Orpheus: A Greek Mythology Gay Retelling (Book 3 of the Mythologay Series), page 1
Book III
Copyright © by B. J. Irons.
Artwork: Adobe Stock – © macrovector, Masterlevsha, Darya.
Cover designed by Spectrum Books.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author of Spectrum Books, except for brief quotations used for promotion or in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are fictitious.
First edition, Spectrum Books, 2022
Discover more LGBTQ+ books at www.spectrum-books.com
Acknowledgments
I remember sitting in Latin class when I was in high school learning about the tragic love story of Orpheus and Eurydice. Never in a million years did I think I would publish my own retelling of the story. Thank you, Ms. Dever, for engaging me in Latin with these amazing and wonderful mythological tales.
Thank you, Matt and Ed, for being my rocks during this writing experience. I have been such a nervous wreck with deciding to expand my horizons as an author and to write my first series instead of my traditional stand-alone novels. You’ve helped me so much along the way.
Have to give a big shout out to my friend Cate and my amazing Instagram family and friends. Your support and affirmations mean the world to me!
Thank you to Spectrum Books and its affiliated team members. It was a pleasure to work with each and every single one of you. I look forward to working with you all on future projects as well.
And thank you to my mother Gina, brother Jimmy, and the rest of my family and friends for your love and support.
Most importantly, thank you to the LGBTQIA+ community. I will continue to support my community and give us more fun reads in the near future!
About the author
B.J. Irons is a college professor and works in the field of education. Many of his personal experiences as a gay man have contributed to his books.
Being a part of the LGBTQIA+ community himself, B.J. hopes to continue to bring more colorful and fun fictional works to his LGBTQIA+ readers.
Other Titles by B.J. Irons
The Greek Mythologay Series
Meduso: Book 1
Arrogance: Book 2
Orpheus: Book 3
Hermes: Book 4
(Coming 2023)
The Bosses of Bane Series
The Onyx King: Book 1
(Coming 2023)
The Jasper Prince: Book 2
(Coming 2023)
Stand-Alones
The Cul-de-Sac
Rippling Waters
Sinfluenced
The Gift That Keeps on Taking
The Fire Island Ice Queen
Second Guess
The Bluff’s Most Wanted
(Coming 2023)
Here the sweet bard his tuneful lyre unstrung,
And ceas'd the heavenly music of his tongue;
But, with the sound entranc'd, the listening ear
Still thought him singing, and still seem'd to hear.
-Apollonius of Rhodes, Argonautica
Orpheus had abstained from the love of women, either because things ended badly for him, or because he had sworn to do so. Yet, many felt a desire to be joined with the musician, and many grieved at rejection. Indeed, he was the first of the Thracian people to transfer his affection to men.
-Ovid, Metamorphoses
ACT I
Finding Prominence
Chapter 1
“But I don’t want to practice with a sword!” I seethed, kicking my legs into my father’s guardsman’s chest, while beating my fists into the bronze armor covering his back. He had me over his shoulder, carrying me down the narrow corridor of the castle, away from my aunts who were in the drawing room.
“Your father’s orders, my prince,” Balthezius announced, not being afflicted at all by my blows. But how could he be hurt? The man was a brute, able to lift heavy boulders and withstand many wounds in battle. My pounds into him were just feathers against limestone. If it wasn’t for the drumming vibrations that ricocheted off his metal breastplate, creating a pattern of echoing thumps, he probably would have never even noticed me beating into him.
“No! I don’t want to participate. I refuse to!” I shouted. The castle servants passed right by us, not even drawing an eye to my outburst. It was a spectacle they were so used to by now. My father, King Oeagrus, demanded that I devote half of my day to the arts and the other half to training to become a skilled warrior, as he once was.
My time spent painting a portrait of Dionysus draped in a fine white tunic imbibing on red wine, holding an ornate golden goblet was abruptly put to an end by Balthezius, who dragged me away from my acclaimed masterpiece, only to have me suffer through an intolerable session on the training grounds today.
It was completely unfair!
My aunts, all eight of them, and my mother were muses, goddesses of all things art, music, and poetry. As a younger child, they were my inspirations. Their creativity was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Colorful murals and paintings created by them covered nearly every square inch stone wall of the castle. Voices that were melodic, singing hymns of the tales of gods and goddesses and other famous stories throughout our history were sung every hour by my mother and aunts. At the dinner table, each muse would share a few lines from poems they managed to create earlier in the day. Some verses were better than any I’ve seen in scrolls and books I’ve read with my erudite teachers and scholars throughout my education.
Yet, as I came to be the age of twelve now, I envied my mother and her sisters. As women, being gifted in the arts was common. No one judged them for their talents and being fully devoted to their arts. However, a man could not live such a life. At least, that is how it was defined to me by the king and my teachers.
Throughout my childhood, my father found my interest in music and art to be a sort of phase I would overcome as I grew into my adolescence and then manhood. Much to his dismay, I became even more engrossed with these passions as I became older.
The king was not having any of it. No son of his would grow up to be a failure of a warrior, as he bluntly put it. After all, my father was a direct bloodline descendent of Atlas, who carried the world and the sky on his shoulders. Titanic masculinity and strength ebbed and flowed in his veins. So naturally, any son of his was expected to follow in his and his male ancestors’ footsteps.
Unfortunately for him, this son was swayed in a different path. A path that his mother and aunts had significant influence over him on. If only my father could let me be my authentic self, instead of letting society and our bloodline protocols dictate what I ought to be.
Balthezius dropped me into the sand, tossing a steel sword at the ground in front of me. “Now go. Train to be great warrior you are destined to be, young prince. Your kingdom depends on it, after all.”
I wish the sand would just swallow me whole. Let me sink into an abyss and be brought into a world where anyone could be whoever they wanted to be. Where one could pursue their passions and wildest dreams without having to suffer from conformities.
But I knew such a world did not exist for me. I was stuck in this one, and therefore, I needed to abide by its rules until I could somehow find a way to override them and live the life I wanted to choose for myself.
Picking up the sword my father’s guard had tossed me, I rose to my feet, grinding my teeth at him, for forcing me into these next few hours of chaos I never wanted to endure. He revealed a sickly grin at me. “That’s it! That’s the aggression your father’s looking for. But take it out in battle. There’s no better way for a man to release all of his anger and built-up rage than in bloodshed.”
I turned around and walked towards the posts of bagged straw and swung my blade at them, in various maneuvers I’d been taught in the past year. My arm muscles ached with soreness with every additional swing I took. Sweat perspired down my face in a fury.
In my head, I imagined this target was my father and all the other men in his castle who forced me to practice for war. I continued to strike the bags mercilessly until I could barely move my arms. My breaths became long-winded, and I kneeled into the golden sand panting, thinking of this life I never wanted to be born into. A life that was meant for a follower of Ares and not for someone who prayed to Apollo like my mother, aunts, and I did.
A firm pressure was applied to my shoulder. The callous from his hand bore into me, and instantly I knew exactly who it belonged to. Standing up, I spun around to glance up at my father, who intimidatingly hovered over me. “I’ve been told you’ve given Balthezius a hard time again, son.” He spoke sternly, in a way that made me know he was not to be trifled with.
I squeezed the hilt of my sword with all my might, deeply annoyed that my father learned of my disobedience. As much as I wanted to be done with building my battle skills, I also had a dichotomous desire to please the King of Pieria and all of Thrace. Such was the dilemma I’ve struggled with all of my childhood. Pursuing my passion in the arts, which evidently disappointed my father to no end, or commit to a miserable life with a blade forever in my hand.
“Only because I was almost finished with my painting. If he had just given me a few more minutes…” I tried to explain my volatile behavior from earlier, but my father interru
“Orpheus! What have I always taught you, whether it be in battle or when it comes to the arts?” he asked in a vexed tone.
I let out a deep sigh. “Always prepare for what you don’t expect,” I mumbled, agitated that I knew where he was going with this. “Things should never go your way. And if they do, it means you didn’t work as hard for it,” I finished with.
My father closed his eyes and nodded with approval. “Exactly. Whether it be one hour, five minutes, or even a few seconds, your painting will be finished soon. Just because it isn’t done in the time you expected it to be, does not give you the right to lash out and cause a tirade.”
All I could do was bow and agree with him. “Yes, my king. I understand.”
I expected a further reprimand from my father, but instead he threw his hands up in the air. “I’ve tried so hard to make you a warrior, son. I assumed it was what you would want to be as well. Men of our bloodline… we have certain expectations that should be met. But you, you would rather further your practice in the passions of your mother. I’ve tried so hard to make you into the finest and strongest Thracian warrior I know you are capable of being, but you just won’t have it, will you?”
This was a conversation that I longed for my father to have with me years ago, but was relieved to hear him now wish to know about my desires. “I’m not meant to be a warrior, father. I despise it. It’s difficult for me to describe how I’m feeling,” but I would do my best to get my opinion across to him. “My heart races with the songs that I play, with the words that I write in my poetry. It leaps out from my chest with every spot of paint I place on the panels of parchment and linen. But I do not feel its loud vibration when I hold a sword.”
King Oeagrus slowly turned his head away from me. A darkened shadow on his cheek faced me from the reflection of the sun on the opposite side of it. “I know how you feel, Orpheus,” he revealed.
My eyes widened with great alarm. My head darting up at him with wonder. “But how? I thought you…” but he disrupted my thoughts aloud.
“I was once in the same situation as you, my son. At my own gatherings and feasts, I used to sing with the bards. I even played the harp many times in my day. But my skills as a warrior were something that could not be ignored. I had grace in battle, and the fierceness of a lion when I struck my opponents. With the proper guidance, I could triumph in war and become the King of Thrace. The path of war brought me great success in my lifetime. It was a wise decision for me to part ways with the grandeur passions of music,” he confessed.
“But what if going to war is not the best decision for me? What if all of this training for battle is for nothing? What may have been fortuitous for you may not be for me,” I explained.
And then my father smiled. It was a relief to see those bright ivory teeth of his that I rarely saw these days.
“I’m beginning to ask that same question myself. It was a difficult decision for me to choose the sword over my harp, but it was what my heart guided me toward. But you, Orpheus, clearly, your heart is guiding you away from the sword, as you’ve stated.”
My father gripped the edge of his fine angled jaw, stroking his curved chin, deep in contemplation. I could not gather where he was going with his thoughts, but I was more determined than ever to let mine be known. “It is.” I dropped my sword into the sand, the collision causing grains to explode in the air. “My heart is pointing me in a different direction, father. My blood does not rush when I hold a sword or when I am running and punching. But it does when I hold a brush and an instrument. When I create music, poems, colorful pieces, that is when I feel most alive!” I exclaimed, feeling my heart flutter in that very moment, just speaking about my cravings.
The king placed his broad hand over my head, petting my dark brown locks into place like a dog. “Perhaps I have been mistaken, my son. I have longed for you to claim this throne as the deserving and powerful warrior I once was. Our people would respect you all the more for it. But what I did not consider was that I followed my intuition with where I wanted to go with my life. And I feel I am now doing you a disservice by not allowing you the have the same choice. The very same freedom.”
A sheet of water felt like it was glossing over my eyes. Once I blinked, I felt it trickle down the corner of my lids. I lunged forward and hugged my father with all my might, squeezing his lower back with my palms, the side of my head pressed into his wide chest. “Thank you, father! I would love nothing more than to continue to paint, write poems, and play gorgeous melodies.”
“Very well, Orpheus. I will no longer force you to have to practice your skills in battle. You are old enough now to choose whatever it is you want to leisure in,” my father granted me with. He returned the warm embrace by wrapping his enormous arms around my upper back and thin shoulders.
“I promise I will make you and our kingdom proud, my king. I will be the best musician known throughout all of Thrace… throughout all of Hellas, for that matter. Gods and goddesses will know my name for my artistic talents. I swear it!” I proclaimed.
King Oeagrus could not help but chuckle at my determination. “I have no doubt you will do splendid things, my son. After all, you are the prodigy of me and the most gifted of all muses,” he stated. “Your mother will be most pleased with your conviction for the arts. But it was that talent and that conviction that made me fall in love with her. So, I can see the value and draw to it.”
“I will take after her, father. I want to learn everything her and my aunts have to offer me,” I willfully announced, wanting nothing more than for this to actually happen.
“Then it is settled. I will no longer pressure you in having to prepare your sparring skills. Once you are finished with your morning lessons with your teachers, you may spend the remainder of your time however you wish, even if it’s all day with your mother and aunts.”
I separated from my father and bowed to him like the worthy king that he was. “Thank you, father. I could not ask for anything more.”
And so I skipped off and back inside the castle before my father could change his mind. On my way in, I passed Balthezius, who heard the entire exchange between the King and me. I immaturely stuck my tongue out at him. He rolled his eyes with a grin. “Spoiled rotten to the very end,” he uttered.
“But that’s what makes a great king,” I retorted to him. “Getting your way.”
He shrugged. “I suppose it does. But do you want to be a king some day?” Balthezius asked me with skepticism.
I had to think about this for a moment before I shook my head. “No. You’re right. I don’t want to be a king.”
“Then what is it you want to be?” he inquired.
“I’m not entirely sure, but I have so much time to find that out for myself.”
I bathed in my tub before supper, washing the small grains of sand from every crevice of my body. Each speck that disintegrated into the water felt like a burden being lifted from my shoulders. My father’s unannounced meeting with me on the training grounds shocked me, to say the least. Cupping my hands in the sultry water, I lifted and splashed it in my face, as if trying to wake myself up from this dream.
Did my father really just give me the freedom to do as I please?
Would I be fully able to devote all my time to the arts now?
Why would he go against his counsel and grant me this wish?
Did my mother and aunts have an influence over him?
Did this also mean I wouldn’t have to accept the throne and be king?
So many questions raced through my mind like a blazing whirlwind, but I would leave them unanswered for now. Best not to approach the king and agitate him to the point where he changes his mind and retracts his decision to give me my new privileges.
Closing my eyes, I submerged myself in the bath, completely dunking my body in the water one last time, before I rose and got out of it. Retrieving a fine cloth, I dried my warm skin before placing on a white tunic, preparing for dinner. A surprise would await us in the dining hall tonight. A performance by the muses. It would be a rehearsal we would witness before they would sing and dance in front of the Mount Olympian gods and goddesses. It would be their final practice, their last rehearsal, before they took on a more prominent audience.
