The jewel of Sparta

King Amyclas of Sparta has always known his youngest son would be trouble.

Ever since the fortune-teller who came to his palace on the day of the boy's birth to cast his horoscope, as had been done for all his other children, turned a baleful eye on Amyclas, and announced:

"This boy will be trouble."

Hyacinth, his youngest son, is the most beautiful of all his children -- and also the most contrarian.

At twenty, he's quickly approaching manhood and has yet to accept one of the many suitors that constantly darken Amyclas doorstep.

It makes him worry that there's something wrong with the boy.

He's only able to confide his worries to his wife Diomede in the privacy of their bedroom, in the dead of night.

"What if he only likes women?" he asks Diomede, his head resting on her lap so she might pet his head as if he was a colicky child.

"Don't say nonsense, Hyacinth is a normal boy, he's just shy," Diomede says, her tone reassuring and calm.

Inside she's screaming.

She's going to have to make an offering to Apollo, protector of boys, and pray that it isn't so.

Her daughter Laodamia has recently confided in her, among a shower of tears, that she has no interest in men, and would surely kill herself if her parents forced her to marry.

Diomede's heart ached for her daughter, and she promised to help convince Amyclas do have Laodamia sent to a sanctuary of Artemis to become a priestess, to live out her life among other women.

But there is no such sanctuary she can send her son to, if he prefers women!

Marriage is still a few years away, and in the meantime, he must accept a suitor and be initiated into adult life by him.

Diomede continues to thread her fingers through her husband's long hair, comforting him with her gentle touch.

Yes, tomorrow she'll go down to the temple and make an offering. Surely it can't hurt.

---

Amyclas paces the length of his study while waiting for Hyacinth to arrive.

The matter with the suitors has finally come to a head. His good friend's oldest son, Lapithes, has been trying to court Hyacinth for the past year, lavishing him with gifts and poetry.

Admittedly, Amyclas doubts Lapithes' poetry is anything worthy of remark, but his father is not someone Amyclas can dare to offend. Even as king of Sparta, there are some friendships he must cultivate.

As a renowned general, Lapithes' father commands respect, Lapithes himself would be a fine mentor for Hyacinth, a skilled warrior with many victories under his belt, not to mention a successful trading business.

And he's been slowly burying Hyacinth under a pile of gold for the past year.

Amyclas would be foolish not to push his son to accept his suit.

Wise men say, "A beautiful daughter is a gift from the Gods, but a beautiful son is a bounty without compare."

Amyclas isn't feeling very blessed.

Effectively speaking, a beautiful son is someone you can marry off twice.

In his youth to a respected man who will teach him everything a father can't, and then later to a woman who'll give him children, but more importantly -- to her powerful family.

The second union you can force, but the first the boy must accept. Some romantic nonsense about a meeting of souls and true equals walking alongside each other.

Amyclas chose his own suitor because he was the most attractive among all the men who pursued him.

And later courted his own beloved from among the most beautiful youths of Sparta.

It's not a complicated arrangement.

Nor should it be a reason for shyness and embarrassment. Like all Spartan boys, Hyacinth has had military training from a very young age, grew up in the army barracks training alongside other youths his own age in the agoge.

Amyclas has fond memories of his time in the agoge, and of all the youthful relationships he got into, which seemed as much a matter of life and death as war itself, back then.

He very much doubts that things have changed that much in the years since, that Hyacinth didn't have his own dalliances.

Could the boy really be so shy and reserved? That seems preposterous, Amyclas didn't raise a meek little mouse.

Hyacinth finally arrives, rapping his knuckles against the open door.

"You called, father?"

Hyacinth is as devastatingly beautiful as all his breathless suitors claim in their clumsy poetry.

And no one who takes a look at him would call him meek.

He has a head of coppery ringlets falling down to the middle of his back, oiled and shined in the Spartan style, two braids along his temples meet in the middle of his head, preventing his hair from getting into his face during training and exercise.

His eyes are a deep violet blue, framed by thick curling lashes. His skin is the color of burnished bronze, so smooth and tender it's as if one touch could make water seep from it. His red lips always look freshly kissed and the flush perpetually staining his freckled cheekbones makes it seems as if he has just tumbled out of bed, in sleepy indulgence or in other more amorous pursuits.

He seems unaware of his natural gifts, and is more interested in practicing archery and exploring the fields around his father's palace alone -- to his suitors' extreme frustration.

Amyclas regards his son with a stern expression.

"Lapithes and his father are convinced you are leading on your suitors with the intention of amassing as many gifts as possible without ever making a choice."

Hyacinth leans against the doorway, and draws up an insouciant shoulder. "I never said I was going to entertain suitors to begin with."

Amyclas' hand descends on his desk with a loud thud.

"This is no joking matter, boy. I am King, I must not be seen to disrespect my subjects and our customs." He lifts an accusing finger towards Hyacinth. "As a Prince, you're bound by duty to the people of Sparta as well, even if you aren't my heir."

Hyacinth's expression remains unchanged, even in the face of his father's fury. "I've told the men pursuing me that I'm not interested countless times, and yet they persist, how is that my fault?"

Amyclas runs his hands down his short beard, hiding a groan in his open palms. Sometimes he thinks Hyacinth takes him for a fool on purpose.

"That's because you're not supposed to give in too easily, stupid boy!" he growls. "You're supposed to deny your suitors until one of them proves himself worthy of you! But that is not supposed to go on for years, and involve dozens of men!"

Hyacinth nods, and for a short blissful moment Amyclas thinks he has managed to get through to him. "I've made my choice then," he says. "None of them are worthy."

With those parting words, he turns on his heel and leaves.

"Hyacinth! Hyacinth, come back here, boy! I'm going to make a sacrificial offering out of you if you don't get back here this instant!"

Amyclas doesn't see Hyacinth for the rest of the day.

---

He spends great part of the day fuming in his office, going over the palace's ledgers and pouring over the recent grain shortage to keep his mind off his ungrateful youngest son.

A slave knocks at his door, requesting permission to enter.

Amyclas concedes it with a grunt.

"Your Majesty, the horses have been readied for his Majesty's hunt," the slave says, his blue eyes uncharacteristically raised to meet Amyclas' own.

With all the business with Hyacinth, Amyclas forgot he had scheduled a hunt with his friends today. They should be arriving soon, and badgering him with questions about Hyacinth, no doubt.

Amyclas is about to dismiss the slave when an idea strikes him.

This slave is exceedingly handsome, beautiful even, not much older than Hyacinth himself. If Amyclas isn't mistaken, he's been working in the Palace for almost a year. He thinks the master of the slaves once let it slip that the boy had no memories of his past life, and was sold into slavery because he was unable to offer proof of Spartiate citizenship, Mothake or Periokoi(1) identity.

"What's your name, boy?" Amyclas asks.

"Arion, your Majesty."

Amycles grins. "Arion, I have a very important task for you."