kalos k'agathos

Olympic fic ch. 6/ Artemis' protégé

2004-09-29T11:57:22Z

Ah! At last! ;)
Betaed by desert_rifka; whom I thank a lot.

They would leave the camp at dawn, when the first sunlight illuminated the distant top of the Kronion Mountain. Krysandros had a reputation among his Spartan fellows, none of them would’ve dared ask him where he was going and Thoas, well, he’d become somewhat transparent and invisible, looked upon by the Athenian team as the one who’d triggered Aristodemos’ moment of madness.

Probably Autolycos noticed but kept silent; he owed Krysandros for unsettling Aristodemos in the gym earlier and he had nothing to gain in the process.

Every morning Krysandros and Thoas ran stride by stride, their shoulders and elbows touching when the paths narrowed, Thoas’ slim body brushing against the Spartan’s muscled bulk as he stepped aside to avoid a low branch, each of them taking the lead by turns, setting the pace; exhilarated and confident, half-drunk with the pleasure of running.

That very morning, barely a week before leaving Elis for Olympia they reached the same crossroads as usual, hesitating, panting a little.

“Let’s turn right, this time,” Thoas said and Krysandros followed. They sped up, Krysandros taking the lead, accelerating until they were both running at full speed, blood pounding in their ears, breaths loud and fast.

They had to stop, breathless, hearts racing when the path ended abruptly in a field where two young shepherds were looking at them with mild surprise.

“I can hear a waterfall,” Thoas said.

They walked down a slope covered with summer flowers and reached a grove of olive trees; a little further was the pool, circled with flat stones and flooded by a strong cascade, flakes of foam dancing all over the water.

With a cry of joy, Thoas took off his chiton and dived into the cool stream as Krysandros looked around… Ruined stairs climbing the little hill in front of him; crumbled low walls and wooden pillars lying among the grass. He saw a broken statue near the water. The place had been a temple. A sacred place, and he felt a shiver run through him.

He sat down, watching Thoas swim.

He’d been here before; he recognized the place. He’d been here in a dream. Yes. He remembered it now.

Krysandros was a teenager the first time he had the dream, a boy of twelve lying on the damp grass in the middle of nowhere during a storm, Zeus unleashing his anger all around the skinny naked boy lying on the floor, clutching his knife. When the lightning burnt down a tree nearby he ran away from the safe shelter of the woods into a naked field where he felt utterly vulnerable; starving and weary. He’d been looking for something to eat all day long in vain and now he wasn’t sure he would survive, let alone pass the test. If he didn’t succeed he would never dare go back to the city and face his father’s cold gaze.

Better die than fail, that’s what Pythoclès used to tell his son.

At that point he dozed off and that’s when it happened. He was in a place like this one, a transparent pool, lying on a warm stone; a woman’s long fingers brushing against his hollowed cheeks, smiling. No, not a woman, Krysandros knew that immediately, she was too beautiful for a mere mortal, her hair like golden silk, her skin like the petals of a rose, her body flexible and hard; perfect; and on the grass near her lay a bow.

Artemis.

She said in a whisper, “Hunter,” and vanished. Krysandros woke up with a start in the grey dawn, rain pouring over him but in his nostrils the divine scent of the goddess...

Standing up he saw two peasants walking on the path nearby; hidden, lying in wait, he stood absolutely still until the men was near enough and pounced; killed the first one and caught the second one as he was running away, terrified, slaughtered him too, stole their cloaks. He searched the basket they were carrying for food and ate ravenously, crouched on the damp floor; the first meal he'd had in 4 days. Then he ran back to the woods to sleep, wrapped into the stolen cloaks until his chief called him and the other boys back and the hunt ended.

Back in the city his friends and his lover Cleotas gave him his new name. Krysandros the Hunter was born.

Four years later the dream helped him go through the lashing on Artemis’ altar, the initiatory ordeal that made him a man; and before the battles, breathing the strength and confidence he needed into him. Since then he’d dedicated his life to the goddess.

And now here he was, thinking he’d found the place; without a doubt the goddess had led him there.

Thoas’ voice jolted him out of his dream.

“Join me!”

And Krysandros did; swam to the other side where the water was clear and lukewarm and stood in front of Thoas.

He’d be careful and slow; he didn’t want to frighten his prey.

With cautious fingers he pushed a wet strand off Thoas’ face; took one more step, bells ringing in his ears, sun blinding him, until he was close enough to feel the wet warm skin against his own.

/ Don’t push it. /

Krysandros waited, Thoas’ eyes roaming over him, droplets running down the tanned scarred skin, catching in the chest hair and lower down in the dark nest above his thighs; blushing and averting his eyes like a virgin.

“You look like the statues in the temples,” he said, his voice trembling and low.

An agreement; Krysandros wouldn’t be pushed away like Aristodemos had been; he rested his hands on Thoas’ hips, his fingers covering the scars he’d seen there already and Thoas started, surprised, then raised his eyes and looked at him with a solemn expression.

“You were wounded,” Krysandros said.
“I was fighting the enemies of Athens. But there are other wounds, more painful. The wounds to the heart.”

Krysandros smiled.

“They don’t shy away from Eros’ darts, those who’ve been touched by the cold breath of death, for they know the brevity of life.”

Thoas knew the poem; but he couldn’t remember the name of the poet…An old Spartan one, probably from the time when Sparta still cared about poetry, so long ago.

“But who would want to be wounded once again,” he asked with a deprecating smile.
“I want to,” Krysandros said, “wound me!”

Thoas sighed and rested his forehead against the Spartan’s shoulder, strong arms locked around his body holding him up.

“I’m not a boy anymore.”
“I noticed.”
“What does that make us?”
“Lucky.”

They stood like that for a while looking at each other, wondering at how totally unalike they were and how strange it was that something was born between them. Then Krysandros touched the Athenian’s face with his fingers and pulled him closer, buried his face into the crook of his neck, biting softly, feeling the wet strands against his cheeks, Thoas’ heart beating fast against his own. He began moving, grinding his hips against Thoas’ hips in a slow sensuous motion, rubbing their hard cocks together and Thoas responded, moaning against his cheek, shivering, then moving faster, harder, fingers bruising the flesh, Krysandros’ hot mouth searching Thoas’ hot mouth to rest against, moan into and Thoas locked his legs behind Krysandros’ back to increase the pressure and the feeling and threw his head back when he came, howling like a wolf; letting go of all Melas’ lessons, how sex tainted love, how only chastity sanctified it. He felt more sanctified and more in love now than he’d ever been; suddenly Melas appeared for what he’d been, a brother, a teacher, a guardian, a close friend. Not a lover.

Krysandros was a lover; he carried Thoas in his arms and laid him on a warm stone, lying beside him, an arm under Thoas’ neck, stroking the sleepy body with his fingers.

They dozed off but a rustling of silk woke Krysandros up. Raising his head he saw two eerie seated on the crumbled stairs at the other side of the pool, watching them. Their ivory bodies, shiny golden hair, their draped silky dresses, the haze around them, their inhuman beauty… Goddesses. One of them was Artemis; she’d lain down her bow and tilted her head to look at him, pensive; the other one was smiling, more beautiful than any statue, more beautiful than anyone or anything Krysandros had ever seen and the very thin cloth of her dress didn’t hide a single detail of her stunning beauty; under the man’s scrutiny she blushed a little, then smiled again and whispered something in her companion’s ear.

“He’s beautiful; he’s a lover, not a hunter,” Aphrodite said and Artemis shook her head, looking annoyed.
“He’s a hunter,” she said.

Krysandros wanted to tell them that he could be both, that he belonged to them both heart and soul, but sleep was drowning him again; he closed his eyes, pulling Thoas’ slender body closer, throwing a leg and an arm over him, pushing the golden locks back and resting his lips against the smooth skin.

When Krysandros woke up again someone had left a basket of figs and almonds near them; he looked around but they were alone, Thoas sleeping beside him. He smiled and closed his eyes again.

Olympic fic (5): Protect me from my friends...

2004-09-01T13:52:59Z

“.... Whatever the man did, though, he must not touch the boy without the boy’s invitation or approval or, at the least, his acquiescence. Touching made the man liable to hubris, arrogant disregard of the law that led a person to mistreat another for his own satisfaction or to increase his status among his peers and betters” http://www.truthtree.com/pederasty.shtml

*************************

“Look, Thelekles; here comes our most dangerous adversary,” Autolycos said, whispering into his brother’s ear, “Aristodemos of Athens.”

Thelekles raised his blond head to look at the big strong man with the marked face walking past them from the massage room, his powerful body oiled and perfumed, wrapped in a loose himation, looking around with confident arrogance.

“But I can beat him, uh?” Thelekles asked with his candid smile.

Autolycos gave his brother a reassuring grin.

“Of course, little brother; if you do exactly as you’re told you will.”

Yet, as strong as he was Thelekles would need some divine or human help, Autolycos thought; after four Olympic titles the Athenian boxer was now known among the athletes as “the invincible” and when Autolycos had accompanied his brother to the Panhellenic games 6 months ago he’d seen the magnificent statue Athens had erected for her hero just in front of the palestra.

He watched Aristodemos’ royal stride, noticed the bulging muscles, the massive legs and arms, the broad chest. Krysandros had been watching too; their eyes met for a second and the Spartan gave him one of those secret smiles that seemed to say, “I know exactly what you’re thinking”, making the Cretan feel uncomfortably transparent.

Without a look for any of his future opponents, Aristodemos walked out, satisfied with the world, his training and himself. After winning this title he would retire; he was thirty-eight and he wanted to leave the game at the height of his fame, stay in the legend as the athlete who’d won five consecutive titles in twenty years of undisputed rule.

Opening a little purse hidden under his mantle Aristodemos pulled out two strange green-blue leaves and stuffed them in his mouth; their juice made him feel strong, invincible and confident; a friend of his brought them back from some dangerous far-off land where Barbarians used them as a tonic; Aristodemos now chewed a few of them every day. After a moment the drug began to work, bringing him the peace and lucidity he needed.

Relaxed, he sat on a bench under the shadow of a sacred olive tree and looked around.

The fading light of the late afternoon bathed the palestra in a soft golden light. The training was over and the place deserted; the athletes had left for the showers or the massage room; some of them were strolling under the colonnades, talking with friends, listening to poets, philosophers, musicians who’d taken the trip to Elis. But on the sandy track Thoas was still carrying on endless sequences of short runs interrupted only by the few seconds it took to come back to the start; sweat rolling down his lean body, his hair shining, his skin ambered with the late afternoon sunshine.

Watching Thoas with more attention Aristodemos noticed how fine he was; young, rich, well educated -and virtuous, Melas had made sure of that. Stupid Melas, carried off by a scarlet fever when he should have been the next Athenian Strategist; pompous boring Melas making everyone feel worthless; Aristodemos had never liked him; at least now Thoas was available.

After a moment Thoas stopped at last, exhausted and leaned forward, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, his blond hair falling all over his face, his body exposed to Aristodemos’ scrutiny and at that sight the boxer felt a rush of desire run through his veins and he rose, aching with the need to touch the offered body.

“Beautiful Thoas, Helios pales beside such beauty,” he said in a voice made raspy with desire, “and such a fast runner!”

Thoas straightened up, looked around and saw Aristodemos standing next to him, a strange smile on his lips, tightening his cloak around his massive bulk.

“Maybe I should check your ankles... Did Hermes lend you his invisible wings?”

He was very close now, brushing the back of his hand against Thoas’ thigh, resting his fingertips against the young man’s penis.

“Thank you for your undeserved praise, Aristodemos, but I don’t think...”

The boxer didn’t let him finish; his big paw grabbed Thoas’ slim hips and pulled him in for a kiss...

“Let go of me, Aristodemos!”

“Come on, don’t be stupid,” Aristodemos said, his blunt hand stroking Thoas’ hips.

Thoas shoved him back harder and Aristodemos groaned in frustration, seized the naked shoulders, , crushing Thoas against his wide breast while the young man struggled to break free...

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand, Aristodemos?”

The voice startled them both; Aristodemos let go of his prey and Thoas took two steps back, massaging his painful shoulder, his face flushed with confusion and shame.

“How dare you?” Aristodemos said, seeing Krysandros standing near him, naked, still wet from the shower, his blue gaze unwavering.

“Is that all you’ve been taught about honor? Taking what you want by force?”

The Athenian hissed with frustration, stiffened, his dark eyes filled with blind anger.

“You Spartan swine don’t you even dare...”

Krysandros clenched his hands into fists, ready for the inevitable fight but then he saw one of the judges come to them, and heard the rumour behind him; Autolycos had witnessed the scene and all the men who’d been busy otherwise were now standing under the colonnade, watching; Aristodemos heard the disapproving whisper, saw Krysandros’ impassive face, hard smile and Thoas, livid, standing there, his shoulder bruised...

“Aristodemos,” the judge said in a loud voice, “I’ll ask you to behave with more moderation and respect for the quietness and the sanctity that reigns over here; this is not the place for seduction, and strength shouldn’t be used to coerce; keep it for the fight.”

And although he didn’t say the word it was clear that it was up to Thoas now to charge the boxer with hubris...

In a last attempt to salvage what was left of his dignity Aristodemos pulled his cloak over his shoulder and left, his head held high.

“You’d better watch your step, Krysandros,” he said, throwing the words with cold rage above his shoulder like poisoned arrows; Krysandros didn’t even bother to answer.

From where he was standing Autolycos gave the Spartan a knowing smile and walked back inside, followed by the other athletes, feeling much more optimistic for his brother’s chances now that he’d been a moment ago.

When Krysandros looked back Thoas was gone, probably too shocked and ashamed to stand any company.

“Ungrateful youth,” Krysandros whispered with a smile before going back inside for his delayed massage and listen to the comments about Aristodemos’ unspeakably low behaviour and his own intervention. .

The next day Thoas was nowhere to be seen; Aristodemos trained alone, silent and contemptuous as usual; ignoring the looks and whispers and even Krysandros’ presence.

After three hours of intensive training the Spartan was ready to walk back to the camp in the dimming light and join his friends when he saw Thoas waiting outside the palestra, dressed in a dark blue chlamys fastened with a gold fibula, his blond hair tied at the nape of his neck with a blue ribbon; Krysandros stopped in front of him and greeted him with a nod.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, running away like a stupid child,” Thoas said, looking straight in the Spartan’s blue eyes “I didn’t even thank you for rescuing me. Accept my apologies, Krysandros.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Is such shameful behaviour common in Athens?”

Thoas opened his mouth to protest and changed his mind.

“It has nothing to do with Athens,” he said in a grim voice, “Aristodemos just lost his mind.”
“You can’t lose something you don’t have. Did he apologize?”
“Not quite; actually I’m afraid he convinced our coach that it was partly my fault. That I was a tease, or something.”

Thoas’ voice was flat and cool but he’d turned redder and his lips were trembling with outraged anger.

“Which I wasn’t. I didn’t do anything that could make him believe...”
“I know; I was there. Will you sue him? Get him banned from the Games?”

Thoas sighed.

“I am but... Aristodemos is... he’s like a demigod for the Athenians. The judges will consider the case with great care and I won’t take the risk to be the one who broke the scandal.”
“Everyone in Elis knows that Aristodemos made a fool of himself; your honour and your virtue are intact.”
“I hope so. I intended to offer a sacrifice to Athena... I’d be glad... Will you join me?”

Uh, uh. Krysandros smiled, caressed his short beard and seemed to think about it.

“Aren’t you afraid of rumours?”
“I reached a point where I don’t care much for rumours,” Thoas said with a bitter snort.
“Well I do. Sounds a little too official to me.”

The blond head lowered.

“I understand.”
“Why don’t we train together tomorrow? We could run in the woods like we did once.”
“Yes; that would be just great.”
“I’ll be waiting for you on the main road just when the sunshine hits the Kronion.”
“I’ll be there.”

Krysandros nodded and smile; Thoas noticed suddenly how narrow his smile was; he wished he’d see a real grin on these lips.

“Nasty bruise,” the Spartan said, pointing out the black and blue mark on Thoas’ shoulder and arm.
“It hampers me when I’m running”
“No surprise.”

They parted without another word, Krysandros walking away with his wide powerful stride.

Later Thoas was listening to a musician in front of Athena’s Temple when Autolycos walked up to him, alone, for once.

“Beware the Spartan, Thoas,” he said in conspiratory voice, “the spider is spinning its web, soon you won’t be able to fly away from it.”

Thoas frowned at him.

“Your mind is sullied, Autolycos; Krysandros has more honour than you and your brother will ever have.”
“Thank you, it’s always a pleasure to meet a young candid Athenian; when it’s too late, though, remember you’ve been warned.”

Late that night the Spartans gathered outside to sing patriotic hymns in an old Doric dialect Thoas barely understood, some Alcman ’s poetry too, Krysandros’ voice clear and loud above the others and Thoas thought he might have been singing for someone. That thought made him feel more lonely than he’d ever been.

Listening to the rough songs he eventually fell asleep, wrapped securely in his blanket.

Gip...

2004-08-30T20:06:54Z

Paestum is an old Greek site near Naples. Temples (Poseidon, Hera, Athena) in a very good state of preservation and among the graves, the grave of the diver (Tuffatore); like a box in the ground and the 4 walls, the ceiling are painted with scenes from the sea (dolphins...) and the picture of a young man diving (probably the diving expressed the transition from life to death... And many paintings about love (male love of course), erastes and eromenes (Spartan used other words, the younger man was called the 'listener' -forgot the other's name, sorry) during a symposium and other paintings. It's the only testimony of Greek painting -and it's wonderful, if you ever go to Italy, go there!

Notice the colors (the blue of the young man's chlamys -he's only using it as a scarf) and imagine that those reds, those blues, were the true colours of the greek monuments -nothing like the white marble we usually picture.

Wallpaper?

2004-08-27T18:40:29Z

Ah! The body!

2004-08-27T11:37:00Z

What spirit is so empty and blind, that it cannot recognize the fact that the foot is more noble than the shoe, and skin more beautiful that the garment with which it is clothed?
Michelangelo

My mother always said that in her youth she was exceedingly in fashion wearing a purple ribbon looped in her hair. But the girl whose hair is yellower than torchlight need wear no colorful ribbons from Sardis-- but a garland of fresh flowers.
Sappho

The Chlamys...

2004-08-24T21:16:33Z

I spent a lot of time googling around to find an acceptable picture of the Chlamys, a short cloak worn by the Athenian Ephebes (from 18 to 20, the period when the young men were learning their job as soldiers and responsible citizens)

I found this picture from 1928; it's a beautiful one and from a historical point of view, it's perfect.

The chlamys could be worn above a chiton; it could be worn alone (it was, often); fastened up on a shoulder it let the young man's hip, thigh and waist naked and visible -reachable, probably?

All the clothes were woven and dyed home (generally in bright colors except in Sparta where only "earth" colors were allowed); embroidered, ornated with braid and never sewn; fastened with fibulas and belts; draped around the body; there's a whole text by Plato explaining that the way a man drapes his cloak, his chlamys or his chiton affects his social status...

Symposium... Is the greek word for this:

2004-08-23T21:19:01Z

500 bc; a painting on a vase; two lovers; a young man (bearded, around 25 probably) and a younger one (hairless body, no beard), probably aroud 17.
It's the ideal pairing... Difficult to imagine that *hair* could play such a part!

But look at the older guy... His eyes full of desire; and where's his right arm? Mmmhhh?

Oh and while I had no Internet connection I made a GIP

Found this on a French site...

2004-08-17T21:31:55Z

- All the Spartans had long hair. Chris with long hair *purring*
- In 479 bc there were 5000 Spartan hoplites; in 380 they were only 700, as a result of the laws that forbade to anyone who wasn't a citizen to become a soldier and of course if you were not born in a family of citizens you had no hope to become one.
- Sparta had no cavalry but the Spartan army was often considered as being an invincible infantry, when Athens had an invicible naval fleet.

Olympic fic (part 4): The meeting

2004-08-16T19:53:51Z

Many thanks to Rifka for the wonderful beta -I couldn't help changing some things after that so the mistakes are still mine.

The meeting

On the fifth night as the full sparkling moon seemed to beckon him outside, Thoas walked out of the camp and followed the narrow path flooded with silvery light winding up the hills across the olive and pine trees. Above his head each constellation was as clear and sharp as a scene drawn on a dark velvet curtain by some divine teacher. The past few days of storms had turned the trees and plants green again, an unusual sight in the middle of July and Thoas was running, his lungs breathing deep, his heart pumping youthful blood throughout his body, his stride powerful and long.

Sometimes the shadows lain over the path under the foliage got deeper but if in the middle of the darkest night the Spartans were able to walk home at night through that dump they called a city without any light, then he could put up with a little darkness.

As the trees thickened, though, obscurity concealing the obstacles on the sandy trail, making the run dangerous, Thoas decided to retrace his steps. He turned on his heels too fast, scratching his flanks against a vicious hawthorn, jumping aside with a growl of pain, stumbling and catching himself on a branch just in time, stones beneath his feet rolling down the abrupt slope into the river below.

He wanted to move on but couldn’t, his hair caught in a relentless grip and for a second, his heart stopped as he fought to free himself, darkness closing around him as a cloud veiled the moon. On his right a bird took wing with a gloomy shriek, branches cracked behind him…

Darkness, realm of the harpies, deadly creatures of the night, monstrous birds crushing their prey in their sharp claws.

But whatever was trapping him, by Athena protector of the City he’d fight it with his bare hands if he had to; and just then the moon slid from behind the cloud and turning his head, throwing it back as much as he could, Thoas saw an old half-dead tree above him, a spiny entanglement of branches holding back his hair.

He felt a moment of shame for the childish fears he’d been entertaining and raised his arms, trying to free himself, trying not to slide down the slope into the gully.

The rough voice behind him rooted Thoas to the spot.

“Wait, don’t move, let me help...”

Sparta’s fearsome dialect… He tried to turn his head but couldn’t; felt a hot breath on the nape of his neck and then nimble fingers working through his hair, freeing it strand by strand until he could move away from the trap and turn to his saviour.

“You shouldn’t run here, the path becomes impassable farther up, too thistly,” the man growled disapprovingly before saying, “My name is Krysandros, son of Pythocles.”

“I’m Thoas, son of Eusthates of Athens.”

Thoas smiled, trying to regain some dignity, wondering how long he’d been watched, blushing at the thought.

“And since when do Spartans care about thistles?”

“We don’t; Athenians do.”

Thoas shook his head like a young horse, his hair flying around his face and snorted.

“Whatever… Thank you.”

Another nod and Krysandros looked around.

“We’d better run back.”

Thoas took a look at the man standing in front of him, noticing the dark hair and the untrimmed beard, the strong nose and the well-defined lips, the broad chest, the long muscled legs. A trained warrior; a performing athlete.

“Are you coming?”

They ran back together at a leisurely pace. Running alone had often been a spiritual experience; running side by side with someone was a long forgotten pleasure; adjusting his stride to another’s stride, their breathings echoing together, their feet hitting the ground with a regular rhythm; their shadows dancing under the moon, everything bathed in a surreal glow until they arrived at the main road above the camp.

There Krysandros stopped and glanced at him.

“Don’t run alone at night,” he said, and left, running down the road.

An order? Thoas flinched and frowned; waited until the man had been swallowed by the darkness before darting towards the tents.

He was about to sink into sleep when the disturbing thought hit him. What was the Spartan doing on that deserted path in the middle of the night? His heart skipped a beat as he turned and tossed. If he’d been followed, then why? Was the man spying on him? Was he a rival? Sleep took him before he’d found a satisfying answer.

In a tent nearby, Krysandros was lying on his bed, his eyes wide open in the darkness.

The sight had been a pleasant one; the slim pale body frozen under the full discus of the moon, silvery strands of hair curled around the branches and the runner’s gracious moves when he’d raised his arms to free himself, the soft darkness of his armpits, slim hips where the light played; droplets of bloods running down his right thigh cut by the thorns. An enemy, easy to kill, he’d thought, imagining his spear tearing the exposed flank open and in the following second his fingers sliding along the soft skin in Eros’ caress. Krysandros could still feel the silky hair around his fingers.

He’d said his name was Thoas. Krysandros would be seeing him again; there was still plenty of time until the Games began.

The Spartan wrapped the blanket tighter around his body, closing his eyes to sleep, perchance to dream.

The following morning Antipatros was pacing the sand of the palestra, feeling more upset than he’d been for years.

Where was Thoas?

For two entire days now the Athenian coach hadn’t seen the boy train or work out with the other athletes; actually he’d barely seen him at all and earlier in the morning the judges in the Gymnasium had asked about him, exchanged knowing looks. If Thoas happened to be banned from the games, the whole Athenian team would be tainted with the scandal and Antipatros could imagine the sarcasms, and the shame, and Eusthates’ anger.

Too gifted, too proud and probably too spoiled for his own good … Antipatros knew Thoas by heart. Restive to any discipline, as stubborn as a mule, like so many young Athenians were, forgetful of the old rules, the old discipline… Of course Antipatros had tried to talk to him and Thoas had listened with the polite respect he owed to his father’s friend, nodded, and done exactly what he wanted; maybe this time the prospect of being sent back to his father like a disobedient child would be enough to awaken his forgotten fighting-spirit.

By the Gods where had the old virtues gone? Sometimes, Antipatros secretly wondered if a year spent living like Spartans wouldn’t have positive effects on the whole Athenian youth –of course he never voiced such an heresy.

Melas, Melas, why did you die so early? You only could make him see sense; without your advice, he’s lost. With this thought Antipatros left the palestra where the others athletes were training, walked along the heated empty streets, looking for his young pupil. He was crossing the agora when he saw him, elegantly wrapped in a blue cloak, leaving the marble colonnade of Athena’s temple.

“Thoas!”

The boy turned his head, looked at him and smiled, waved… And left as quickly as he could, anxious to avoid the predictable lecture.

“Look at the arrogant boy,” Antipatros mumbled, frowning at the boy’s disrespect, “but don’t worry, you have it coming,” he said, talking to himself.

Krysandros arrived at the gym later than usual; from the threshold he saw Autolycos-the-fox standing there, keeping an eye on his brother and walked up to him. Sometimes the Cretan had interesting news; sometimes he would even share them.

“This one will be the most dangerous in the short run,” Autolycos said, showing the runner working out at the farther end of the palestra, focused, sweat running down his body.

Thoas.

“What are you talking about, Autolycos? He’s a boy!”

Autolycos raised an amused eyebrow, waved to his brother who was fighting the punching ball with sheer rage and pulled Krysandros apart.

“He’s nineteen; he stopped being a boy more than a year ago. Was that the reason, Krysandros?”

“The reason for what?”

“The reason for chasing after him like a male Artemis every morning?”

Krysandros didn’t even grace his companion with an answer.

“Very careless from you, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend, Autolycos.”

The Cretan smiled.

“Maybe; but if you got anything going, Krysandros, you’d better be quick; there’s a persistent rumor saying that his attitude might result in banning him from the games; I heard the Athenians talk about it yesterday; looks like our judges aren’t inclined to any indulgence and even his father’s money won’t save him here.”

Krysandros frowned.

“You talk too much, Autolycos; you’d better watch your brother; seems to me he’s having a friendly little chat with a future opponent.”

Autolycos turned on his heels as if he’d been bitten by a snake and walked inside the room; shoving the guy away, scolding his brother who gave him an innocent frightened look. It was always difficult to believe, seeing Thelekles, that he’d already won two titles at boxing and killed 3 of his opponents. Krysandros looked at the brothers with undisguised contempt and walked in. And as he was coating his naked body with oil and splashing sand over it before starting to train, he thought playing with the young Athenian would probably be an interesting recreation; something to take his mind off the stake, allow him to relax a bit.

Later in the afternoon Thoas was in the loutron (1) , a bronze lion head splashing his body with warm water, soothing the strained muscles, washing away what was left on his skin of the oil and sand of the training. The place had been built for the previous Olympiad, small marble tubs where the athletes could stand or sit, and above his head were runners, wrestlers, fighters and horsemen painted in bright colors along the walls; a fire was burning all day long to keep the athletes warm. From next room came the slapping of the masseurs’ hands on freshly oiled skin and the murmur of conversations.

“There will be no second warning,” Antipatros had told him sooner “if you don’t prove your worth and your involvement by training more seriously they’ll kick you out and I don’t think I have to tell you about the disgrace such a decision would bring on your father and yourself.”

He’d promised Antipatros to make amends and follow a well-prepared training plan, spend more time with the other Athenians, some of them he’d known for years and used to consider as friends. It was before that word, like so many others, had lost its meaning, taken away by Melas’ death. He sighed and threw his head back, enjoying the feeling of the water squirting onto his skin like a salutary blessing rain. He was sure though that the way he trained was much better than any of Antipatros’ program, which had probably been inspired by Solon’s old rules; Antipatros was considered a great coach but most of the times he was just an old boring fart.

Rough voices behind him pulled him out of his thoughts, he heard a man say; “look, an Athenian boy; by Ares, don’t they have enough money to feed them?”

“They feed men; this one is not a man, barely a sparrow.”

“Hey child, won’t you scratch my back?”

Thoas was about to turn and face the Spartans, tell them in non ambiguous words what he really thought when another voice rose above the laughs, deep and warm.

“Good afternoon, Thoas of Athens.”

Silence fell suddenly and Thoas saw the Spartans exchange stunned glances as another man stepped out of the shadows, gloriously naked, his skin striped with sweat, oil and sand, his eyes bright.

“How did the training go, today? No unexpected obstacles in your way?”

And Thoas couldn’t help but smile at the subtle joke.

“Everything went fine, Krysandros of Sparta, thank you.”

After that courteous exchange Krysandros seemed to lose interest in Thoas; resuming an interrupted and funny conversation with his friends. Thoas gave him a surreptitious look; the tanned back showed pale scars, probably the marks of the ritual flagellation; another scar, bigger, in the small of his back testified the man was a soldier. A proud Spartan hoplite, Thoas thought, picturing him with the helmet, the cape they used as blankets and the short supple boots, the spear already stained with the blood of the enemies.

He should have felt something else, he realized, than sheer envy for Krysandros’ easiness and charisma; hate or scorn for a potential foe; but before leaving the Spartan gave him a bright smile, his eyes looking bluer than the bluest sea and of course Thoas, despite himself, smiled back.

(1) the loutron was a collective bathroom where the athletes could shower and get rid of the dust and oil he'd coated his body with before training.

what's left of Sparta?

2004-08-15T21:19:03Z

Not much.

Compared to Athens' splendor (even if in 500 bc the acropolis wasn't the one we can admire today; that one was built by Pericles after that the old one had been burnt down by the Persians) Sparta (also named Lacedaimon) looks like a little town of minor importance -which is not the case; Spartan was as powerful as Athens but.. Thucydide said it already;

<< If Lacedaimon were ever laid waste and there remained only the foundations of the temples and the public buildings, those born into a world of the far future would find it difficult to believe that the power of Sparta had deserved its reputation >>

Thucydides 5th century B.C.

Why?

Sparta's not a city in the modern sense of the word; it's the conglomeration of 5 or 6 dorian villages (as were most of the Greek cities in the beginning) under the same authority; with very few magnificent monuments or temples because the city isn't centralized around a political or religious center. Add to this that there were no somptuous residences either because men (and women until their husband reached 30) spent most of their time in collective buildings -barracks, canteens; and because after they were allowed to live with their families the houses were regularly inspected to make sure there was no gold, silver, jewels or any other signs of luxury.

The main buildings were (behind a cut tag because of the pictures)

- the theater -whatever was played here; it was built before the laws of the cities were changed by Lycurgus when Sparta was still interested in arts. Probably patriotic plays. ANd they loved to sing hymns too.

- The Temple of Athena Athena Chalkioikos on the acropolis

- The temple or Artemis Orthia where adolescents went through the initiation; the altar, located outside, can still be seen.

And of course the mount Taygetos...

Maybe there's more to be found but no new excavations or investigations have been made since 1928 adn no restoration work has yet been undertaken on the site. Such a shame.

Found this (sorry, the link is broken; it was on Charles Sturt University site) :(

2004-08-15T19:04:58Z

It was an accepted part of Spartan society that relationships would be forged between the older men and the young Spartans. Relationships between males were not discouraged in ancient Sparta. Quite the reverse. They were encouraged and even celebrated, as was the case in the religious festival, the Hyakinthia.

Xenophon wrote..."I must also say something of the boys as objects of affection, for this likewise has some reference to education.... Lycurgus thought proper, if any man (being himself such as he ought to be) admired the disposition of a youth, and made it his purpose to render him a faultless friend, and to enjoy his company, to bestow praise on the boy; and he regarded this as the most excellent kind of education..."

Further reference to the love lives of the Spartans can be found in Plutarch, Life of Lycurgus, chapter 18, where he writes.... "Whether a boy's standing was good or bad, his lover shared it. There is a story that once, when a boy had let slip a despicable cry in the course of a fight, it was his lover whom the Ephors fined. Sexual relations of this type were so highly valued that respectable women would in fact have love affairs with unmarried girls. Yet there was no rivalry; instead, if individual males found that their affections had the same object, they made this the foundation for mutual friendship, and eagerly pursued their joint efforts to perfect their loved one's character...."

And

At the festival of the goddess Artemis Ortheia, the older boys had to take part in a contest in which they snatched as many cheeses as possible from the steps of the altar to the goddess. To do so it was necessary to run the gauntlet of guards with whips, who were instructed to use them as hard as they could. Some youths died as a result.

and finally...

"In times of battles the officers relaxed the harshest aspects of their discipline and did not stop the men from beautifying their hair and their armour and their clothing, glad to see them like horses prancing and neighing before races. For this reason they took care over their hair from the time when they were youths, especially seeing to it in times of trouble so that it appeared sleek and well-combed, remembering a saying of Lykourgos about the care of hair, that it makes the handsome better-looking and the ugly more frightening. They also had less rigorous exercises, and they allowed the young men a regime in other respects less restricted and supervised, so that for them alone war was a rest from the preparation for war... It was an impressive and frightening sight to see them advancing in time to the flute and leaving no space in the battle line, with no nervousness in their minds, but calmly and cheerful. For men in this frame of mind are unlikely to suffer from fear or excessive excitement, but rather to be steady in their purpose and confident and brave as if their god were there with them. The king, when he marched against the enemy, always had with him someone who had been crowned victor in the Olympic Games"

Maybe we should try this? Mmm?

Greece, 500 bc

2004-08-12T15:33:19Z

A little fun

2004-08-11T19:35:02Z

Gacked from a Greek lesson for middle school (grade 6th to 8th...)

"The Spartans were the warrior culture of the Pelopennesus – the Klingons of Ancient Greece. "
"They avoided anything that would have made their lives easier. Even their food was just barely edible. As one traveler through Sparta noted: “Having tasted their food, I understand why Spartans do not fear death.” That bad, eh?

Spartan soldier - bronze from the Archaïc period 600bc. (he should be carrying a spear. Note the cape; it served as a blanket too and was dyed red so the blood stain wouldn't show. Wow.)

First historical mistake :(

2004-08-11T13:02:32Z

After reading a lot about the athletes' life during the Olympic games I realized I'd made a historical mistake, one that will force me to reconsider some details in the beginning of the story. During the month preceding the opening ceremony of the Games with the sacrifice to Zeus, the athletes didn't live in the area around the stadium, the Altis, but in Elis, the nearest town, organizer of the games, 50 miles further. The athletes lived there for a month, trained there under the scrutinizing eyes of the hellanodices. Did they live in tents? No one seems to know.

So.... I have to change some details. That's the main reason why I didn't post this fic to TS or C5... I want to post something historically true.

About the nudity too... It seems that they really were naked for religious reasons. A doctor wrote that there's a muscle somewhere that keeps the penis and the testicles "rectracted" when the body endures excessive heat, cold or stress (physical effort). Still the question is open.

I intend to ask my husband, ask him to run (he was a runner) naked on the path behind our house, just to make sure. I just have to convince him. ;)

Eros...

2004-08-10T14:32:18Z

is the legend of this icon, the God of Love and by extension, love itself. There are two kinds of loves, two words in greek. The love a child owes to his father, his brothers, his friends is Philia (it's also the Eromene's love for his Eraste, theorically), love without lust or sexual meaning.

This love, the one I'm talking about here is Eros; love *and* desire, love *and* sex. Eros of the man for his wife, for a hetaera (courtesan); of the Eraste for the Eromene... Here the love of Krysandros for Thoas, Thoas' love for Krysandros.

And I was reading Sappho's poems this morning, and one of the most famous among them says...

Here you go again, Eros, limb breaker....

In French "Eros, briseur de membres..."

And although the expression is used figuratively, it sounded oh so accurate here! So here comes Eros who will break your limbs, make you weak and hold you in his power...

3 points...

2004-08-09T18:32:05Z

First one: did they run naked, or not? They're shown naked on the vases, the pictures, in the poems; which led most of the historians to think they competed naked. But... Did anyone try to throw the javelin naked? Run 1500 meters naked? Men? Some other historians consider that it's only an aesthetical custom; the male body *had* to be portraited naked. We can imagine that they trained naked sometimes (what if you fall in a bush of thorns?) but that they wore short "chitons", sleeveless shirts sometimes; that they wore jockstrap, whatever, most of the times. It is believable that they wrestled and fought naked; maybe ran some of the runs naked. But the javelin... *shivers*

Second one: the story takes place during the 70th olympiad (the Greeks counted time in Olympiads), ie in 500 bc. Which means that some buildings in the Altis weren't built yet. No Temple of Zeus, no Chryselephantine statue. No matter, the altar is the only important religious place, it's where the sacrifices took place. No Palestra, at least nothing built with stones, but I'd be very surprised that the Greek, so concerned with the hygiene and the comfort of the body, hadn't planned something in that particular field. At least a gym where the athletes would exercise and a "loutron", a big bathroom, where they got cleaned. But of course the facilities probably were a little more... Spartan! The stadium was there, of course, and the Temple of Hera and the Prythaneum where the judges (the Hellanodices sat and lived) Anyway we can imagine that the Athletes in the middle of July were able to use the paths, fields, around the camp to run, work out, bathe in the river, pools and streams nearby... We have to remember that after a sometimes very long trip (on foot for most of the athletes, some of them had enough money to have their own ship -or their father's one, but those were an exception; the athletes coming from colonies located on the other side of the sea had to sail, but borded merchant ships.) the athletes had to be in Elis (the town near Olympia) and in the Altis (the Olympic area around the stadium) for a whole month before the beginning of the games, long enough to allow the judges who watched the trainings to make sure that they were strong, motivated and good enough to deserve their qualification; they had the right to ban them.

We have to imagine all these athletes living side by side for a whole month with their trainers, friends and families for some of them, maybe; showering together, listening to authors who'd travelled there specially to read their books, to poets, watching plays, dances, offering sacrifices, talking with philosophers -they didn't spend the whole day training, thank God! We're really talking about men living together under the accute eyes of the judges, the priests in a close world.

Third one: what about the Olympic spirit? The Olympic games in Ancient Greece were all about winning. They would've been very surprised by the Baron de Coubertin's "the important thing is not winning but taking part" (I can hear Krysandros. "What the fuck?"). They didn't come to take part, they came to win. Some of them did prefer death to defeat. The winner was beloved by the Gods, by Zeus, he became a hero; honoured by his city; had a statue erected on the Agora sometimes, was fed and dressed for free, invited in every official event; considered as a protector of the city. The Olympic Games were a sacred ceremony; it was all about honour; and for the Greeks there was no honour in being second of third, just shame; only victory mattered. There were cheaters, banned and fined if discovered; there were sophisticated device to prevent false-starts. The athletes, at least until the 4th century were mostly aristocrats and mostly fighters; the carried the reputation of their cities on their shoulders. Tough men engaged in very tough fight (the ancient boxing, the fist fight very often ended with the death of a competitor; so did the horse races). On the other hand the judges would ban athletes who were proved to "fight with hate" or "show the desire to humiliate his opponent". The "Agon", the fighting spirit was not to be tainted with lame feelings.

...And the Spartan Athlete,

2004-08-09T12:30:00Z

Krisandros... Isn't he just perfect?

GIP...

2004-08-08T15:00:55Z

Meet Thoas, from Athens...

When?

2004-08-06T19:17:47Z

I still have to decide *when* this fic is taking place. In the beginning I was thinking a lot about Pericles' period or a little later maybe, after Socrates' death. But Pericles, Socrates... I'm familiar enough with the period but I'm not very interested in writing it. Many people did already, much much better than I ever will. And the 4th century bc makes me somewhat sad; in spite of Athens' intellectual and political achievement and since the splendid city seems to be at the heights of fame it is actually the beginning of the end; and so is it for Sparta. Alexander the Great is not so far; soon Sparta and Athens will both lose what's left of their independancy.

So Ithink I'll locate this fic during the years between 550 and 500 bc. Athens is led (ruled?) by tyrants whose politics lead the way to democracy; Solon's laws have given a legal structure to the city. In Sparta, Lycurgue has defined the new political organization - the time for songs and arts has gone, here comes the time of equality, oligarchy, austerity.

The men (and women) who live there are still "young" if I dare say; meaning that their ideal is fresh and they're utterly convinced that their city must be a model for the whole Greece; they're proud and have plenty of energy. Athens is not yet the imperialist city it will become a little later; Sparta still counts enough "homoioi" (equal citizens) to be able to maintain its rank (lack of citizens ie warriors will be one of the decisive factors in Sparta's fall)... I like those moments in time when everything is still blurry and unfinished; when people have a goal to reach; when they're not yet tainted with decadence and too much power.

So be it... A Spartan named Akmatidas won the Pentathlon at the Olympic games in 500 bc. I'll take it as a good omen.

Fic (part 3) Leaving the city

2004-08-05T22:18:14Z

As usual, many thanks to desert_rifka

Two weeks before…

“Don’t keep company with men whose reputation would taint yours, Thoas, my son; keep that uprightness Melas was so proud of.”

His father walked with him out of the house, a hand resting on his son’s shoulder; they stopped at the door and stood there, Eustathes’s eyes blurry with worried affection.

“I’ll offer sacrifices to Athena; ask her to grant you the victory you deserve.”
“Thank you father. I hope to make our family and Athens proud of me.”

Barely a smile; there were so many things Eustathes wanted to tell him; don’t drink, Thoas, wine doesn’t soothe your pain, it only makes you weak.

“You have to be strong; Melas would’ve expected that from you; honor his memory"

Thoas didn’t answer that, lowered his eyes.

/ Melas, my life is so empty without you, so dark; not only did I lose a lover, I lost my best friend, my guide, the light of my life; the sun I could warm myself up to. /

But he only nodded, and his father nodded back.

“May the Gods be with you, Thoas.”

Outside, the young man’s friends were beginning to show signs of impatience, calling his name, joking; Thoas walked out, gave a last backward glance to his mother, her silhouette barely visible silhouette in the backyard. Earlier they’d said their good-byes sooner, alone in her room.

“Hera sent me a dream last night, Thoas my son; you were resting on the grass in front of the palestra with the other champions, the winner’s crown on your head.”

He felt a shiver run down his spine. She looked so confident... He wanted to be too, for her but such a dream had many possible meanings, all of them ambiguous and dark in Thoas’ brain.

At last he walked down to the harbor where his father’s trireme was waiting, his friends singing along, his younger brother shaking a tambourine while Abydos, his family's old slave, trotted a few feet behind, grumbling, mumbling, as usual, about his arthritis and his fear of the sea.

Thoas spent most of the first day at the prow of the ship; looking at the changing sky, the city slowly fading in the distance; the waves growing higher with the wind, their colour deepening from a light blue to a deep green. He’d always loved sailing, he’d traveled with his father a lot since he'd been a kid, feeling exhilarated by the wildness surrounding him. But this trip was a brand new one.

“Master, you should eat something,” Abydos told him, fighting nausea, and Thoas laughed.

“From what I see, Abydos, I can have yours!”
“It was not my idea to come with you, Master; someone younger would’ve been more helpful.”

Thoas gave his a warm look.

“But I trust you more. Abydos, if I win the games; I’ll ask Father to set you free; you deserve it.”

Abydos smiled in spite of the sickness.

“Thank you Master. Now about the meal…”

********************************************

Krysandros ran his hands down his wife’s flanks one more time and sighed, pulling her close.

“When is the baby due?”
“Two months from now.”
“I’ll be back; I’m sure he will be a strong little Spartan, just like you.”

Arete’s smile was proud and hard, her eyes shining.

“His father will be an Olympic winner; Sparta will honour them both.”
“His mother won the run in the Heraia; I’ll be proud to be his father.”

They hugged, Krysandros resting the palm of his hand for a second against the distended belly where a new life was growing, a new Spartan citizen, a boy. His child; the child of the woman he’d abducted from her ageing husband a year ago and married.

Krysandros wanted Arete’s catlike face, black eyes, dark curly hair, pale skin, to be the last thing he’d see, the memory he’d carry with him, imprinted in his mind. Feeling her, warm and barely yielding against his body, still supple in spite of her late pregnancy, helped to take away the bitterness of his cold and formal, loveless meeting with his father –"Krysandros, if you don’t come back with the winner’s crown you might as well stay away from Sparta and from me," the old man had told him before leaving for the assembly of the ancients without a single word of encouragement.

Like he needed words; like he needed anything from that useless old man he’d admired once, years ago, before he understood who Pythocles really was; a narrow-minded mean old bastard hiding behind his ancestors' outstanding reputation.

Krysandros sighed, let the wave of rage vanish, leaving him weak and shaking.

“Take good care of yourself and the baby,” he said, stepping back while Arete’s friends joined them to bring her back inside.

He met the other athletes in front of Artemis’ temple where they offered a sacrifice to the Goddess before leaving, singing hymns on the way.

*********************************

On the last day, before dawn, as the coast was nothing yet but a threatening black wall in the distance, Thoas walked up to the front deck, wrapped in a dark violet himation embroidered with gold. He made sure the wind was blowing east and opened the funeral urn he was hiding under the cloak, scattering the ashes of the man he’d loved into the sea, as Melas, dying, had asked of him to, his feverish fingers crushing Thoas’ hand, his eyes veiled. Then he threw the cloak overboard as a testimony of his love; it had been a gift, he wouldn’t wear it anymore; he wouldn’t cut his hair either until the end of the games and he’d stay true to the memory of the best among Athenian warriors.

He stood there for a long time, his tears washed away by the wind. He didn’t even feel any shame for crying.

-------------------------------------------

Melas: black, in Greek. Sorry, didn't find any better name for Saïd. At least he's already dead! ;)
Abydos: Bob?
The Heraia: the equivalent of the Olympic games for women (to honor the goddess Hera). The only event was the run and Spartan runners probably ran naked.
I don't think I have to tell you *who* Pythocles is? Fucking Vern!
Himation: a large cloak, often decorated (except in Sparta. Spartan kept their clothes a modest shade of brown)

Democracy and a Gip

2004-08-05T15:33:37Z

A population census made in Athens around 400 bc shows that the social inequalities makes the concept of democracy somewhat... different from ours. The city has

21000 citizens

80 000 women and children

10 000 metics

150 000 slaves

And only the citizens, defined in Solon's Code are allowed tu run the city, be part of that "democracy".
On the other hand, if it's a restricted democracy, ti's maybe a better one than the democracy we usually know because it's a direct one; every citizen is called to vote for every decision. Our democraties are indirect ones, people voting for other people who run the country. What was easy with 10000 citizens is a little tricky with millions of them!

No use to recall that women weren't citizens, I guess.

I forgot to say that women had their own "Olympic Games", in honour of Hera. The only event was a run and it was called the Heraia. Spartan girls generally won.

the icon shows two greek athletes running the Hoplites' run, on the last day of the Olympic games. They had to run for 400 m, naked but carrying a helmet and a shield. This particular even announced the end of the Olympic sacred truce</>

Homosexuality?

2004-08-03T19:04:45Z

In ancient Greece? Of course yes! And nonetheless... We have to forget all we know about what we consider as "homosexuality" in our modern societies. When it comes to ancient Greece, it's something else. And it's why writing a fic where two grown-up men -Chrysandros is probably 25 and Thoas 22- have a love affair is something very complicated. Such a thing wasn't supposed to exist in Ancient Greece -not in Sparta, not in Athens, nowhere. It did of course but men who loved another man had to "hide their love away".

In ancient Greece, the relation is always between a young man and a BOY. By "boy" I mean between 12 and 18. Yes, it's pedophilia, in some way, of course it is, without the evil sense we give to the word today. Because the relationship serves an educational purpose. Fathers didn't educate their sons; mostly because they were warriors, sometimes because they were dead. Women and slave weren't able to raise future citizens, of course, they lacked the qualities to do so. How could a *woman* raise a *man*? You might as well ask a rabbit to raise a tiger! (it's not my opinion, OK? Just the ancient Greeks' one). So the fact was that older guys did. And what better way than love?

In very archaïc times, Young men abducted the boys they'd chosen -because of their social status, because of their "good look", because of what they supposed of their character; and during the time they were together, prepared them to because brave, virtuous citizen. The youth of the boys explains the fact than most of the time sodomy was seen as a "forbidden act", especially in Athens, where it was forbiddent too to sleep "under the same cloak", even in "modern" and "classical" period.

Very restrictive, isn't it?

The tradition was that the older (the eraste, the lover) one gave the younger one (the eromenos) a symbolic gift, something that had an erotic connotation -a rooster, an apple, a hare; in Crete it was an ox that was later sacrificed to the Gods. He had to choose a boy whose social condition matched his own, he had to choose a boy whose nature would honour him. The love wasn't equally shared. The older one felt sexual desire and love (eros) but the younger one wasn't supposed to feel anything else than respect and admiration (philia). Sexual pleasure wasn't required. Tell me about an equal relationship!!!

The relationship stopped when the boy stopped being one and began to have a beard; a moment when the "passive" role in the relationship became shameful. The man in ancient Greece is "active"; it doesn't matter if he has sexual relations with women, slaves, boys, as long as he's the one who tops. Being a bottom is only acceptable for a woman, a slave or a boy. A bearded man who would agree to go on bottoming for another man would disgrace himself, and, much worse than that, bring disgrace on his family.

And I'll add that homosexual relationship was never exclusive of heterosexual relations.

See?

Of course homosexuality the way we know it already existed; we know that. The fact that Solon had to promulgate a law forbidding any adult men to enter a gym or a palestra if not a trainer of an athlete's parent (the sentence was the death penalty. Just to say.)proves that they actually did! We are suer that some men went on loving young or not-so-young already bearded men, even when they were old enough to be their father or grand-father.

Now if Chrysandros and Thoas, who probably are members of the best society in their respective city-state, fell in love with each other; this would've been the same kind of problem as any homosexual affair in a rather hostile environment -like, say the heroes of Brokeback Mountain. Except that no one would've killed them, probably; sexual relations between men weren't tainted with our modern idea of "sin". It was just... not good for the state. Of course, brave warriors who also had a wife and sons... No one would've been too curious about what they were doing together.

It's not just my brain building up theories, of course. I'm actually rereading a book written 20 years ago by a French specialist of ancient Greece, one of the most respected in his area. It's called "Initiatory homosexuality in ancient Europe" (Homosexualité initiatique en Europe Antique) by Bernard Sergent; and you'll find the same thesis (the generally admitted one) in the article about homosexuality in the "Encyclopedia Universalis". Now if you want visual proofs, take a look at the scenes painted on greek black and red vases (see icon). You can also read any poetry written by Alcman the Spartan or Anacreon.

Jesus; that was one long boring post!!!

Sorry for the inconvenience!

2004-08-03T08:44:45Z

Calling Chris "Chrisanthos", which means "golden flower" seemed a little ... OOC. After taking Isabelle's advice, I decided to change it into "Chrysandros", meaning "Man of gold"
OK? No problem for you? I just have to change the name EVERUWHERE.:

To put you in the (olympic) mood....

2004-08-02T19:25:25Z

defeated wrestler. Poor baby...

Massage....

a bit of socialization....

Errr.... More socialization.

It's about it!

2004-08-02T12:44:51Z

"Chrysanthos kai Thoas oipheidon" It's what Chrys would've written on the wall or on a tree near Sparta, or anywhere in Greece around 1000- 800 bc. Clear allusion to sexual encounter. "Chrysanthos and Thoas fucked"

Thoas aristos einai (chrisanthos) "Thoas is the best -Chrysanthos"... Same general meaning, 400 bc... much more politically correct, Solon's, Socrates's influence shut down any allusion to sexual practices. The ideal of Greek love is based on the Achilleus/Patrocles pattern. Homophily, yes; homosexuality, no.

More later. RL beckons.