Heros Tale Or A Heroic Homeric

Some notes:

1) This may be a "harsher" example of the nonconsent genre than some readers will prefer. Though not intended to be sadistic, it emphasizes themes of dominance and humiliation, and is not committed to everything ultimately working out positively for all the characters.

2) It is also an experiment. My previous attempts at writing historically-themed pieces have been unsatisfactory, so this time I tried using verse, with the intent of reflecting some of the feel of a Greek or Roman epic. This makes it, I suppose, poetry—however, I wrote it as a story, and it's non-consent, so that's how I'm submitting it.

3) Finally, this is (rather obviously in this case) an entirely fictional tale, which is intended for the purposes of erotic entertainment only. All the characters involved in any kind of sexual situation or activity are adults over the age of 18. In real life it is incumbent on all of us to ensure consent in any situation, and to show respect and empathy to those around us—with regard to sex, and in every aspect of life.

Prologue

Of evening, when our home-grown bards do summon muse,

they're apt to sing of Aechus, brave and wise. 'Twas he

(they say) who freed this land from tyrant's thrall. Before

his blessed day, the realm lay squeezed in taloned fist

of ruler pledged to greed and vice. And worse, this king—

by Pethus called—poured scorn upon the Gods! Profaned

his vows; the offerings neglected. Thus, a man

devoid of claim to mortal

or

divine goodwill.

King's choicest gem was daughter, Hero. Graceful swan

of girl, whose pensive air showed weight of father's sins.

Her charms were legend: creamy skin, locks purest gold,

long limbs, frame willowy 'neath gauzy finery,

(yet ample breasts sent shivers, sweet, down spines of men

who passed in street). Her whole implored to be caressed,

fondled, possessed. Such were forbidden thoughts, of course.

To Hero's chastity, Pethus, like hawk, gave watch.

Yet (story goes) once Hero spied, at banquet feast,

a lord, most noble, strong, admired: Aechus 'twas.

Flew Cupid's arrow, and, in merest fleet heartbeat,

pierced Hero's core—then evermore she must be pledged

in love to strapping prince. And Aechus, too, was struck.

Like bug in amber caught: saw naught, save flaxen maid.

If not each other, then they no one else would have—

from now 'til Hades called, and barrow beckoned cold.

With cunning eye, hard Pethus spied the silken cords

that bound, in bliss, the lovers' hearts. Yet basest greed

for snow-pure daughter wracked his mind. In thrall to these

illicit thoughts, he seized her slender arm, and dragged

her from the feasting hall. Thus, locked away, 'hind iron door,

pined Hero for her love. Pale Aechus begged her hand,

with plaintive tear—and bride-price pledged his lands, his gold.

But Pethus sneered, and scorned both wealth and heartfelt plea.

Instead he ordered Aechus killed, and strapping youth

took flight. And so forever sundered might they been,

had lovely Aphrodite in the heavens failed

to hear the pain-wracked sobs ripped out from aching breast

of poor, tormented Hero. Even Godly heart

could not but pity anguished cries like these. And so

Goddess of Love and Lust gave care, showed heav'nly grace

to worldly pain, and hatched a plan to join the pair.

Though wed, sly Aphrodite had a lover—stern-

faced warlord Ares. Hard, unbent, aloof, was he,

yet pliable to charms of yielding Goddess: stone

made clay by lustful bed; in thrall to pleasures found

'tween milky thighs. She bade him go, bring martial strength

to aid young Aechus in his plight. Immortal force,

to mortal vessel lent, might yet see lovers joined—

to writhe not in heartache, but consummated bliss.

Then champions by score took heed to War God's horn,

and flocked to Aechus' side. Invigored body, mind,

and soul with Ares' potent essence; flanked by troop

of blazoned heroes: youth marched up to find the gates

closed virgin-tight—as if to primly frustrate his

hot-blooded quest. On wall stood haughty Pethus. Chill

his gaze rained down on shining helms and sharp tipped spears.

All deaf to earnest pleas that still there might be peace.

Poor, Aechus could find no release, while quest's fair aim—

unsullied pearl—dear Hero still remained enclammed

in ramparts tall, and mocking metal gates. Once more,

in pity, Aphrodite called upon her wiles

to intercede. By night, in ears of castle guards,

she whispered honey words: "Why die defending king

so venal? And who holds his daughter just a bit…

too

close? Drop swords! Part doors! Let better man prevail!"

With this aid, Aechus took the citadel in blood-

less coup. Unguarded Pethus lay abed. At sight

of bronze-plate victor, king endured such shock, that 'reft

of sense and all unmanned was left, and reason knew

no more…. At dawn, the peal of temple bell roused out

the folk. On dais high, reared Aechus, tall and grand.

And nigh him tottered Pethus—stooped, shrift-clad. 'Twas plain

the elder was unfit, so younger they hailed king!

But what was this? Poor Hero's heart was torn in twain

with grief. Love's goal at last seemed in her grasp, yet gray-

maned father's sense was lost, and virile posture sagged.

Could maid live glad, when patriarch had paid the price

(in mind and form) to buy those carefree days? Yes, true,

his cruel and jealous ways had cut. But, from his tree

she still had sprung; and so it seemed her wedding bed

would lie atop the tomb of elder—live, yet dead.

In blink of Aechus' gleaming eye, the girl took heel

to flee this hopeless fate. She knew she must atone

for unintended sin. She must forsake her love—

else cursed he'd be, by bitter bile churning 'neath

her ivory skin. Some say to distant shrine she pledged

her life; some say she dashed it on the rocks. But in

our land (so tale does tell) sweet Hero's face no more

was seen. Crushed, Aechus cried a salty sea of tears.

Though tragic-struck, young gallant lived to reign, both wise

and well. Absented Hero oft possessed his thoughts,

but royal duty beckoned. So, in time, resigned

to need, he amiable princess wed. And, soon

thereafter, heir produced (thus siring clan that since

has ruled our land). They sing that Aechus at his end,

abed, with hoary head, approaching final rest,

once more his true love spied—called "Hero," soft, then died.

I

Alas, all lies. The history that victors penned.

A fine, bewitching tale; yet, far from facts as goose

from Zeus: mere useful fiction for dynastic claims

to justify. My grandsire stood witness then—

a middling scribe of Pethus' house, trusted with all

(as commoner who knows his place will be). And ere

he died, he told me plain—intent that ugly truth

might still live on, once ugly mortals 'tombed have been.

A wicked man? Sure Pethus was… in usual

fashion of royal kind. A banal tyrant, vain,

too fond of luxurious food and dress, too blind

to people's want and sacrifice. Like hundreds of

his sort, in short: no better, nor much worse. He seized

the throne in vigorous days, enriched himself, grew fat,

then gray. As candle dimmed, to soon wink out, his one

regret was this: he'd sired no heir—just Hero maid.

Her beauty, well, at least that much the tales got true.

Vivacious lass, quick-hazel eyed, her dainty chin

all framed by lustrous saffron curls. Her bulging teats

near spilled from robes so "carelessly" secured. From time

to time she'd stiffen up a blue-balled lad (my gran

among)—requite their kisses, lively tongued, and match

them grope for grope. Yet stiffed them in the end: she kenned

her virgin worth, and kept her thighs clamped tightly shut.

True also, Pethus was well-prone to blasphemy.

Of respect for self, for worldly sense, abundant had;

but deference to those he could not see or hear,

he just could not abide. And so, the altar sites

let overgrow. The fat spring lamb he 'sacrificed'

to satiate himself; while vestal virgins bread-

less left, and forced thereby to whore themselves. This fault,

mayhap, did seal his doom, and wretched Hero's too.

Approaching chill of winter years made Pethus think

to Hero's fate—what would become of buttery lass

when final breath the king did take? She long had been

of woman's age, but thoughts to troth her ne'er before

had crossed his mind. Yet, choice aristocratic suit—

a man with drive (and wealth)—he thought, could supplement

his coffers now, then shepherd Hero when time came.

The call went out for well-born lads to ply their court.

These landed lords were fractious louts, their lush pursuits

and battles all mere monuments to ego, paid

at cost of lesser-born. One, Aechus, was of these—

a mediocrity of mediocrities—

but just a shade more cruel his palette was; and bare

ambition, wed with craft, shone brighter in his face,

than those of peers. Then, too, the ladies found him fair:

his strapping frame, sleek jet-black hair, and piercing stare.

To greet the crowd of noble beaus, and honor pay

to someday bride, King Pethus hired a marble sculpt.

Of flawless Aphrodite wrought would be—'cept mien

all of dear Hero to be formed. Some muttered that

this sacrilege would call down wrath of slighted Gods.

Yet lightning did not strike when lords convened, and smooth

stone form (immodestly unclothed, with every curve

of Hero-Aphrodite flesh exposed) unveiled.

And then the haggling did commence—not open, true,

yet plain enough. At dinner table, hunting ride,

king made full clear that Hero's charms would not come cheap.

Though beauty he did not discount, weren't really that

he tendered them, but rather key to future throne!

(…once last he passed this world of ours.) But, in his turn,

groom's lands and wealth sharp Pethus would appropriate.

He long might live—so ease and safety must insure.

They dickered on; since blue-blood traits and rich estates,

each lord possessed in varied measure. More to point,

not one was keen to trade his swaggering liberty

for untold years of son-ly subjugation. Weeks

stretched by, no end was made, and Aechus' mind began

to probe more base conceits. Why wait on that which might

be taken now? And why pay wealth and court, for lass

who might be seized, like common wench, if rake but dared?

Oh, how did Aechus' brain concoct such vile whim?

Perhaps an erstwhile temple-maid, degraded low

to slutting trade, did poison pour into his ear,

while object of his brothel rutting?. Or (though naught

I know of Gods' affairs), fell Aphrodite may

have birthed the thought, in vengeance for that statue which

did liken her to mortal girl. Or Ares, too,

might have—in rage at seeing lover's likeness stripped.

Once rooted, though, itch grew like canker weed, to fill

his mind. No respite came by day or night. In court-

yard, sun-kissed naked alabaster Hero mocked

his impotence. In bedroom, shade-cloaked, sweat-soaked dreams,

aflame with arrogance and lust, did banish from

his thirsty need the balm of calm repose. At last

crazed lord resolved to act: he'd prick poor Hero's un-

broke maidenhead, then dare the king forbid them wed.

His 'plan' was simple and direct. (That is, the sort

brute beast might form. Though Aechus had the knack for sly

predation, impulse was his beacon star—a man

right quick to act, while slow to foresee consequence

and counter-thrust.) In dark, he'd scale the ivied wall

to maid's boudoir, through window sneak, unwary lass

a-slumb'ring pinion, take his pleasure as he cared…

then all reveal, and claim from Pethus princely due.

II

When night-bell struck, vile Aechus skulked the courtyard stones.

There stood the king's brash female figure. Her flint tits

and mons glowed at the moon's cold touch, and she taunted

him with a saucy leer. This impudence lent wings

to feet, and he resolved to strike. Vines thick as limbs,

antique but sinew-strong, gave rough-skinned purchase for

impatient hands. Thus swift he climbed to lady's pane;

and, peering in, caught breath—look! Hero, all unclad.

Like Artemis, caught by Actaeon a-bathing,

unguarded Hero had this moment chosen to

remove her daytime garb—and then (ere night-dress could

take up), perceived the glinting eye pressed rapt against

her window glass. A startled hare she seemed—bereft

of cover, suddenly revealed to hunter's stare.

Her eyes grew wide, her muscles tensed as if to flee…

but there she froze, in helpless thrall to unkind fright.

Involuntary tide of shame rose in her chest

and face, suffusing snowy skin with pink-tinged glow.

Her breasts faced him direct, the cool-touched nipples hard—

returning like an arrow shot his greedy gaze.

And at her crotch, this flesh-made figurine did not

smooth curve, but honey curls display. He quivered to

conceive how prick would pulse, when plunged into her nest.

If merely he could gain the room, the lovely prey was his.

Yet, grey-lock king was no damn fool, nor Hero too

(though flighty might appear)—the casement was latched up.

Impatient, Aechus strained, and soon forced it ajar.

Too late! The spell was broke. As shock subsided, girl

revived. She screamed to faithful men, post guard outside

by world-wise father. Brief delayed (to ogle maid);

they grasped her plight and promptly rushed the dangling rogue.

Confounded, panicked, Aechus lost his sweat-palmed grip.

He fell to cobbles, ankles shattered. Shouts! Alarms!

And fast the reprobate was dungeon bound…. Weeks past

(while marriage dealings still dragged on…). He healed—at least

halfwise—and soon, old Pethus must decide his fate.

To court, lame Aechus hobbled (leg bones set atwist)

and knelt to plead. Derisive peals of mirth rang out

midst throne-room throng, to see proud lord's infirmity.

Beet red his face did burn beneath smug gaze of king.

Complacent, Pethus turned to Hero, standing nigh.

"What say you, girl? What should we do with villain who

would violate your sacred chamber? Stealing fruit

(or so he hoped) that was not his to take!" //

// She seemed

composed, but Aechus thought he still might bully her:

"Weak woman's surely mortified by our lewd tête-

à-tête. I'll overawe her with a knowing stare,

as if to say: in my mind's eye, you're always bare."

She matched his gaze; then flashed her teeth in mocking, brass-

balled smile. Mayhap she read his thoughts; at any rate,

she quick put paid to Aechus' ruse. "Though beauty I've

been called, this halfwit's desperation is just

too

pathetic. Our would-be Paris, next, will grant

to me his Golden Apples! Yet, the oaf is weak:

gimped now, and surely always impotent. What harm

could jester's flaccid phallus ever done to me?"

Her jibes amused both lords and lackeys—long the hall

with scorn redounded, all at Aechus' squarely aimed.

His head drooped low. At last the din died down, and king

again held forth. "Well said, my daughter. Though this worm

sure merits death, philosophers do temperance

advise. Since Gods decreed that he be lamed, just this

I add: let him be exiled from the city, and

aristocratic company no more enjoy!"

To further his indignity, they stripped him head

to foot. (Hung like ox he proved to be, at least

rebutting maiden's barbs.) All stumbles, from his fall-

warped limbs, he shambled barefoot over rocky streets.

The grinning townsfolk pelted him with mud and dung—

and more than once some prankish boy, with well-aimed toss,

did give his dangling testicles a ringing smack.

At length he limped through gate, to lick his wounds in peace.

Were Pethus wise, he'd hung the brute (or least his rich

hillside estates—and maybe balls—removed). As

it was, most of his servants and field-serfs took chance

to flee; whilst few of lordly class would grace the home

of such pariah, even under cloak of night.

Still, some retainers and hard warriors did keep

their vows to Aechus. With their help he could at least

protect and tend his vineyards, and lush olive groves.

That might have been the story's end, had Pethus not

mis-stepped. From exile Aechus heard of king's decree:

fair Hero was to merchant trothed! Phoenician-born,

no noble blood, he'd come to city years before

to earn his fortune. Canny man, who filled his vaults

with piles of gold. And so he'd made rapacious king

a kingly offer for her hand. "He's not ideal,"

mused Pethus. "Still, one must concede the price is right."

The highborn lads were scandalized at being swept

aside: "Such trading vagabonds, sure, have their use;

but sharing royal bed, and claiming future throne?

This man has far exceeded rightful place!…" Their snob-

soaked grievances uplifted Aechus' bitter heart;

for in his ears they sounded melody of sweet

and pregnant vengeance. Many, now, would meet with him—

and deft he'd snare the disaffected to his schemes.

III

He preached to this unholy choir that Pethus' day

had run its course. King's blasphemies had long been cause

for discontent (not least amongst the rich, who would

most lose should city face divine chastisement). Add

to this: frustration at usurp-ment of their pride

of rank, and threat to elevate a foreigner

to rule. 'Twas clear (he urged)—if custom they would see

restored, then tin-pot despot must be cast from throne.

His message sounded well enough, but in the room

one elephant still loomed, to wit: which lord did think

to fill that vacant chair? Took no rare cleverness

to grasp that Aechus saw himself perched there. Yet, quick

to sense peers' restlessness, he hastily proposed

alternative. "Was time," he said, "when ancestors

of ours did rule with august parliament. So why

should we not, too, a noble council constitute?"

Like spreading plague, his venom tongue soon wormed its way

in many a patrician's ear. Not all, of course,

would pay him heed—already, ere dishonoring

and injuring himself, he'd reputation earned

for sly and selfish rake. But most of Hero's cold-

spurned suitors (kin as well) did flock to his cabal.

Resolved to strike while iron's hot, he mustered them

in dead of night, to march upon the citadel.

Attending to detail was never Aechus' strong-

suit. Word of his impending coup leaked out, and king

well knew that he drew nigh. Yet, Pethus faced his own

dilemmas, for his greed had sapped authority.

Of those who hadn't joined the rebels, precious few

stayed fast in loyalty—most preferred to wait

and see. Too weak to fight in open field, king bade

the city gates be locked against the coming gale.

First meet of the insurgents' oligarchy thus

convened outside the walls, to argue over what

to do. Harsh words were aimed at Aechus and his plans.

What lapse had aided king to know? And what now could

be done? Nonplussed himself, the miscreant just hedged

and played for time. No doubt, a short and painless siege

(he said) would be enough to show both fence-sitters

and common mob that Pethus was a losing cause.

But weeks rolled on, then months, and city granaries

did not run bare. Perforce encamped outside the gates

and rendered passive, Aechus and his motley crew

did stew in sense of impotence. Like snotty brats

they felt—loud-wailing of supposed wrongs; too limp

to rise to the occasion. And, as quick as star

of theirs eclipsed, so portents for the king must rise.

Teeth-gnashing Aechus knew that crisis was at hand.

Indeed, that eve he heard the word: his allies did

in secret meet, and pledged that if the city was