Imagine, if you will, a street in Athens. Now imagine it in a time long, long ago, but when the city was already old and had behind it a long and storied history. Can you?

This was the era of Socrates the philosopher, of Pindar the poet, and of Euripides the master dramatist. It was the remarkable half century or so before the disastrous war with Sparta; a time when anything seemed possible in every field of human endeavour. Above all, it was a time of tremendous achievements in all the arts.

This city street is located in the Kerameikos district of Athens, the so-called 'Potter's Quarter', some 2,460 years ago. The Kerameikos is a vibrant but less than reputable area, full of contrasts and contradictions; full of wealth and struggle, of vice and crime, of artists, craftspeople and prostitutes. It is the city itself in microcosm, where many things will seem strange but where the people essentially are as people are today.

Now let me draw your attention to three adjoining establishments. Near the mid-point of the cobbled street, on the right, we see the large and luxurious double-story house of Zenobia, one of the wealthiest and most sophisticated of Athens' courtesans. To the left, the smaller but still salubrious house and studio of Polykleitos, Polykleitos of Pheia, the far-renowned sculptor. The third house, nestled tightly in the middle, is the oldest of the three and is, frankly, a rather rambling, shabby and aging affair. This is the house and workshop of two brothers, the vase-painter Aristion and the potter Demophon, the sons of Douris.

It is into this house, under the full mid-summer moon, that we now peek. We find the brothers sitting together on their back porch by lamplight. While Aristion, the elder of the two, carefully paints a decorative border on the rim of a large red terracotta pot, Demophon plays his lyre and sings,

"O lamp, excelling in fortune,

I've seen you and know where you lie.

By her bed each night you listen

To her sighs and illumine her eye,

As Kleia casts from her shoulders

Her brown homespun garment of toil,

Stained red with juice from the vineyards

And black from the river's rich soil.

So intermixed, these are fragrant -

Sweet as holy incense are they,

Bound as they are by her labours

With the dust and sweat of her day.

But each night she is transformed,

O tell me, sweet lamp, it is true!

As old leaves, dry, brown and brittle

Give way to buds supple and new.

So lovely Kleia emerges

From her bath at sunset, I know!

Dear lamp, as her sole companion

Protect her and ease her of woe."

Aristion put down his brush and silently glanced at his brother's downcast eyes. Suddenly, a cricket from somewhere in the garden tentatively broke its silence, prompting Aristion to speak,

"That was beautiful. Bacchilydes?"

"No. I wrote it."

"Oh, I should have guessed. Kleia... can only be our new...neighbour. Zenobia's latest little recruit."

"Was it that obvious?"

"Yes. Even though you made her into a rustic maiden living on the banks of the Nile; she's still a whore from the Piraeus."

Demophon sighed deeply, "You don't understand, you don't feel it. You're as dry and passionless as that clay pot balanced on your knees."

"What is there to understand? What I don't understand is why you're bothering to write this stuff to a whore."

"Try not to call her that... I'm in love with her."

"I'm not surprised. You've had one of Eros' darts sticking out of your backside for weeks now."

"Yes, and it's... barbed."

"How many pots did you throw today? Kakryllion's boys are coming by to pick them up at dawn."

"Relax. I made thirty, including sixteen mixing bowls and ten large cups. I was up at dawn myself. I couldn't sleep thinking about her."

Aristion picked up his brush again and bit his lip. He applied a few strokes of paint to the pot, then abruptly put the brush back down, exasperated.

-"Love. Sure, she'll love you too...for a price and after you, the next man then on down the line."

"She's not going to be a ... working girl forever. I'll marry her and make her respectable."

"Oh, I can see Zenobia letting her go just to marry you! No brother, and besides, this is the Kerameikos; there are no respectable women around here."

Demophon looked up, and his glistening eyes caught the lamplight. After a long silence, he asked,

"Have you fucked her?"

Aristion hesitated, pretending to concentrate on delineating a particularly challenging decorative element.

-"Have you?"

"Sure, I have; she's a whore!"

Demophon sighed again, closed his eyes, and shook his head. "I can't stand hearing that."

"Look, she sent me a note a couple of weeks ago that a client had cancelled his appointment. You were down at the Piraeus supervising the loading of that big Etruscan ship, the Haruspex... and this was before I ever heard any foolish talk of love."

Demophon rose without replying and walked over to a large, dark wooden chest near the far wall. He opened its heavy lid with some difficulty and carefully stowed the lyre away. Returning to where his brother was still painting, he asked.

"Would you like some wine?"

"No."

"Then let's forget it. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

Without looking up, Aristion mumbled, "Goodnight."

But Demophon stood where he was until Aristion glanced at him. Demophon struck up a very theatrical pose and sang,

"Kleia and I are newly acquainted

So pass me a cup, full and fine-painted.

As a poet I will do my duty;

And toast her boundless lust and beauty!"

Aristion laughed, picked up the rag upon which he wiped his hands and threw it at his brother's face,

"That was much better. Now off to bed with you, you rascal!"

He waited until his brother had gone before pausing to let his pigment dry. After a moment, he stared at the trunk. It had belonged to their father, an impractical and ungainly box of oak. He remembered his father, Douris, often telling him to treasure it and that it had been made from one of Zeus' sacred oaks, a tree once struck by holy lightning.

Probably untrue, he thought. His mind then drifted back to that afternoon when Demophon was away supervising the loading of the Haruspex...

Kleia's note had arrived that morning shortly after Demophon had departed for the port. Aristion had given her slave boy his reply, and Kleia had appeared on his doorstep a few minutes later. She was about twenty-five and dressed so that no one could ever have mistaken her for a respectable Athenian woman.

Aristion found himself holding his breath momentarily as he took in her large, dark, doe eyes, eyes that glowed alluringly above subtly rouged cheekbones. Cascades of lustrous dark brown hair tumbled down over her lightly tanned shoulders like the waters of a Thessalian spring in the mountains, then those cascades disappeared far behind her arched back. She wore a sober, one might even say conservative garment, but one spun from the finest Egyptian linen. There was a sheen and a glow to it that almost diverted his attention from her perfect, quince-sized breasts and her slim but shapely hips.

Without saying a word, he gripped her shoulder, pulled her into the house, and rapidly bolted the door. She followed him into the main room, glancing discreetly around her as though she was seeing the place for the first time.

"Strip."

"Where do you want me?"

"Over there on that chair by the chest."

Underneath the fine-spun Egyptian linen was a body to rival that of a sea-nymph. She was broad-shouldered, with subtly defined muscles, and he now noticed that she wore two sizable golden ear pendants in the form of Ionic columns. These glittered amidst her meandering locks as she passed through a sunbeam. When she turned, she was surprised to see him ready and waiting with a sheet of papyrus pinned to a thin board and a sharpened stick of charcoal in his hand.

"Oh, I'm still charging you the standard fee."

"Of course you are. Now shut up and turn your head to the right. I want to see your profile."

Kleia smiled and, with subtle sarcasm, replied, "At once, master."

She held still, listening to the careful, sustained friction of charcoal upon papyrus, and took in some of the room's details. Against the far wall sat a long line of unpainted red-ware pots, amphorae, and cups of diverse forms, all beautifully and precisely potted. These, she knew, were the work of Demophon. She also knew that he secretly resented having to throw pots on the potter's wheel and would have gladly given up the art had economic necessity not demanded it. Still, his skill was obvious and impressive.

Above the procession of pottery, the wall was covered with drawings in black outline against the warm, creamy plaster. Some of these were coloured and most depicted figures. The detail of the figures bewildered her as did the skill of their execution and their variety; gods, beautiful goddesses, nymphs and satyrs, scenes of drinking and revelries both sacred and profane, battles, naval voyages and lastly, a wealth of erotic scenes. Suddenly, her reverie was broken,

"Pretend that you're about to shoot an arrow."

"Like this?"

"Yes, but aim the bow higher. Grasp it tighter and look up. Imagine the string digging into your fingers."

"I'll pretend I'm aiming at you," she whispered.

"That's it, perfect! Now stay just like that."

She heard a rapid succession of scratches and scrapes that lasted for several minutes before he rose rapidly and dropped the board and stylus onto his seat. Walking towards her, he shed his loincloth to stand naked over her. Kleia held her pose for a few seconds longer as her attention was still fixed on the gorgeously figured wall.

But as Aristion began to run his fingers through her lustrous hair, she turned without surprise. Instead, she transfixed him with her most seductive stare. Welcoming smiles followed as her palms travelled slowly up his legs to meet at the base of his cock. When she grasped his shaft, it was already nodding expectantly. She now looked at him with an almost mystic intensity,

"I am adept in the arts of love and in the artistry of sex. Surrender yourself now, Aristion, to total pleasure."

He was tempted to laugh, but she had already rolled back his foreskin and her cool lips had gripped his flesh. Hands worked his shaft expertly until in a matter of minutes, she had sculpted his shaft into a rigid, upwardly curving arc. She paused momentarily to look at it with satisfaction, then smiled at him as she massaged his balls. His cock back in her mouth, she licked, sucked, and manipulated it with ever increasing intensity. Glancing down, he was amazed by how much of his ample length she could fit into her mouth, but he was even more surprised when her lips and tongue reached his fleshy balls to leave a stripe of saliva upon them.

"I can't believe it," he whispered, whereupon Kleia chuckled and swallowed him twice more. She then stood up and led him over to the trunk. Here she kissed and nibbled his throat and chest, paying particular attention to his nipples and well-defined pectoral muscles. Aristion was bewitched by the beauty of her hair hanging in glorious waves down past her navel, and he thrilled at the way she sensually raked and tickled every sensitive part of his body that she could reach. Finally, she slipped her hand behind his balls and sent waves of pleasure up his spine with her nails. She then concentrated on licking his head and the lower side of his shaft, then playing with his rapidly retracting balls.

Now he surprised her by gripping her head, kissing her passionately on the lips, then pressing his tongue into her mouth. She returned the kisses gladly but soon found his strong arms pulling her close and his palms grasping her ass cheeks. She pulled back gently, again entrancing him with her beautiful, ethereal eyes.

"I see you like my mouth, my master painter."

All he could do was nod, and she surprised him again by producing, as though by magic, a small blue faience bottle. Handing it to him, she climbed cat-like upon the chest and arched her back. He paused to look at her again, arrested by the sight of her luxuriant curtain of hair, hair that moved in such perfect harmony with her body that it seemed to possess a life and mind of its own. But all thoughts of her hair faded when she parted her legs and showed him her glistening pussy.

Aristion took in the delicious scene before him and felt his cock pulse, harden, and rise. She is a witch; there can be no doubt about it, was his passing thought as he stepped forward and hungrily slid his cock's full length deep into the smooth warm confines of her slit. He fucked her with long, slow strokes as she moaned and sighed appreciatively. While his palms rubbed her buttocks, shoulders, and back, she reciprocated by thrusting back against him until he stood still and savoured the wonderful sight and sensation of her impaling herself upon his cock.

After several long, intense moments when it felt like he had pressed every muscle in his entire body into service, Kleia slipped her hand down to massage her swollen and pulsating nub. It did not take her long, and she came shuddering, loudly and intensely, shaking and tossing her head back and forth, letting her hair lash Aristion's chest and abdominals as though she were a bucking mare.

He smiled and felt her muscles tighten around his full shaft. Then she leant gently forward, allowing his cock to slip reluctantly from her cozy depths. With her hair covering one eye, she turned to him.

"I wouldn't want you to come in me. That's what my ass is waiting for."

"Hmmmm," he nodded contentedly.

She now picked up the small blue faience bottle that he had set down beside the chest. Handing it to him, she once again turned her perfectly proportioned ass to him and pulled back her cheek.

"Now rub a little of that oil into my insolent little ass-hole."

Without reply, he shook two drops of the oil onto his fingers and worked them around her tight little ring. As his fingers ventured inside, he felt her muscles relax, encouraging him to add more oil and work it in deeper.

The effect on Kleia was instantaneous; she gasped and moaned as though the oil were some magical substance. Soon her hips were thrusting back upon his fingers, and she stepped down from the chest with her ass facing him. She reached back, gripped his cock and found it as hard as she had left it.

"Fuck my cock-hungry little fuck-hole lover," she said in a low whisper which thrilled him.

He spread her cheeks and slid his shaft in deep. The oil caused his skin to tingle momentarily until he became accustomed to the luxurious smoothness and cosiness of her. She reached back and anchored herself with her arm behind his neck, and with her hair acting almost as a third person joining in their revels, they fucked.

Aristion wanted to kiss her mouth, but the best he could do was to press his face up against her cheek where the heat of their lovemaking had brought forth beads of salty-sweet perspiration. These he lapped up as though they were drops of ambrosia running down the cup of a goddess.

His arms gripped her hips and brought her closer as his thrusts into her ass increased in speed and power. With an arm around her throat, he had the momentary idea that he might be hurting her, but she hardly noticed. Instead she began to clench and relax her ring, matching his every stroke and milking his cock until she felt it tense and his balls tighten. This was the moment that she relished the most.

"You fuck like a rutting buck, Aristion. Fill my impudent little hole with your seed. Teach it a lesson it won't forget."

The effect that these perfectly timed words had upon him was nothing short of sorcerous. He fucked her ass harder and harder until, after six deep, delicious strokes, his fingers buried themselves in the tanned flesh of her hips until they turned it white. He uttered a soul-felt groan and came in spurt after mind-bending spurt of pleasure, throwing thick long ropes of come far into her nether depths.

An hour later, they lay contentedly in each other's arms upon a low couch facing the painted wall. As Kleia once again admired Aristion's work, he quietly asked her,

"How did you become a whore?"

"Well, let's see, my grandmother was a whore, my mother was also a whore. I was hardly likely to become a virgin priestess of Artemis now was I?"

He smiled and said knowingly, "I see now why my brother has been so infatuated with you these past weeks."

"Zenobia's establishment offers services that no one else does... and value for money."

"And while we're on the subject of money. How much do I owe you?

Kleia collected her dress from the floor and slipped it on as she walked over to the chest.

"I would gladly trade for this old chest. I need one."

Aristion thought for a moment. "No, it was father's. One of the few things he left us that we didn't have to sell. Besides, Demophon stores his lyres in it."

Kleaia now turned and walked towards him purposefully.

"I knew your father."

Aristion was surprised, "Is that so?"

"Yes. He used to visit me down at the Piraeus. He was a kind man, a regular and... a friend. After he died, I came to Athens. I recalled that he had recommended Zenobia to me if I ever needed work and... protection. He often talked about you and Demophon... and about how badly he missed your mother."

Aristion regarded her intently, then looked away and said nothing.

Smiling, she gently put her arms around his shoulders, and was about to speak when a side door was heard to open. It was Lysandra the maid, who busied herself immediately, setting the table.

Kleia lent close and whispered in Aristion's ear. When she had finished, he pulled back sharply and looked at her, wide-eyed and with conflicting emotions on his face. In her most conciliatory way, she touched his lips to silence and to calm him, then she whispered,

"It's true, I swear. I would not lie about this, I swear by all the Gods."

Aristion looked past her to where the old servant woman was now inspecting a small vase full of wilted violets.

"Come with me."

He led Kleia to the corner of the far wall where a heavy leather pouch hung on a peg. From a side pocket, he took a large silver coin and handed it to her. To his surprise, she recognised it immediately.

"Oh, a Syracusan decadrachm. I don't often see one of these," she said quietly.

Equally quietly, Aristion replied, "Don't get used to them. That's the only one I've got."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, just spend it... wisely. Say nothing of this to anyone, least of all to my brother. He's got it into his head that he loves you..."

"Ah, that is something of an occupational hazard in my profession."

He walked her to the door before he realised that he was still totally naked.

"Go now, and soon we will speak again," he said quietly.

When she had gone, he stared at the door for more than a minute until, without turning around, Lysandra discreetly informed him that his lunch was ready.

*

"Ah yes, perfection. Perfection, my friends, is as elusive as the breeze. Oh, I know it when I see it, and that ability has come from long years of careful observation and study. Perfection exists, but it dwells in the realm of mathematics, and it dwells in nature. As artists, we must capture as much of that natural perfection as we can in clay, in paint, in marble and in bronze."

"And in poetry and music too."

"Yes indeed, Demophon, my boy. If future times remember us at all, it will be for the things we create."

Later that week, the Douris brothers had been invited to dinner at the house of their neighbour, the sculptor Polycleitos. Well into his sixties, famous, rich but generous and down-to-earth, Polycleitos was days away from publicly unveiling his latest work, a larger-than-life-size bronze statue of Apollo. On this night he had invited a small, select group of friends to view it before its official installation on the Acropolis. The party drank from beautifully decorated ceramic cups while they reclined and listened to the master.

At length, Polycleitos held up his perfectly clean hands upon which glittered several sizable gold rings.

"There is still soot, ash, and grime under these fingernails and under my skin. It will always be there. I started my career, if you can call it that, whittling animal figures that my father sold for half an obol. Even this magnificent Apollo is still just so much bronze-veneered clay. Bronze that will probably be melted down when we are next in dire need of swords, breastplates and shields."

There was a chorus of "Indeed" from the assembled company before Polycleitos announced, "And now for some entertainment. This is a delightful... and talented young creature that Zenobia introduced me to. This is Kleia."

Demophon shut his eyes and held his breath as Polycleitos clapped his hands, hoping fervently that this was some other girl called Kleia. But as the Kleia they both knew emerged from the servant's door, Aristion smirked loudly, indicating to his brother what was already known to all the guests present: that he was quite drunk.

By lamplight, Kleia was breathtakingly beautiful, dressed in a loose, flowing, cream-coloured robe that accentuated her breasts and whose tone complemented her flowing dark hair perfectly. But between her navel and her knees, the garment became gauze thin, revealing the perfect ripe peach that was her bottom and the fashionably trimmed arrowhead of dark hair that adorned her mound. She wore a few discreet pieces of jewelry, and a diadem of golden olive leaves kept her hair draped behind her as she danced. And dance she did to the fine accompaniment of flutes, drums, cymbals and lyres. Everyone present was entranced by her, each man pretending that she had cast her doe eyes upon him. In reality, it was only upon Demophon and Aristion that she had done so.

Her performance complete, she exited with swan-like grace to the discreet applause that etiquette prescribed. Aristion watched her go, then suddenly he recalled some graffiti that he had seen on a wall somewhere in the Kerameikos,

"I got thirty-six drachmas army pay

Yet here I am drinking from rough red clay!

I have no money for a fine wine pot,

That little whore last night has bagged the lot!"

A red-faced Demophon apologised to their genial host and got up. "Come on, brother, it's time I took you home."

*

In the coming weeks, Kleia spent much of her free time with the brothers, delving into every aspect of their lives, acting as a life model and satisfying their every desire. She declined payment, telling them simply that she enjoyed their company on her days and nights off. One morning, towards the end of summer, found them in the rooftop studio that had been Douris'.

She knelt naked next to a low couch upon which both brothers, likewise naked, reclined. As Aristion stroked his own cock, he watched in rapt fascination as Kleia sucked Demophon's. Added to this, she had that day introduced the brothers to a fine set of ivory dildos, one of which she was currently using on Demophon's ass. The younger man sighed and moaned quietly as Kleia's mouth worked his shaft and the textured surface of the dildo stimulated every sensitive nerve in his ass - from his ring into his inner depths. Kleia moved the dildo in and out with increasing rapidity, changing its angle several times to exploit the sensual spots that she knew so well. Releasing Demophon's cock from her mouth momentarily, she looked at Aristion and leered,

"Your ass's turn is next, then I might let you both fuck mine."

Aristion poked his tongue out at her and wiggled the tip, whereupon she swallowed Demophon's cock down to his balls while pressing the dildo forward at just the right angle to make him come, and come he did, gripping her neck and pumping three copious spurts into her mouth. Kleia continued to pump and suck his shaft until it was spent, then threw her head back and swallowed dramatically. Seriously short of breath, Demophon still managed to speak,

"By... Aphrodite... where did you... learn this... trick?"

"Zenobia trains us well. These ivory dildos come from Oxyrynchus far up the Nile."

"Never heard of the place," replied Aristion dismissively.

"You should consider exporting your painted wares there. They pay in silver."

"Good thinking," commented Demophon.

"I'm told the potter Kakryllion already deals with that city."

Demophon raised his tone, "See what a smart girl we have here, brother!"

Aristion still looked sceptical but nodded nonetheless, "I'm beginning to realise that."

They spent the remainder of the morning fondling, sucking and fucking. Both brothers enjoyed Kleia's mouth and filled her ass to her delight. Until, after a long rest, Kleia rose from between their naked bodies.

"Now that we are all... rested and refreshed, there's someone I'd like you both to meet."

She wrapped herself in Aristion's cloak and strode out onto the flat rooftop where a huge old grapevine was supported on an elaborate wooden trellis. Brick steps built against the wall allowed access to the vine's sturdy boughs. They climbed the steps playfully and sat upon the boughs amidst sizable grape leaves and bunches of ripe red grapes. Below them was Zenobia's luxuriously blooming courtyard garden; a haven of colour, shade and fruiting abundance. Kleia drew their attention to a small boy dressed in green, and attended by two women who the brothers immediately recognised as two of Zenobia's trusted slaves. The boy was about five years old and looked to be in robust good health.

"That is Artemidoros, my son and your half-brother."

Demophon, surprised, drew breath and whispered, "Artemi."

"And in case anyone is wondering, I have letters from your father confirming that he was... responsible."

She then turned to Demophon and quietly said, "Aristion already knows."

Aristion nodded his head, clearly impressed, "You were telling the truth. He looks like a fine boy."

Demophon then turned to his brother and slapped him on the shoulder,

"He'll make a fine apprentice, Ari!"

Demophon smiled, "And an accomplished poet and musician if you have anything to do with it."

"And now, come back inside. I have one final surprise..."

She led them to the oak chest and told them to take hold of one of three lion's heads with which it was decorated. She gripped the third and spoke in a tone of utter seriousness,

"Now, when I tell you, turn the lion's head to your right. We must all do it at the same time."

Mystified, the brothers nonetheless obeyed her and on the count of three, twisted the carved lion's heads. The heads turned easily and, to their surprise, a slender slat of wood rose from the center of the decorated lid. Kleia took hold of this and, with some difficulty, removed it. A sharp click was then heard from deep inside the box, and a hidden drawer slid partially out by Aristion's feet. They all gathered around him as he took hold of the drawer and pulled it out carefully. What it contained amazed them all.

Nestled inside amongst strips of cloth were ten golden cups; each large enough to carry a draft of wine. Each cup was beautifully chased all over with scenes of hunting, of sacrifice, of ritual and, most tellingly, of bull-leaping. They each picked up one cup after another and examined them in silence until Kleia pointed out some engraved glyphs on several of them to Aristion.

"It is the ancient Cretan script. Nobody can read it now. These cups are old, very old, from the time of Minos and Ariadne."

"The time of Theseus," offered Demophon.

"From before the Trojan War!" added Kleia.

"Yes indeed," whispered Aristion, awestruck.

There followed several more minutes of the trio all silently examining the cups and again, admiring the exquisite workmanship and the gorgeous glint of gold. Kleia then set hers down carefully and declared, "Well, my two fine young bulls, it seems your father didn't squander all of your inheritance! He had this ingenious chest designed so that it required all three of us to open it. He told me about it and how to open it, hoping that you would take Artemidoros and me in once I felt I could trust you both."

"The wily old fox," laughed Demophon, "of course we will."

Aristion put his arms around their shoulders, "Strange though it may seem, we're a family."

Demophon looked towards the door, "I'll get us some wine."

"Ah, let's not start celebrating just yet; we still have to buy my freedom from Zenobia."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be worth less to her than one of these golden cups," offered Aristion teasingly.

"I'm not sure whether to be grateful or to be offended by that..."