Hero's 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