Pantheon – Volume 4

By Gary Devore

Pantheon– a novel of the ancient Greek gods (e-pub version). The gods came to earth when humans stopped believing in them as divine. Powerless but immortal, they have lived among us, witnessing and shaping history. Now the god that supplanted them has found a way they can reclaim their status and worship. He asks only one thing in return for this knowledge– They must destroy every religion in the world. Love is the subject of this fourth volume. Aphrodite throws a decadent party where the guests soon surrender to their hidden lusts. Apollo searches history for a mortal man he can finally love forever. Ever guarding her heart, the virgin goddess Artemis plays a dangerous game for divine supremacy. And finally, the mischievous Dionysus plots to seduce a shy couple in 1933 Berlin, but things do not go according to plan. Pantheon is available as six compact volumes, or one omnibus edition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329783478

Book preview

Pantheon – Volume 4

PANTHEON

A Novel of the Greek Gods

Volume IV

Aphrodite • Apollo • Artemis • Dionysus

By Gary Devore

Copyright

Original copyright © 2011 Gary Devore, revision copyright © 2015

This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead or divine is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Brief chapter head quotes not by long dead Greeks and Romans used through Fair Use attribution.

PANTHEON – Volume IV

ISBN-13:  978-1-329-78347-8

garydevore.com/pantheon

Image Credits: Cover- Romans During the Decadence by Thomas Couture (Public Domain);  The Barberini Faun by www.flickr.com/photos/carolemage (Creative Commons);  Frontispiece- The Course of Empire: Consummation by Thomas Cole (Public Domain); Aphrodite- www.flickr.com/photos/euthman (Creative Commons);  Apollo- www.flickr.com/photos/carolemage (Creative Commons);  Artemis- www.flickr.com/photos/akuchling (Creative Commons);  Dionysus- www.flickr .com/photos/carolemage (Creative Commons);  Back Cover- www.flickr.com/photos/jjcbaron (Creative Commons).

Preface

This fourth volume of the novel Pantheon is all about love and sex. 

In her opulent mansion in Rome, Aphrodite throws a party where all of the guests eventually surrender to their hidden lusts. 

Apollo tumbles from century to century, seeking out a singular mortal man that he can finally love forever. 

Ever guarding her heart, the virgin goddess Artemis plays a dangerous game for divine supremacy in the deserted streets of a snowbound Manhattan. 

And finally, the mischievous Dionysus plots to seduce a shy couple in 1933 Berlin and show them the wonders of carnal abandon, but things do not go according to plan.

For more volumes, and the full, epic story of Pantheon, visit garydevore.com/pantheon.

a p h r o d i t e

goddess of love

"As she recognized the round, sweet throat of the goddess

And Her desirable breasts and Her shining eyes,

Helen was awestruck, and she cried out:

‘Strange divinity!  Why are you still so stubborn to enthrall me?’"

–Homer, The Iliad

During intercourse, there is an almost total extinction of mental thought.

–St. Augustine, The City of God

M A S S I M O

I wonder what thoughts go through people’s heads.  Are their brains full of unformed and dull mush, thinking the same thoughts they’ve thought a million times before?  Or do they reinvent reality with each mental stirring?  No.  People really are genuinely stupid.  And I despise these parties.  Ignorant bourgeoisie bastards standing around in tuxedoes, smiling like bucktoothed hares.  Laughing hollow, meaningless laughs.  None of them The Signora.  Just the usual scum, desperately clutching at nobility.  All wondering if the rumors are true.  Is she so beautiful?  When will she appear?  What will she wear?  The best way to make an impression is not to make an appearance.  Stay out of sight and people will want to see you.  Stay silent and people will want to hear you.  The Signora knows exactly how to manipulate these creatures.  Pazienza.  Eat her food, keep to yourself, then leave after she enters. Why did she invite me?  How the hell did she get my address?  How the hell does she know who I am?  Maybe I’ll ask her. I hope the others don’t hear about this.

B E A T R I C E

I hope my hair’s not sticking up in the back!  Mama pulled it too tight.  It’s going to come undone and spring forward and I’ll look like a chicken.  Who are these people?  Friends of The Signora?  I’m so embarrassed!  My dress is so much plainer.  I stand out.  Mama said it would be fine.  She was so anxious.  The Signora didn’t invite just anyone to her parties.  Only special people get invitations.  Such a lovely invitation!  Stiff white paper with gold lettering.  Exquisite!   Mama didn’t know what type of party this would be.  She’s never been to one.  Twenty years of working for The Signora, and never once invited. I wish she hadn’t told me.  Now I feel even more nervous!  All these people.  Mama said hold my head up.  No one wants to talk to a girl with droopy shoulders.  But if anyone does come and talk to me, I know I’ll just faint.  I’m dizzy already.  I should sit down.  No.  That will wrinkle the back of the dress.  I could just lean up against the wall.  That will look silly.  Just stand here.  Look proud.  I’m at one of The Signora’s parties.  Let everyone see my new necklace.  It must have cost Papa so much.  Let everyone see my new earrings–  They’re gone!  I forgot to wear them!  Oh, che peccato!  They would have sparkled so nice.  I know I look silly now.

T H O M A S

Am I in the right place?  I couldn’t really tell if I was on the right street. Street of the Colosseum, I think. Door at 33.  The butler looked like he understood when I showed him the invitation.  I don’t know anybody here.  Nice house.  Huge parlor.  That chandelier probably cost my entire college tuition.  What’s the name?  Signora something. Signora must be Italian for Mrs. Should have brought a translator from the embassy.  Then I wouldn’t be scared that someone might come up and start talking to me.  I could’ve asked Dad who she was before I came.  Oh well.  Dad’s probably the only reason I was invited in the first place.  I don’t know anybody in the city.  I should have stayed home. 

A N N E

This view.  It’s gorgeous.  I can see the entire eastern end of the Forum from this balcony.  It must be even clearer from upstairs.  Maybe from The Signora’s bedroom.  That’s what I’d have if I lived here.  A large bay window right across from my bed.  Every morning I’d sit up against the pillows, and look down and see out across the Forum and downtown Rome.  Hopefully, I’d be high enough not to see all the traffic passing between us on the Fori Imperiali. I’d imagine it all restored, just like it was:  Constantine’s basilica;  The huge temple to Venus and Roma.  Glistening in early morning sunlight;  And right down the street, the Amphitheater.  Probably couldn’t see Titus’ arch.  No.  Temple would be too high.  Which cellae is it?  Roma’s I think.  Yeah.  It is. Dr. Cafferty made a comment about Roma’s cellae surviving, just like the eternal city herself.  Guess he calls being used as a back wall for a Christian church surviving.  Venus is probably happy her area of the temple’s turned to dust.  A more dignified death.  

M A S S I M O

A varied crowd, at least.  From all the dank corners of the city.  A few good looking women.  A couple business men.  Even a priest standing alone in his formal wear.  Blue soutane.  Red belt.  Greek.  Must be from the Universitá.  Instructor maybe.  A little too old to be a student.  Grey temples.  Doesn’t really look Greek, though.  I think blue and red is Greek.  Émile would know for sure.  She loves that stuff.  Papal insignia and shit.  She took me to the Piazza della Pilotta on our first date just to watch the seminarists leave at midday.  She was a foreigner.  That was one of her strengths.  She’d always remind me of the little things in Rome.  Little things I’d usually just ignore, like the Piazza della Pilotta at midday.  The priest-wannabes fluttering around in groups.  Brightly colored uniforms as formal wear, each like a national flag.  God loves all men alike, but all men still create boundaries and divide amongst themselves.  I wonder if Émile is safe.

S A S H I

"Cras amet qui nunquam amavit, Quique amavit cras amet.  Why did I suddenly think of that?  Oh mind, you perform your duties in such a mysterious manner.  I haven’t thought of that poem in ages.  There was a time when I lived it.  Could recite all 93 lines in my sleep.  Dissected them by day.  Translating them into English, then Italian, then Greek.  Wrote essays on their shades of meaning.  Speculated on their author.  By night they visited me in dreams.  Or more truthfully, she visited me.  That faceless woman with the long brown hair that was probably all women, and none.  But then I was a young student, able to be hopelessly distracted by a pretty face, a smile, long brown hair.  But when I became a man, I put away childish things.  No more romantic Latin poems.  No more faceless women.  No more damp sheets.  Oh God, whose property is always to have mercy and to spare, receive our petition: that we, and all thy servants, who are bound by the chain of sins, may, by the compassion of thy goodness, mercifully be absolved."  No wonder I’ve always felt an affinity for Saint Augustine.  That’s the purpose of the saints, to present models.  Models for behavior.  Models to aspire to.  Now, Sashi, surely you don’t hope to be made a saint.  A male saint with a female name.  It would be nice.  No.  I should be satisfied with what I have.  The course the Father has set me upon.  That’s enough.  It must be.

T H O M A S

Don’t touch anything.  With your luck, it would probably be some priceless antique that you’ll knock on the floor.  God, there’s enough of them in here.  I wish I knew more about art.  They’re all old Greek and Roman.  Interesting.  I wonder if that priest realizes he’s standing next to a statue with huge breasts.  It’s kinda funny.   Huge breasts, but no arms, legs, or head.  Just the important parts, Steve would say.  I’m glad he’s not here. 

A N N E

That’s right.  The temple was built on the vestibule of Nero’s Golden Palace.  Oh, the debauchery that probably went on in there... if we can trust Suetonius. 

B E A T R I C E

Do my shoes really match the material?  I’ll have to trust mama.  The aperitifs smell so good.  I’d love some Sambuca Molinari .  No.  It might stain my teeth.  Better not eat any hors d'oevres either.  But they look wonderful.  Are those real clams?  And that red fruit?  Oh, I wish I’d eaten before I came. 

T H O M A S

Oh God, I just realized.  All of these statues and vases and stuff.  They all have to do with sex.  Everyone’s either naked or screwing or touching themselves...  Thomas, you idiot.  It figures it’d take you forever to notice that. 

S A S H I

Saint Sashi?  That sounds silly.  It’d be recorded with my real name anyway.  Saint Anastasia.  Of Kithira.  There’s already a Saint Anastasia.  She’s a woman.  I’m a priest with a woman’s name.  A man who is not allowed to know a woman.  A nice dream.  Enough dreams, Sashi.  Dreams have no place alongside faith.  Only faith is tangible.  The early martyrs had no use for dreams.  They relied on faith to deliver them.  I must do the same. 

A N N E

This entire villa is amazing!  I guess I can call it a villa.  It’s in the middle of Rome but it definitely has the air of a villa.  This parlor’s decorated with some of the most beautiful reproductions I’ve ever seen.  They’re reproductions surely.  Nobody could legally...  That vase is fifth century.  Aphrodite and Adonis.  Poor boy.  That’s what a goddess’ love gets you.  Dead.  Surely that’s a copy of a Lysippos original.  Look at the three-dimensionality of it.  I could write my entire dissertation in this room!  If I get a chance to speak to The Signora I’ll ask her where she got such perfect copies.  She knows my name.  She hand signed my invitation.  What did Hamilton mean when he called her The Signora of Secrets?  Oh well.  Hamilton was always too much of a romantic to be a good archaeologist.   

T H O M A S

He looks like he might be another American.  She’s certainly Italian.  I don’t know what he is.  Do I look like an American?  Probably.  I’ve got that American boy-next-door-just-got-out-of-college-look.  I am the boy next door.  I should have stayed there.  What was I thinking?  Following Dad to Italy.  I can barely speak English.  At least I’m out of North Carolina.  Even a country where I can’t understand anyone is better than North Carolina.  I think they’re probably freer over here.  More understanding.  Maybe not.  There’s a priest here.  I’m glad I’m not Catholic.  Their God doesn’t want me.  And I can probably get along without their God.  There’s one.  He’s gorgeous.  Definitely Italian.  Swarthy Italian.  Looks out of place.  Like he doesn’t want to be here.  I know how you feel, dude.  I don’t want to be here either.  Why don’t we leave and go to a café together.  We can sit and talk and get to know each other.  I can tell you about America.  You can tell me about Italy.  We’ll have some coffee, a bite to eat, and we’d fall madly in love and you’d ask me to live with you in Rome forever and ever.  Thomas, you’re such a dork.   

M A S S I M O

Stupid Americans.  I hate their pompous air.  Look at that businessman.  Barking away in English, expecting the little cluster around him to do the same.  Probably doesn’t even speak a word of Italian. Who’s that?  Little Beatrice.  What’s she doing here?  She looks absolutely terrified.  Out of her realm.  Must have gotten an invitation too.  Wonder why.  Not the bourgeois type.  Well, neither am I, and I’m here.  I think her mother works for The Signora.  Poor Beatrice. 

B E A T R I C E

He saw me.  Oh dear.  Please don’t come and talk to me.  Mama will be furious.  Mustn’t tell her he was here.  She’ll never let me come to another one of The Signora’s parties.  Stand behind this statue.  He won’t be able to see me.  Please don’t see me. 

S A S H I

A curious chamber.  Interesting choice of color.  Scarlet everywhere.  I suppose it makes the marble stand out.  Beautiful chandelier.  The light’s failing outside.  They’ll need to light it soon.  The sunset will be magnificent tonight.  The sky is already glowing crimson.  I love this time of year.  God, your blessings are indeed everywhere.  I thank thee for them all, O heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ thy Son, our Lord.

A N N E

What’s on the pedestal at the bottom of the staircase?  Oh... Cupid, of course.  Grotesque little monster.  Never seen it before.  Maybe it’s modern.  Doesn’t look modern.  Private collection?  His arrow’s poised at a guest.  Wonder if he realizes it.  Cute kid.  Not talking to anyone.  Maybe a student.  Definitely not Italian.  Interesting bunch here tonight.  Nobody else from the Academy.  Only me.  Oh well.  I’ll enjoy myself.  Come tomorrow I’ve got to immerse myself in Hellenistic bronzes, fun fun.  Have a good time tonight, Anne.  Why don’t you drink a little.  Soak up the local color.  I’m turning into a crazy old lady before my time.  What do normal people think about?  Certainly not Lysippos.  Grab a drink and kick back.  That a girl.

T H O M A S

This isn’t wine.  Too sweet.  Tastes like really, really strong fruit juice.  If I could speak to someone I’d ask what it was.  It’s pretty good.  Where did that Italian go?  He’s over there by that vase.  Wish he’d look over here... not that there’s much reason for him to.  Hey you, Mr. Italian.  I think you’re gorgeous.  I know you’re probably very macho and all but I just wanted to tell you that.  I just want to tell you that.  But you see, I don’t speak Italian, and besides that, I’m shy, and I’m a moron, so I’ll never even get up the nerve to introduce myself.  Or to ask your name.  So I’ll call you... Tony.  No,... Antonio.  Mia amor, Antonio.  He’s looking!  He looked away.  That was it, Thomas.  That was your chance.  Your one chance.  You’re not even handsome enough to catch his eye.  Wish this was wine.

M A S S I M O

There’s more Americans here than I thought.  I should go.

S A S H I

How’s the rest of the poem go?  I know, I shouldn’t be thinking about it, Lord, but... but it’s a treasured memory of my past.  Could Augustine fully dismiss the joys of his youth, even if they were spent in pagan and carnal bliss?  Of course he could, Sashi.  That is why he’s a saint.  That is why you’re not.  So many memories...  Oh heavenly Father, give me strength.  I must reject the faceless woman.  Christ is now enthroned in my heart.  There’s no room for her.  There never will be again.  I mustn’t let