Herotica 2. Kerry Greenwood

      ‘You’re wasting your time, pretty man,’ said Demetrius, sympathetically. ‘She just doesn’t do men. Not ever. There must be some girl who’d have you, look at you, broad shoulders, hair in ringlets...’

      ‘You don’t...’ Phaon tried.

      ‘But never mind. I stay out here to make sure that no one disrupts her songs. They’re having a poetic duel tonight. If you want to sit here, with me, on the top step, you can see into the hall and hear what they’re saying. Would that suit you?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Phaon.

      ‘And you promise not to rush inside and try to embrace her? Because I have this spear, and I’d hate to ruin that beautiful back by sticking holes in it. Not to mention that the Lady of the House can’t abide mess.’

      ‘I’ll be good,’ promised Phaon. ‘I’ll sit here with you and I won’t move.’

      ‘Excellent,’ said Demetrius. They sat down together on the highest step. ‘It’ll be nice to have some company,‘ added the guard.

      ‘Demetrius...’ Phaon began, and the guard hushed him.

      ‘Duel’s starting,’ he said, and Phaon looked into Sappho’s symposium. To his surprise, there were men there. Phaon raised an eyebrow at Demetrius.

      ‘That’s Alcaeus and his young men. He lives next door. They don’t do girls. Perfect match, in my view. Only male company she can stand. Pity he’s such a bad poet. But she... ah, Sappho, she’s a genius. Aphrodite inspires her, breathing poetry into her mouth in a kiss.’

      ‘He’s good looking,’ observed Phaon. Alcaeus was slim and epicene, dressed, as were all his followers, in expensive tunics dyed blue with woad. As the season was early spring, Sappho and all of her women were wearing a delicate green, from Sappho’s tunic, Rhodopis‘ chlamys, revealing her bare thighs and hips, to the wisp of cloth which almost concealed the pubis of the lovely Cleis, Sappho’s lover. Unlike Alcaeus’ boys, who all tended to the willowy, Sappho’s maidens were diverse: Cleis was plump, Sappho herself stocky and small, Rhodopis tall and thin. The only thing that united them, thought Phaon, was the fierce light of intelligence in their eyes.

      They were drinking wine from golden cups and eating black grapes.

      ‘Those Aeolians,’ commented Demetrius, ‘drink like fish. Someone’ll come out soon with my supper. You’re welcome to share it.’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Phaon absently, eyes on the golden light inside. It came from olive oil lamps, but Phaon was prepared to swear that it actually came from poetry. He heard Demetrius chuckle.

      ‘They are divine, aren’t they?’ he asked. ‘And you and me out here in the cold darkness, spying on the Gods. They sleep in all morning, you know, rise for a little meal, then go walking. They stay in the temple of Aphrodite for a while, dedicating the songs of the night before, and you’ve seen them, at dusk, strolling down to the sea-foam, slipping naked as the newborn Aphrodite into the waves.’

      ‘I’ve seen them,’ murmured Phaon.

      ‘Beautiful,’ agreed Demetrius.

      ‘I always watch them,’ replied Phaon.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Demetrius. ‘The boats rock as the sailors pleasure themselves, and that’s all the pleasure they’ll get out of Divine Sappho. Then the ladies come back here, laze around in the fresh water baths, and dine and dance and make more songs. Once every ten days, they have this sort of party. Alcaeus usually visits.’

      ‘Demetrius...’ Phaon began again.

      A well dressed slave girl brought a supper basket and a large jug of diluted wine. She saw Phaon, blushed, and scurried away.

      ‘Oh,’ said Demetrius. ‘Sorry. They’re a bit wary around strange men. We’ll just have to drink out of the same cup.’ He filled it. ‘Rejoice,’ he said, and raised the cup in salute.

      ‘Chiarete!’ answered Phaon, taking it from Demetrius’s warm hand and sipping.. It was good wine, rich and sweet and dark. Demetrius nudged Phaon with an elbow.

      ‘It’s starting,’ he said. In order to see, he shifted closer to Phaon on the marble step, They were sitting shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh when the verse duel began.

      ‘Lord Apollo, good shepherd,’ began Alcaeus in a fine, strong voice, ‘Your sheep beg for release.’

      ‘Queen Aphrodite,’ sang Sappho in return, her voice like Hymettus honey, ‘Don’t let him shear my fleece!’

      There was a laugh, and Alcaeus continued, ‘Lord Archer, fire arrows of love into her bed.’

      ‘Lady Aphrodite, be my strong shield instead!’ squeaked Sappho, pulling one of Alcaeus’ pais in front of her. The young man stumbled and laughed.

      ‘No stronger force, lord, in Aeolis than her love,’ sang Alcaeus, embracing the young man and drawing him away from Sappho.

      ‘Lift me, then, Lady, to Divine realms above,’ sang Sappho, glancing up, as though her Goddess was indeed looking down on her.

      ‘Change,’ suggested Alcaeus, ‘To a theme of your choosing.’

      ‘I will,’ replied Sappho, ‘but only because you’re losing.’

      The company laughed and drank more wine.

      ‘To my Cleis, my honeyed maiden,

      Fairer than the morning, swift as the light,’ sang Sappho.

      ‘To my Larichos, my dancer

      No one more beautiful in my sight,’ capped Alcaeus. Phaon winced.

      ‘I told you he was a terrible poet,’ said Demetrius.

      ‘I tell you, they will remember us in centuries to come

      For the beauty of my Cleis will enchant even time.’

      ‘A flame through my loins as I see him move

      My Larichos, of all men the most prime,’ capped Alcaeus.

      ‘His loins are afire?’ asked Phaon, worried. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

      ‘Have some more wine,’ soothed Demetrius.

      ‘I drape myself with many garlands of flowers

      But Cleis’ skin smells sweeter than roses’ sang Sappho.

      Cleis blushed.

      Alcaeus made the gesture that said he was beaten, and Sappho continued

      ‘So gentle her love, as the breeze from the mountains

      Carrying the scent of bee-grazed blossoms

      Strong magical herbs, that will transform

      Hatred into Love, Death into Life. And I

      Would live thus with you forever, Cleis.’

      They all broke into applause. Cleis kissed Sappho’s hands. The lyre was passed from person to person as they began improvising bawdy songs.

      ‘Well, that’s all there is to see,’ said Demetrius, standing up. ‘Sorry about your disappointed hopes.’

      ‘Demetrius,’ Phaon replied, putting both hands on the guard’s shoulders, ‘You have few faults, most adorable of men, but you never will let anyone finish a sentence. I didn’t come up to this villa in pursuit of Sappho.’

      ‘You didn’t?’ Demetrius was puzzled. ‘Shall I pick up my spear?’

      ‘No,’ said Phaon, taking the guard’s hand and placing it under his tunic. ‘You will find here the only spear we need.’

      ‘You