not overly rough until he was overly rough. When he was being dragged away, ropes tied about his wrists, one looked behind him and spat out, “The terms of your exile have changed.”
In the night they marched through the trees and across farmfields, got in a boat in and sailed to the most desolate of islands, a great, grey well guarded fortress he had found himself in, this prison where night and day did not matter and shaving did not matter and where you shit in a bucket, and once a week were let out, on a chain, into the icy water to clean yourself.
“I should have remembered,” Postumus thought. “I should have remembered.”
They had said that long ago, before Grandfather had become the Father of the Nation and the great High Priest, he had been one of several thugs, going through the city, making bloody proscription lists, gauging out, it was said, the eyes of Lucius Varinus with his own hands.
He tried to make everyone forget that person, but we should never have forgotten him. Only such a man could lock his daughter and his grandson in a place like this.
“Only such a one.”
He heard something. A grating at the door. One of the guards. Was it bathing time? What day was this anyway?
He had to be careful now. He had not paid much attention to his education, but he remembered hearing that drama began when the playwrite began speaking to himelf. Loneliness made a monologue in the head into a dialogue. When he had first come here, he heard, from behind one door, a raging conversation between two men. Only days later had he learned that it was the same man, and often he wondered how lon g it would be before madness came to him.
But today, when the door opened, something else came to him. A man, shorter than him, almond eyed, pink haired stood before him.
“What in all the fucks are you?” Postumus demanded.
Eco looked at him directly.
“Your deliverance,” he said.

TOMORROW WE RETURN TO GESHICHTE FALLS

 

[CharmedFan28]

This story is progressing nicely and I really enjoyed this portion! Postumus seems like a new character but he may have been introduced before. Either way I liked reading about him and his history. Excellent writing and I look forward to returning to Geshichte Falls tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Meanwhile, the journey out of sickness continues. I slept through the night instead of my usual nightowl behaviour. Postumus is new and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Hopefully it gets better and better