Date: Wed, 15 Sep 2004 00:40:47 -0700
From: gayauthor@hushmail.com
Subject: Little Alexander - Chapters Four Five and Six

Chapter 4  Sacred Band

Alexander's lover, Hephaestion swept passed the guards into the tent.

"What are you doing!"

"It has to be done."

"Not like this!"

"Yes, like this.  Exactly like this."

"This is a great city, it has stood for hundreds of generations!"

"Alexander will build new cities that will stand forever."

The two men stood facing each other across the tent.

"Alexander!"

Alexander looked like a small boy, suddenly dwarfed by his blood-soaked
armour.

"Hephaestion....  This will not be like it was when we were growing up.
 There will be things I have to do, dreadful things.  This will not be
the worst of them.  I will be hated and feared by many.  Loved by some.
 But you, Hephaestion.. you...."

There was silence between them.

Alexanders eyes were filling with tears.

"Come here Alexandre."  his lover said softly.  He held in his arms the
trembling future of the world.  A fragile god of flesh and bones and
tears.

"They were tough, the Thebans."

"Yes they were, almost too tough.  You know why Hephaestion?"

"Why?"

"The Sacred Band."

"What?"

"I had heard of them, and prayed I would never have to fight them.  150
pairs of lovers they call the Sacred Band.  They fight for love, Hephaestion.
  I saw them in the centre today, holding fast.  They stopped our Phalanx.
 The greatest warriors in the world."

Hepaestion stroked Alexander's hair which was still matted with blood.

"Well, you and I Alexandre, we are our own Sacred Band."  He smiled.

"We need such warriors.  I want a thousand of them."

"Oh and we all know," said Hephaestion, still smiling and kissing him
gently, "that what master Alexander wants, master Alexander gets!"

Chapter 5  The grove at Borboros

Despite the fact that his thighs were sore from the mule, and his feet
were sore from the walking Leo's eyes were bright with excitement.  He
had never been so far from home before, and every bend in the steep road
revealed more of the world.  There were rivers he had never fished or
swam in, more mountains than he believed possible, and from time to time
views that stretched to a distant blue horizon.

"The mule is tired.  We will walk up the hills from now on and keep him
for the downward slopes."  Philotas smiled at his son.  "Not far to go
now."

"The world is so big father!"

Philotas laughed.  "Leo, this is only a tiny corner.  On my campaigns
I marched through all of Greece, from Macedonia to the Peleponnese."

"Has mother ever been here?"

"No, Leo, women are like the earth, they are not wanderers but home-makers.
 She goes to the market in Almopia, but that is as far as she has ever
been."

"How far will I go?"

"I don't know Leo.  Alexander is making all Greece his own, but after
that, perhaps Greeks will go to the ends of the earth."

"How far is that?"

He smiled at his son.

They crested a ridge and stopped.

Below them lake Borboros glittered in the sunlight amidst steeply wooded
slopes.  Below them birds rose up in a flock and swept out over the lake.
 It was a beautiful sight after so many miles of baked earth and stoney
hills.

"Do you want to swim in it?"

Leo's face lit up.

"Go on then, I'll follow with the mule.  Be careful."

With that, his son had disappeared in the dappled light of the forest,
 running and jinxing between the tree-trunks.

The sacred grove was on a small island in the middle of the lake.  Too
far to swim, except for the strongest swimmers, a small ferry-boat made
trips whenever the boatsman calculated he had enough profit.

On the edge of the lake was a small village, really little more than
a collection of inns offering a place to stay for the pilgrims.  There
were food vendors in the street and men selling wine, bread and cheese
under the shade of large poplars that fringed the shore.  As Philotas
made it into town he saw Leonnatus with a gaggle of other young boys
jumping off the end of a jetty into the cold waters of the lake.  He
noted with pride, that Leo was better built than all of the other boys,
 many of whom were just skin and bone.  Leo was fed well.  He had done
well with the farm.  They were doing better than most.

Even to be able to bring his son on this sacred pilgrimage was a sign
of their wealth.  For all his tall tale, Lysimachus had never been to
the sacred grove.  His mother could not afford the time away from the
farm, or the expense.  Instead she had paid a local holy-woman who took
her son out into the woods by their house and performed a simple ritual
for which she had been paid with a basket of figs.

What was more, Philotas had, buried under the floor of their hut, three
gold plates looted from an estate they had overrun in central Greece.
 They were there in case of disaster.  He hoped to be able to pass all
three on to Leo when he died.

Philotas chose the Inn that looked cleanest, stabled the mule out back
for a small fee and was shown a tiny room off a long low corridor.  It
would do.

Outside again he walked down the jetty amidst the scampering boys.  Leo
rushed past slippery and dripping.

"Leo, I'll be...." Leo was off the end of the pier tucked into a ball
"...under that tree..." a plume of water shot skywards amidst shrieks
from the other boys.

He joined a relaxed looking bunch of men under a tree that afforded him
a view of the pier.  He took wine and water that he downed in one swig
and held out his cup for a refill.

"Philotas?!  Is that you?"

He turned.  By the tree-trunk sat a brute of a man who was struggling
to his feet.  "Kraxsus?!"

"Philotas, by all the gods, it's good to see you!"

The two big men embraced in a strong hug.

"Are you here with your son?"

"Yes, and you?"

"My two boys are here."

"Excellent, so both twins did well!"

"Yes the little rascals are monsters now - as tall as I am."

"But not as round!  You got fat!"

"Muscle my little soldier, all muscle!"

"We must all eat together tonight."

"By all means, but not here.  The vendor at the end is far better and
roasts goat on the spit."

Kraxsus had served with Philotas under Philip but whereas Philotas had
returned home after Philip's last campaign at Olynthus, Kraxsus had served
under Alexander.  He had returned home after being pensioned out after
Thrace.

"So what's he like?"

"Alexander?  Well, you want my true opinion?"

"Of course."

"Philip was the man for me.  A hard man for hard times.  A cunning old
fox."

"No argument with that."

"But Alexander has both that hardness and something else."

"He's just a boy."

"Yes but you should see him in battle.  I never saw courage like it in
a commander."

"Well he won't live long then."

Kraxsus laughed.  "The boy will outshine Philip, mark my words.  Men
will follow him."

"Well you got out just in time then!"

They both laughed,

"Listen matey, I have spilt enough blood for my King.  Alexander needs
a new generation for his wars, not old war-horses like us."

Both men looked over to the pier to where their sons were pushing each
other in.  They looked back at each other.  Kraxsus raised his right
hand and Philotas grabbed it with his own and pulled Kraxsus into another
embrace.

"Sir, more wine here if you please."

It was five days before Leo's turn came around.  Only six boys a day
were admitted to the shrine.  In the preceeding days they had to make
the trip across the lake several times to offer sacrifice, mostly of
milk, but on the final day they sacrificed a cockrel that they had bought
from a farmer by the Inn.

The twins posed a headache for the priests who seemed unsure wether they
should be admitted together or apart.  In the end both boys went in together.

Boys are not good at keeping secrets, but try as he might, Leo could
not discover what went on inside the shrine.  Once as they offered sacrifice
he had seen a boy stagger out, naked, and collapse in his father's arms.
 It did not bode well and he joined his prayers to his father's with
increasing intensity.

On the day for his turn Leo felt sick and was not sure he could get out
of bed.

"Come on Leo, we don't want to miss the boat."

Leo wasn't so sure.

But in the end, aware of how much it was costing his father, not least
in the wine bill he was racking up with his old war buddy, Leo washed
and dressed in his chiton and made the trip.  Was it his imagination
or was the usually still lake as choppy as the sea that morning?

His father handed him to the priests, waved goodbye and went off to find
some shade and wait.

Through the trees the priests led him to a low whitewashed wall.  Behind
the wall through a small gate was a tamarind tree and a rough wooden
door that seemed to lead directly into the hillside.

One of the priests, an old man, told him to strip.  Leo had that same
weird feeling he had had on the rock with his friends.  For a boy who
had spent his whole life naked in the hills, he again felt surprisingly
stark naked in front of this priest.

The priest took out from under his robe an old leather drinking pouch.
 He put a boney finger under the boy's chin to tilt his head back and
told him to open his mouth.

The liquid shot down his throat.  It was not wine.  It had a brakkish
taste, unpleasant and sour.  Some sort of herbal conncoction.

Leo had brought with him a jug of milk purchased for a ridiculous price
from the farmer.

The priest snapped his fingers to catch Leo's attention. "You will go
through the door into the temple.  Where you will sit on the floor.
After a while the door in front of you will open.  Inside you will find
the gods.  You will pour milk upon the penis of the gods in offering.
 Do you understand?  Only when each of the gods has been honoured is
your task done.  Only then the door will open and let you back to your
father.  Do you understand?"

Leo nodded.  He felt woozy.

The priest opened the door to the shrine and Leo stepped into the gloom.

The door shut behind him.  It was dark and cool in the anteroom.  There
was a door that led deeper into the mountain but it was closed.  Leo
didn't dare try it to see if it would open. He was going to do as he
was told and sit down.  He didn't feel too good.  It was better when
he was sitting.  In fact, a little snooze might be a good idea.

His head was spinning.  What was in the potion he had drunk?  As he lay
on the floor a strange warmth spread down his body.  When the warmth
reached his penis it got exceptionally hard.  It continued to spread
downwards right to the tips of his toes.  The straw on the floor beneath
him felt itchier somehow.  He sat up.  His skin seemed to be alive.
He stroked his arm and felt something close to pins and needles shoot
along it.  He reached out and touched the rough stone wall.  His fingertips
were shocked.

"Those stones are really stony."  he thought to himself. He touched his
cock which sent him into an immediate frenzy.  "Woah!"  He was super-
sensitive.  Every sense was heightened.  Touch, but also hearing and
sight.  The sunlight through the cracks in the door seemed to dance.
 He sniffed the milk in the jug.  "Wow!  Such milky milk!"  Smell.  Touch.
Taste.  Hearing. Sight.  Every gift from the gods.

The door swung open.

It opened onto a narrow corridor hewn into the rock, lit very dimly by
a brace of candles at the end closest to him.  Along one side of the
corridor was a most extraordinary sight.  At first he thought they were
a line of boys in ascending age.  He peered at the first, little more
than a baby, but standing as if it had just learned to walk.  Leo had
to blink and refocus several times.  The baby was carved from stone.
 The most exquisite work.  Unbelievably lifelike.  Scarily lifelike.
He touched the cheek.  Stone.

The baby had an obscene tiny erection.

He looked along the line.  From baby to toddler to 5 year old to eight
year old to 10 year old to 12 year old, to 14 year old, to the oldest,
 perhaps 16 years old. Eight sculptures in total.   Each immaculately
carved and carved with lifelike erections.  He went to the one his own
age.  Perfect physique.  A cock like his own.  He reached down and fondled
the cold stone.  He looked about him, no one was looking.  He stepped
up onto the plinth and brushed his sensitive cock against the stone cock
of the statue.  It sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine.

He staggered backwards.  He felt drunk.

He picked up the milk and returned to the baby.

"Here you go, little man" he said as he poured the creamy milk over the
baby's cock.

He was smiling now.

"You next little guy."

And so on up the line.  He enjoyed pouring the milk on the one his own
age.  "See - you cum a bit more than me, little stoney-face." he giggled.

It was darker up this end of the line.  He had a little milk left for
the last, and carefully poured it over the twitching cock.

Twitching?

He rubbed his eyes, stepped back and refocussed.

Twitching.

The statue opened its eyes and stepped off the plinth.

Leo's jaw dropped open and he froze.

The statue stepped up to him and grabbed his super-sensitive cock.  Still
holding his cock the statue led him further into the darkness, pushing
him down onto a low stone altar.  Leo was terrified.

The statue wiped some sweat from it's brow, taking with it some of the
whitewash.  It applied some unction from a phial by the altar to its
cock and lifted Leo's legs.

Leo didn't make a sound.  He felt the cold stone altar beneath his back.
 As his knees were lifted up and apart he felt the firm grip of the hands
behind his knees.  His own cock was tingling with a frantic itch.  He
wanted to wank it so badly yet he couldn't move.

His bum was raised and with his thighs forced apart his crack was exposed.
 The cold air in the cave seemed to caress it.

With a start, Leo felt the firm fleshy head of a penis against his sphincter.
He was too young, his arse too tight, there was no way that would fit
in there... His eyes widened in surprise and his toes curled.  He was
clenching, trying to keep it out.

But it went in.

In his heightened state he felt every inch as it pierced into him, sliding,
 forcing deep into his virgin anus.  The god pulled back, almost out.
 It was blessed relief.  But only for an instant as he plunged back in.

He could feel the erect penis inside him almost from tip to base.  Even
the tickle of pubes against his bum.  Testicles slapping against his
buttocks as the god got into a rhythm.

The god was sweating.  Drips from the young god's forehead were falling
on Leo's chest.

The god pushed his knees even further back and seemed to spear the young
boy with passionate intensity.
On the stone altar in the darkness the god fucked the twelve year old.
 Leo was sliding along the altar, slippery with sweat, forcing the god
to haul him forward after ever few humps to fuck deeper.

Leo surrendered utterly to the invading cock.  His hands had been against
the god's heaving chest to put up some resistance to the ferocity, but
now he let them drop and they flopped to either side of the altar.  Covered
in sweat Leo's own cock swelled and swelled masturbated by nothing except
the cool air of the cave, until, his head swimming in darkness, the little
boy cummed in a series of intense spasms and passed out.  The god continued
fucking the sensless boy,as floppy as a rag doll, staring down at the
thin strand of Leo's cum across his chest until, with a loud grunt his
divine teenage seed squirted inside the boy and proclaimed him a man.

When Leo came round on the altar all was still.  The candles flickered
down the corridor illuminating the eight statues.

He was covered in sweat and streaks of whitewash.  His arse was raw.

Leo staggered to his feet.  He had to support himself against the wall.
 He stopped at the statue of the 16 year old and blinked over and over.
 He reached out his hand and when his fingers touched, they touched only
stone.

Chapter 6

After the massacre at Thebes, Alexander sent half of his engineers to
destroy what remained of the buildings and city walls.  The other half
built funeral pyres for the soldiers of his army that had died. The Thebans
were left to rot.

The camp of the army stretched out like a city of its own along the river.


Xeon and the troop of the Phalanx occupied an area of flat land to the
south of Alexander's tent. King Philip had drastically reduced the number
of servants the troops could employ.  In many armies of the day every
Hoplite soldier had their own servant and their own mule.  King Philip
had demanded they share one servant amongst ten men, forcing them to
travel light.  They grumbled about it still.

Xeon's tent, if it could be called that, was a simple structure.  Tree
branches held up a tattered covering of stiched cow-hide.  The frame
also served as a place to dry his clothes, a prop for his spear and a
place to hang small baskets of fruit and eggs.  A string lattice was
stretched between a hastily constructed bed-frame so that he could sleep
off the ground.  When the order came to march, all he took with him was
the hide and the rope lattice. The servant's task was to drive a mule
bearing their spears and heavy shields.

Similar constructons filled the plain, almost as far as the eye could
see.

Xeon shook the dice in his hands.  "Ok, what shall we play for next?"

"The cloak."

Xeon looked at the faces of his friends, flushed with wine.  'Cleitus
the round' was a monster of a man.  A huge barrel chest and long beard,
 a toothless grin and arms like tree-trunks.  In battle, it was Cleitus'
sheild that protected Xeon.

"Six!"

"You lucky prick!"

Syphes was not a member of the Vanguard but a mounted scout.  At first
they had sought him out as a friend, not for his wit or personality,
but because knowing a scout was a massive bonus.  It meant they knew
what the army was doing sometimes before the top commanders.  Syphes
would also come back to them with news of nearby farms overlooked by
the quartermasters which they could raid.  It was known throughtout the
troop that if you wanted a pig or a goat, Xeon was the guy to ask first.
 The down side was that Syphes stunk of horses and came from a part of
Greece where it was unmanly to wash more than once a year.  They made
him sleep downwind.   He also posessed no sense of humour, so became
the butt of many of their jokes and taunts.

"Four."

"Crap!"

Polymedes picked up the dice for his turn.  To look at Xeon and Polymedes
you would have thought that they were brothers.  Tall, muscular, long-
legged and broad-chested.  The anatomy of discus throwers or sprinters.
 Both had the same olive skin and dark complexions.  But whereas Xeon
showed a remarkable sensitivity for a soldier, Polymedes was rash and
violent, particularly when drunk.  He was lethal in battle and stood
to Xeon's left.

He had been unrecognisable when he staggered back into the camp from
the slaughter.  He had been caked in blood from head to toe.  His sword
was blunt and it would take days to re-sharpen.

"Ha!  Seven!"

The final member of the group of friends lay to their left wrapped in
a shroud.  They had placed his sword on his chest and Xeon had sprinkled
the body with desert flowers.

That evening as the sun fell towards the west the four men carried their
friend to the pyre indicated to them by the engineers.

They stood to the north, the south the east and the west.

The plain surrounding Thebes was lit by hundreds of fires, licking and
spitting upwards, embers cracking open in golden shards.  Smoke rising
like incense to the gods.

Xeon's face flickered red and gold.  His eyes again wet with tears.
Thebes had taken a friend from him and a lot else besides.  He felt weary
to his very bones.

As darkness fell the flames died down.  The four friends stood in silent
vigil all night under the circling stars.

When the first fingers of day-break stole once more over the horizon
the four friends spoke his name out loud three times, to attest that
he and his name would not be forgotten.

"Andromenes....  Andromenes....  Andromenes."

Like an echo.  The faint echo of a life.


Hope you liked this part.  You have now met most of the characters of
this story.  Please please please email me to tell me what you think.
gayauthor@hushmail.com.    Also, if this was going to be made into a
movie, who should play the roles?  Do you have a boy in mind for Leo
or one of the others?  Send me a picture of him if you do.