The Epic of Diocles

The setting sun cast shades of yellow and orange upon the hills enclosing the Argive plain. The reflected hues colored the limestone buildings scattered throughout plain, making the whole country seem to glow in the dying embers of the day’s sunlight.

Diocles stood on a large hill overlooking the plain. He loved to linger on this hillside in the setting sun as he drove in his family’s bleating sheep, enjoying the last warmth of the day. The sun seemed to lend its glory to his homeland, reminding him of its many blessings. Diocles wasn’t sure when he would get to see this view again.

Diocles had turned eighteen over the past winter. He was now required to join the hoplite army of Argos now that the season was warming up. He would need to train for several weeks before the campaigning season begins. He was to report to the polemarch in Argos tomorrow to begin that training.

A yearling lamb bounded past him, reminding him of his duties. He began to follow his sheep, prompting any stragglers. He drove them towards his family’s homestead at the foot of hill sitting along a road.

This homestead was one of the many blessings. Diocles’ family was among the wealthiest in the polis of Argos, and certainly the wealthiest in the district of Mycene. His homestead reflected is family’s largesse. The main house was spacious, though not ostentatious. The house sat along a road that ran along the base of the hill. This road connected the small village of Mycene, which was a few miles north, to the larger city of Argos, far in the distant to the south.

The homestead was comprised of several buildings, allowing the Diocles’ and his family, well now just he and mother, with all their immediate needs. They owned the sheep that Diocles was shepherding along with a few horses and some oxen. The also owned a few groves of olive trees and several acres of vineyards. The several buildings housed the animals and presses for making wine and olive oil, as well as storehouses for the finished products. His family’s wealth allowed them to own a few slaves and hire skilled craftsmen for other services. These lived in a separate house across the road. The compound included a forge, a kiln, and carpenter’s shop.

Diocles thought about how much he would miss this place and working to provide for he and his mother. Sadly, his father had passed away the previous winter. Diocles, his mother, and the servants had managed to make sure everything had run smoothly for the past year, but they fell short of their expected output. Diocles was worried that his absence and focus on his civic service would lead to more shortfalls over the coming years.

Diocles entered the house through the kitchen door by the gardens, setting down his crook and broadbrimmed hat against the frame. He moved to take a seat at the table, pouring himself a cup of the wine mixed with honey and water that sat in a pitcher.

His mother, Antheia, smiled at him from the stove has he came in. Antheia was still relatively young, in her mid-forties. She often had her light brown hair in a bun on the top of her head to keep in out of the way as she worked. Her peplos flowed around her, but the belt around her waist pulled the fabric will enough to hint at the beautiful curves of her body hidden beneath. She had also come from a wealthy family in the polis that often served as acolytes and priestesses of Hera at the Argive Heraion. Antheia had been selected to serve as the Priestess of Hera when the previous one died when Diocles was only a few years old. While it often required her attention at the temple, because Hera was the Goddess of the household and family, it was never a requirement that she stay in the confines of the temple.

Dicoles knew she was not worried about his forthcoming absences. She had reminded him that they often sent help to the other residents of Mycene; customs of reciprocity would be enough to ensure their neighbors would come to help her in turn.

“Still wandering the hills?” she asked Diocles, as he stared into his thoughts.

He chuckled at her question. “No, mother, just reminiscing…and worrying.”

She stepped away from the stove for a moment to give him a hug and kiss on the cheek. “I have told you; we will be fine! The neighbors will help if necessary. Besides, the council in Argos wouldn’t dare to let the priestess of Hera to fall on hard times.”

“Of course, mother,” he smiled, knowing she would continue to assure him he did.

“Come, dinner is ready, but you need to wash the dust from your hands and face,” she said.

Diocles nodded and stepped out into the yard. He went to the well and pulled a bucket of water. He quickly scrubbed the dust from his arms and splashed a couple of handfuls into face, wiping away the dirt. He dried himself with his chlamys, and returned to the house.

He stepped into the dining room and took his place at a couch. Four couches were arranged in a square around a table. His mother was already reclined on the next couch, leaning towards him, their shared meal sitting on the nearest corner.

Despite it being his last night at home, dinner was a simple occasion, just Diocles and his mother. They had had a larger dinner, inviting the servants and slaves and some neighbors, a few days earlier. This was exactly how Diocles wanted to spend his last night at home. He smiled at his mother and began to eat.

When they had finished, Diocles retired to his room. He knew the next several weeks would be quite exhausting, so he intended to get a good night's sleep to prepare. However, we was unaware that other forces intended to intrude on his slumber.