Date: Mon, 02 Nov 1998 10:53:02 GMT From: Michael Gouda <stachys@eurobell.co.uk> Subject: Et in Arcadia Ego Et in Arcadia ego ----------------- The dawn of the world - or so it seemed at the time. Apollo's eye looked down on Achaean Arcadia and saw that it was good. He embraced the olive trees with their dark clusters of fruit, the citrus groves with yellow lemons, green limes and golden oranges, the vineyards with their clusters of red and white grape. Nature was bountiful and Apollo himself was there to tend to the ripening, the sweetening, the burgeoning and the seeding. Everything in its place, joyous harmony and the sweet plucking of a lyre in a Lydian mode. The students emerged from the college, their voices raised in grateful excitement for their release, some still betraying an adolescent shrillness, others deep and masculine. They escaped into the sunshine and the warm, air scented with pine resin. Some formed groups of three or four, others, particular friends, remained in pairs, linked together with a special bond, while a few walked homewards in solitary loneliness. Clovis and Spiro looked at each other. They seemed to have no need for spoken words. They knew without saying that they would go to their own special place, the grove down by the brook, hidden by tall cedars and gnarled old olive trees where the turf was soft and green and the water crystal clear. Spiro inhaled a great breath, free at last from the dusty confines of their classroom and the strict eyes (blind though he might be) of their tutor, Homer. But they were joined by a third, young Thersites, a thin, dark and rangy youth, face attractive even though often furrowed by a frown, a rebel, though not in the irresponsible, mischievous way that Spiro was. A believer in change from the old ways, someone heading for trouble, thought his tutor, who worried about such matters. Thersites tagged along with the two friends, chatting, and Spiro was at first annoyed. He wanted Clovis for himself but on second thoughts - and Spiro was always interested in novelties - he pondered that, should Thersites be interested in their 'special games' might not a threesome be an entertaining new experience. "Apollo and Dionysus," said Thersites, carrying on the subject from the afternoon's lesson, "as if anyone believed in the old gods any more!" His tone was dismissive, the content of his words blasphemous. Spiro though noted that he hadn't expressed this opinion in class that afternoon. "You may be forced to eat your words," said Spiro. "For we have seen Apollo and he is a mighty God!" Thersites laughed. "This tale you tell about his saving you from a mountain lion and then your rescuing his herd of cattle from Pan's cave. I'll say this for you two. You certainly have a powerful imagination - or was it too much of your father's Samian wine?" Clovis turned his serious grey eyes to the mocker. "Even if you do not believe in the great God, you must acknowledge his power," and he raised his hand to where above them the eye burned implacably in the cloudless sky. "Stay out in that too long and you will surely be destroyed." "A physical thing," said Thersites. "All fire consumes and is dangerous. The sun is made of fire. Treat it sensibly and it is good, play with it and it will harm you." "Apollo is God of Music and Harmony," said Clovis. "If you do not admit that he is a physical being - " "He's physical all right," interrupted Spiro. "We've seen him, touched him. You should see the size of his - " Clovis managed to stop Spiro from going too far. " - surely you must admit that he stands for all that is right and harmonious in the world, peaceful agreement and cooperation." "I accept that the world as it is - " and of course by this Thersites meant the city state of Arcadia - "is good for some of us, those with money, those with power, those with influence, the privileged ones that is, whose sons we are." "We live in a democracy," said Spiro anxious to show that he had not been entirely asleep during the Civics lessons in college. "All free men may vote in council, all may have their say at the Areopagus." "And what of the 'free' women?" asked Thersites, "and the slaves. Are they not men and women too?" "Oh women," said Spiro with the dismissive arrogance of youth, "they have enough to do in the house - which, incidentally most rule with a rod of iron. What would they know about matters of state?" He spoke feelingly, his own mother was certainly an autocrat in her own realm. "And the slaves?" asked Thersites. "They are - " Spiro suddenly found the conversation distasteful - "they are, of course, just slaves. They are part of the 'harmony'." Thersites laughed, as if he had proved a point, and even Clovis smiled. Spiro felt cross. Thersites would spoil their afternoon's enjoyment and as for Clovis - well he would pay for that 'smile'. He would deny him what he had looked forward to all the day - though that, Spiro thought on consideration, would deny HIM of what he had also looked forward to. Perhaps he would just be a bit rough - though Clovis sometimes enjoyed that too. But Thersites did not seem to want to leave them. The path split here, the left turn leading down to the village, the right up the hill to where the grove was. They paused in the sunshine, a slight breeze disturbing their hair and, more provocatively, the hems of their short tunics. "And Dionysus," said Thersites looking at Clovis, "what does he stand for in your world view?" Clovis pushed his hand through his fair hair as if that could enable him to think more clearly. "He is the disruptive element, disharmony, the madness of passion. He is part of us but must be controlled or we will descend into anarchy." "So you disapprove of 'passion' do you, Clovis?" said Spiro and gave his friend a quizzical look, the unruly lock of jet-black hair hanging as usual over his forehead, his eyes glinting with mischief. His lips smiled and underneath his tunic, his cock twitched. "Not in its place," said Clovis seriously and felt an urge to touch his friend. "Are you two not going home?" asked Thersites as they seemed disposed to linger at the junction, and then added ironically, "Will not your matriarchal slave-driver punish you if you are late back, eh Spiro?" "I come and go as I please," said Spiro and then added, "Anyway she's visiting an aged aunt in Thelpusa. The sl . . ." He had been intending to say the slaves would get him food whatever time he returned but remembering their earlier conversation, he decided against. "Clovis and I often sit on the hill after lessons are over - to - er - to clear the mind." Clovis smiled, remembering their frequent 'mind-clearing'. "I will come with you," said Thersites and the three young men started the upward climb. "The Gods are the invention of men," announced Thersites as they went. "To explain things they didn't understand. To attempt, by the worship of these powerful beings, to placate misfortune, disease and death which all men fear. When men stop believing in them, the Gods will die - or be replaced by other gods." "Perhaps the Gods will stop believing in men and men will die," suggested Clovis ambiguously. "Anyway what do you think of this discord between Apollo and Dionysus? The dispute on Mount Olympus that Homer was on about?" asked Thersites. Spiro who hadn't thought anything of it, hadn't really been listening, didn't say anything. Clovis ran his fingers through his hair again. He is really attractive when he does that, thought Spiro and wished that Thersites hadn't decided to accompany them on their walk. "Well Paris had to decide who was the most beautiful of the Goddesses, Hera, Athene and Aphrodite - " started Clovis. "And look where that got him - the Trojan War," butted in Spiro, a little annoyed that he wasn't getting his own way. "Women are always trouble." Clovis ignored the peevish interruption. "So I suppose Apollo and Dionysus could argue about which was the more powerful. They stand for social normality and passion, I suppose. Which is the most powerful element in man's make-up?" "I know which is uppermost in my mind," muttered Spiro and touched himself surreptitiously under his tunic. Hot and breathless, the three youths reached the grove of trees where the brook cascaded through a rocky cutting and where soft grasses formed a bed to lie on. The climb up the hill had made them thirsty and they drank from the stream, cupping their hands to bring the cooling water to their mouths. Had they been alone, Clovis would have flung himself full length on his stomach and Spiro have lain on top, taking him as he had done so many times before. As it was they sat demurely, backs against the tree trunks. Spiro picked a lime from the tree above him, peeled it with his teeth and sucked the sweet/sour juice with evident sounds of enjoyment. Thersites, once his thirst was quenched, seemed to want to continue the conversation but Spiro had had enough. He raised his right knee so that the two sitting opposite could see under the hem of his tunic, catch a glimpse of his member, long and almost always perpetually aroused and then on into the sweet darkness underneath. He licked the juices from his lips with a long pink tongue, playing provocatively around the edges. He saw Thersites frown as if the words he was about to speak dissolved and were lost and desires, hitherto un-thought of, had taken their place. "I - er - I - ," stuttered Thersites. "D - er - don't you th - " he relapsed into silence. "Why don't the two of you come over here?" asked Spiro invitingly, his legs opening. Clovis came willingly enough. He knelt on the grass between Spiro's legs. Their lips joined in a kiss. They bodies joined in an embrace. But their tunics got in the way of true flesh to flesh contact and it was the work of a moment to divest them. The discarded clothing lay like rejected pretences on the ground while the truth sported, naked and unashamed, in the sunshine. Spiro felt his member thicken and engorge as Clovis lay on top of him He began to move himself in the choreography of love, his cock running along the groove in Spiro's groin. The friction of pubic hair against his cock was arousing. A spring of liquid excitement lubricated and eased the motion so that the groove became a slick-lined channel. Spiro clutched Clovis' buttocks, pulling him in time with his strokes. Clovis' breathing grew faster, became gasps and Spiro knew that Clovis would come soon. It was then that he noticed the naked legs standing by them. Gently he whispered to Clovis to wait and then he drew the willing Thersites to join the two of them so that two became three and eventually the three became one in a tangle of golden limbs. In that equilateral triangle of passion, crevices were explored and extensions enclosed, smooth skin slid over smooth skin, hands stroked, lips kissed and tongues licked.. Frotting, rubbing, stroking, arousing until everything exploded in a mutual orgasm - and eventual contentment and relaxation. The youths put on their tunics though they were not made to feel ashamed. They lay at rest in that grove in Arcadia until they were roused by sounds of human converse from deeper in the wood and a moment later two strangers emerged into the grove. They seemed to be arguing but stopped when they saw they were no longer alone. They were tall and well-built, not in their extreme youth, but certainly not old. Their bodies displayed the health and vitality of early manhood both in their sun-bronzed skins and the athletic way they walked and moved. They wore chitons, fastened with brooches over their right shoulder and leaving their right arms bare but after that they could not have been more opposite in appearance. One had sun-blonde curls, an aquiline nose and - strange in that part of the world - blue eyes of an intensity and colour which would have rivalled the most precious amethyst. The other was dark, his hair long and slightly dishevelled, his skin almost walnut coloured and a small beard and moustache covered some of the bottom part of his face. But his lips were rich red, sensuous and mobile. He walked with an almost pantherish grace which scarcely seemed human. The three youths looked at the strangers and, in turn, were observed by them. It was nothing that the two strangers did but the boys felt ill-at-ease to be sitting in their presence. They struggled to their feet and fought against a sudden urge to kneel. The blonde man surveyed the trio without speaking. Then the dark man said, as if in answer to an unspoken question. "Yes they will do." "Who are you?" asked the blonde man. "Your names!" "Clovis, kyrie," said Clovis, and lowered his head. "Spiro, lord," said Spiro, not able to meet those blue, blue eyes. "Thersites," said Thersites boldly. The two gave him a sharp look. "Students from the college," he added. "We need a decision," said the dark man, his eyes black as a starless night. To look into them would be to fall into a void. He turned to his companion. "You are first by right." The blonde man raised his right hand and his fingers in turn touched the heads of each of the youths, two dark and one fair. A mist descended. Clovis strode up to the Areopagus, the rocky outcrop which was the place of meeting for freemen of the City. He felt strangely different, the muscles of his body were strong and mature. Also the world seemed a little smaller as if he had suddenly grown another foot and everything else had correspondingly shrunk. His shoulders were broader too and his mind told him that at home he had a wife and two children, girls, Iphimedia and Prylis. But now, he reminded himself, was not the time for family matters. Today State concerns were paramount. He saluted his fellow magistrate, Spiro, clasping him in a formal embrace. For a moment he looked into his eyes, seeing more than the casual greeting of friends, a glimpse of passion which was gone almost before it had appeared. "Is Thersites late?" asked Spiro looking around at the assembled company already seated at the Council table. "Thersites is never late. He is the most conventional of men," said Clovis and turning he saw the tall figure of their fellow-magistrate climbing the steps behind them. The Council was complete. He read aloud from the scroll, "Decisions to be made on the following: Upper limit on the price of corn. Incursion into Arcadian territory from southern Laconica. State funding for the rebuilding of the Temple of Hera at Leuctra. Provision for the poor . . . . " Clovis sat back and waited while the discussions went on around him. He knew with satisfaction that a majority decision would be made on each. If there were to be a tied vote, he would provide the casting vote. He allowed his mind to wander, to think of his family and the comfort and joy it gave him. He heard Spiro speak and the sound of his voice reminded him of the past, of almost-forgotten pleasures. They were best unremembered. He forced his mind back to the business in hand. He looked at his friend and meeting his gaze noticed a pain in his eyes as if he had lost something of value. Of course State funds were limited, had to be shared out. Was it the right thing to commit so much to the rebuilding of the temple if that meant less money to provide food and shelter for the poor? There were various pragmatic considerations to be taken into account. To ignore the Goddess, Hera, snub her by allowing her temple to fall into ruin might, in the long run, be disadvantageous to Arcadia. It is never wise to upset a deity. The poor might go hungry but they could scarcely threaten the well-being of the state. So the decision should surely go for the rebuilding. He put forward this view and was gratified to see much head-nodding in agreement. Even Thersites who, years before would have argued passionately for provision for the unfortunate should take precedence, now, he noticed, raised his hand in agreement. Where had the passion gone, he wondered. But it was better this way. Harmony ruled. All was as it should be. Clovis smiled contentedly. A mist descended. The three youths looked confusedly around them. The grove was as it had been, green grass and the sound of the chuckling brook. A gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees. The sun had scarcely moved in the sky. "My turn now, I think," said the dark man and touched each of the youths gently in the fork of their legs. A mist descended. Clovis strode up to the Areopagus, the rocky outcrop which was the place of meeting for freemen of the City. Thirty years of age sat lightly on him. His body was strong and mature, his hair still thick and fair. He thought of his wife, Nemea, and of his two young daughters, but now, he reminded himself, was not the time for family matters. Today State concerns were paramount. He saluted his fellow magistrate, Spiro, clasping him in an embrace which had rather more of passion in it than was perhaps quite suitable for this formal occasion. He looked into his friend's eyes, seeing past the casual greeting of friends, a love that was even more intense - and certainly more dangerous - than that which he felt for his own wife. "Is Thersites late?" asked Spiro looking around at the assembled company already seated at the Council table. "Thersites is always late. He treats the Council as if it were his own convenience rather than his duty," said Clovis but turning he saw the tall figure of their fellow-magistrate climbing the steps behind them, fire in his eyes and a spring in his step. He wondered whether this would be yet another stormy session. The Council was complete. He read aloud from the scroll, "Decisions to be made on the following: Upper limit on the price of corn. Incursion into Arcadian territory from southern Laconica. State funding for the rebuilding of the Temple of Hera at Leuctra. Provision for the poor . . . . " Clovis sat back and waited while the discussions went on around him. A majority decision would have to be made on each but before then much argument would arise. If there were to be a tied vote, he would provide the casting one. He heard Spiro speak and the sound of his voice reminded him of pleasures, both past and still to come. He looked at his friend and meeting his gaze gave and received a smile. Of course State funds were limited, had to be shared out. Was it the right thing to commit so much to the rebuilding of the temple if that meant less money to provide food and shelter for the poor? There were various pragmatic considerations to be taken into account. To ignore the Goddess, Hera, snub her by allowing her temple to fall into ruin might, in the long run, be disadvantageous to Arcadia. It is never wise to upset a deity. The poor might go hungry but they could scarcely threaten the well-being of the state. So the decision should surely go for the rebuilding. He put forward this view. Thersites, his dark eyes sombre with passion, rose to speak. "As I was coming to the Areopagus," he said, "I passed a mother and child sitting at the portals of that very temple. Her face was gaunt and her clothing was little more than rags. The child's face was beautiful but his eyes, huge and round, were full of pain and his stomach was hugely extended - not with the bloat of food but with malnutrition. They were both starving!" Several magistrates looked uncomfortable and one coughed and seemed to be about to speak but Thersites continued: "Is Hera, great Hera, starving up there on Olympus - and will the replacing of a few blocks of stone in her temple make her any more amenable to the plight of Arcadia?" "Don't you believe in the Gods?" asked magistrate Panopeus, a hint of panic in his voice. "Oh I have seen the Gods," said Thersites. "One afternoon on the sunlit hillside above Leuctra, I met two who claimed to be such - and they were concerned with petty squabbling about which was the greater - not with the fate of humans at all. I vote to increase the amount we give to the poor." Voices raised. Passions displayed.... Spiro rose now. His blue-black hair still unmanageable, his eyebrows still giving him that quizzical mocking expression, his lips still full and sensual and, Clovis knew, under that sedate all concealing hymation, a prick ever ready to perform. "Can we accept with calm stoicism the invasion of the Spartans into our land?" he demanded. "Rather than lose a hectare, I would march naked alongside my brothers against these plundering aggressors...." Clovis apprehensively listened as the arguments raged around him. The mist descended. The grove on the hillside above Leuctra was as it had been. Perhaps the sun shone a little lower in the sky, the shadows stretching a little further across the lush green grass. "And now," said the golden-haired god, "you must give your verdict," and he turned to Clovis. Clovis. in his post-coital sadness, remembered the comfort and stability of that future vision he had had. He compared it with the bliss he had just experienced which was exquisite ecstasy but over too soon. He thought of the disharmony that passions aroused. Finally he remembered his future family, the love of his wife and children, the esteem of his fellow citizens - He made his decision. "Harmony, kyrie," he said. Dionysus spoke to Spiro. "And you," he said. Spiro thought of the excitement of passion, the lure of the chase, the gratification of achievement, the uncertainty, the ferment, the fever, the tumult, the tumescence and the explosive orgasmic eruption. "Passion, my lord, always," he said. The two Gods turned to Thersites. "You carry the casting vote," said Apollo. Thersites thought. Spiro's passion, the one he had just experienced in the grove was new to him. He had enjoyed it but was not sure whether he would try it again. But the passion he had lost, there on the rocky outcrop of the Areopagus, that was a passion he could never deny, the urge to do what was right, whatever the consequences, to fight and not to placidly conform to convention just for the sake of a comfortable life. He made his decision. Dionysus' impassioned laughter exploded across the valley. The skies darkened. -- _ _ _ _ _ / | / (_) __| |__ __ __ | | / |/ | |/ _| \/ _\/ _\| | /_/|__/_|_|\__|_/\_|\_,_\__ |_|