The Song of Patroclus

Chapter 7

WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO ME.

Creds: dantldr

—

The next summer we turned thirteen, me first, and then him. Our bodies became larger than we felt, joints stretching and aching. Although I had to say, he grew gracefully. His hair was longer than when we first met, his jaw more defined, his lips more full.

We were not the only boys that grew. Usually, we heard moans and pants behind closed doors late at night. It was common for a man to take a wife before he even fully grew his beard, how much younger would they take a servant girl? Almost no man came to his marriage bed without having deflowered another girl. Those who did were considered weak, ugly, and usually poor.

Since my father's wife did not live with him, our palace was rich in mistresses and servants. They abided to their duty in the morning, cooking and cleaning. At night, they belonged to visitors, foster boys, advisors, and if they were lucky, the king himself.

These intercourses were not always rape. Sometimes, there had been mutual interest, satisfaction, or even affection. At least, that is what the boys liked to believe.

The tradition seemed unnecessary and even inane. It would have been easy for Patroclus or myself to bed one of the girls. As a prince, I was almost late to bed a girl. I often caught a servant girl eyeing me in the dinner hall, or catching them smile as they refilled my cup of water or restocked the bread. I usually smiled back, but I had never looked at any girl in the palace, and my thought had been to bed her.

I had been returning to my room when my father had stopped me and offered me a girl he has taken to his chamber after dinner. She had seemed uninterested, had given me one glance and decided it would not be worth to look interested or disgusted.

I had shook my head. I am tired tonight, I had said. For the rest of the night, I had not looked at Patroclus' eyes. I felt as though I could not.

—

A certain night, we had stayed in my father's chamber far after the moon was high in the sky. His eyes were practically closed as he was telling the story of Meleager, the warrior who's pride was his doom.

"Meleager was the finest warrior of his day, but also the proudest. He expected the best of everything, and because the people loved him, he received it," He continued. I was just barely paying attention to him, my hands were moving through the air as I always did when I was composing a new song.

"But one day the king of Calydon said, 'Why must we give so much to Meleager? There are other worthy men in Calydon." From the corner of my eye, I saw Patroclus' eyes drift from my fingers to my chest. He told me he had heard a servant girl whispering to friend at dinner;

"Do you think the prince was looking at me, at dinner?"

I was not.

Not intentionally, at least. Perhaps I had met her eyes when she refilled my glass with water, or perhaps when she had collected the dishes. I don't remember staring at any servant.

I did not feel irritation at the girls staring at me during dinner. I did not feel anger. I felt indifference. Other than that, I almost felt sorry. I knew deep in my heart I would never feel anything for them. It was almost sad to see their hopeful eyes. But I could not bring myself to believe I'd ever have relations with them.