#Nicostratus

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

*You're a doctor and I limp into your practice* Dr. Owen! Dr. Owen! (That's you by the way) I sprained my ankle! Oh it hurts so much, please help me!

*You're a number theorist and my sexy goldfish limps into your classroom* Mr. Goldfish! Mr. Goldfish! (*You are not a number theorist and I am not a goldfish) I sprained my carotid artery! Oh it bleeds, please help me!

[hermesmoly]

Today I think of him (Nicostratus, son of Menelaus and Helen, scion of Ares)

[kingbryancroidragon]

Eochaid mac Enna in the Days of Menelaus Chapter One: The Dream

I have no idea why I am sharing this. Maybe people will like it, but I was thinking something like "Prince Valiant, but with the Matter of Troy instead of the Matter of Britain", but I still want to do my own thing so it isn't an exact transplant. Some liberties may have been taken, I admit.

It had been three years since the Expulsion of the Children of Goidel Glas from Kemet by the Queen Regent Twosret. While the Tribe of Israel may have been wiped out by Merneptah, Ramesses the Great’s noble son, and the future may have belonged to the Gaels, they were a people in exile dwelling in Scythia, the birthplace of Nel, the Scythian prince who married Scota, Daughter of Horemheb, and became father of Goidel Glas.

Day had come and Eochaid mac Enna sat before a plain, watching the horses as they grazed. He was ruddy skinned with short, curly red hair and mismatched eyes, the left frosty blue and the right green, the latter having a tendency to shine like that of a cat. He was fifteen years of age and stood at a height of five feet and five inches, only an inch shorter than Merneptah had been. He was lean and hungry in appearance, his jaw square, his nose large, hooked and pink tipped, his cheekbones sharp and the rest of his head like an egg in shape. His eyelids were close-fitting, causing his mismatched eyes to appear small and triangular. He was of common appearance, not particularly good-looking. His attire was that of the Scythians and so he wore trousers, a tunic, a long-sleeved jacket and boots.

As Eochaid sat, staring at the horses, he thought of the dream he had the night prior. In that dream, he had heard a woman’s voice say: “Choose me and I shall give you the most beautiful woman in all the world as your wife.”

A pleasant voice belonging to a man replied: “If such a woman exists, I will gladly abandon my wife Oenone and our son Corythus for her! What is her name?”

Out of the darkness a city appeared, a city as splendid as the Pella of Alexandros III, the Rome of Julius Caesar, the Camelot of Arthur, the Aachen of Charles, the Winchester of Aethelstan and the London of Richard Coeur-de-Lion would be, for this city came before all of them. A good, strong voice pronounced: “Our worthy king Menelaus, stepson-in-law of Tyndareus, and his beautiful queen Helena, stepdaughter of Tyndareus.”

Out of a palace stepped the royal couple. The king was a man of fifty-one, of moderate stature, auburn-hair greying and handsome. The queen was twenty-three, beautiful, brown-haired with legs which Dares Phrygius would call the best, a mouth that he would call the cutest and a beauty mark between her eyebrows. With the royal couple was a girl of six years and a boy of two. Their children no doubt.

Again, Eochaid heard the voice of the evil-hearted man who had been promised Helena. “Helena of Lacedaemon…” he said. “I shall steal you away and make you Helena of Troy!”

Then the scene changed. In a bay with what must have been a thousand ships and a gruff voice uttered: “Though my beloved Helena and our son Nicostratus have been stolen away by Paris and the Trojans, I will not standby idly. I call upon all who will join me in rescuing her. The suitors that she turned down, the children of the Argonauts and more. For many this will be their destiny.”

And there stood Eochaid, clad in the armour of Achaea, so different from where he was now, looking upon a sea of grass where horses grazed. It was his destiny, he knew it. He had to tell his father Enna of his dream, his destiny!

Thus, did Eochaid run to the home where he and his father lived, only to find a great crowd around it. Enna had joined Eochaid’s mother in death’s embrace.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Friday

Aka "you've ruined a perfectly good Damas is what you did. Look at him, he's got anxiety"

(For context, I gave Damas a backstory of being last in line for Haven's throne, but also Last Man Standing. This had something to do with Praxis hating "the default king". Long post warning, it's a whole one-shot again)

At some point in his life, the Precursors had decided that Damas was their least favorite Maridius. Any time something went well for him, it had to be immediately balanced by something awful.

He found acceptance and camaraderie that he never had from his elder brothers among the Forward Guard in the war.

And then Menelaus and Nicostratus died stupid, pointless deaths trying to seize glory, leaving Damas the sole focus of his parents' hopes.

He found an escape from the pressures in running the numbers, working out which districts needed food more than soldiers, and which districts needed more protection than most.

And then Father died and Mother shut herself in a convent, no longer interested in anything to do with her disappointing youngest son.

He actually had support from people for focusing on them and not the nest-

And his eldest brother's childhood friend literally stabbed him in the back and left him to die in the desert.

For a time, he'd assumed things would never get better. That the Precursors were tired of reeling him in and out like a fish on the line. But the hook pulled once more and he found himself using the skills he'd learned from the guards who raised him, joining a rebellion against a tyrant and defeating him against the odds.

And then the Precursors let him have ten good years. They let him find love, and family. They let him become a father. And then they ripped it all away in the cruelest way possible.

Damas knew it was foolish to hope that Mar was alive. He knew Phobos had been right to move on from him -- from them -- and throw herself into operating the orphan barracks of the Cliffside district. But he couldn't let go yet.

So he'd endured. Two bitter years he'd endured. And when he found that scrap of a boy in the desert, only to watch him outdo warriors twice his age, he'd thought maybe things were getting better.

Jak was...hard to define. The kid had seen more combat than some of his most experienced scouts. He carried scars on par with the surviving child-soldiers of Atys's reign. And while he shared their distrust of authority in general, he had none of their understanding of ranks and rulers. He just...treated everyone like they were his equal.

And after the kinds of things he must have experienced in his short life, Jak probably had every right to consider himself the equal of any senior Wastelander.

And for a moment, Damas had foolishly let himself hope that the Precursors could leave well enough alone. That they'd just...let him have this-!

Annnnd then Jak had to go and break the one rule. The one law Damas had given him.

Do not compromise the Arena.

Six other candidates had been doing their third trial against the Leucas Freebooters in that Arena. Six other candidates whose results had to be thrown out, who had to wait for full citizenship, because Jak refused to fight, and Sig had decided to waltz into a trial without checking to see what the purpose of the trial was!

Damas was either going to lose his mind, or go fully rogue and declare war on the Precursors. He couldn't discount either option yet.

Deep breaths, Damas. Deep breaths.

Jak knew not to mess with the purity of the Arena. He knew that, didn't he? He couldn't have gotten this far without understanding how important it was to keep the trial balanced for all candidates! He had to have known the consequences for not only compromising the others' trials and putting them at risk of the Freebooters getting the upper hand on them, but open mutiny-!

He wanted to shake sense into the boy. Maybe smack him upside the head and hope it jarred his common sense loose. But he wasn't likely to get that chance.

Even if Sig had caused this, he had all three amulets. Jak only had two. Those two protected him from a lot, but not public mutiny. A challenge in private Damas could have handled.

He knew Jak -- he thought he knew Jak -- enough to make him understand whatever instruction or decision he had a problem with. He knew how to phrase things to make it sound like all Jak had done was ask for clarification.

He couldn't cover this one up. Not with this many witnesses.

Damas knew the name of the creature thrashing beneath his ribs. Terror.

It clawed at his lungs, coiled around them until he couldn't breathe. Kicked at his heart until he felt every beat like a hammer.

I can't lose him too. I won't lose him too!

He didn't know when, exactly, things had changed between them. Was it before he'd admitted that he'd never had a father to teach him- well, anything? Was it before his second trial, when Phobos had pointedly compared the boy to her own students? Was it her less than subtle hinting that he find his closure in helping the boy he'd dragged out of the mouth of death?

Did it even matter?

You've taken enough from me! You can't have him, too!

It was depressingly easy to mask fear with anger. He had been doing it all his life.

In hindsight, so had Jak.

Damas wondered later if that was why the boy didn't seem afraid. He glared at Damas the whole time, but in those eyes was a challenge: I see through you. You don't fool me.

Damas hoped no one else saw through him.

"What have you done?" he demanded, slamming the butt of his staff onto the stone with a ringing clang.

"One of those Freebooters could have shot you in the head -- shot your comrades -- because you threw down your gun! You placed yourself and them in danger!"

I stopped the trial because of you! Do you not grasp how serious this is?!

"Freebooters?!" Sig exclaimed in surprise before cutting himself off.

"And you, you're a veteran of the Arena! You have no excuse for this!" Damas snarled.

He knew he was going to have to set a punishment. If he didn't, the legislative council would. And he knew which of the two offenders they would favor.

"I shouldn't have to tell you the penalty for sabotaging citizenship trials!"

Sig risked a glance at Jak, then set his jaw.

"You're right," he said in a voice as artificially calm as Damas’s was artificially angry. "I don't have an excuse. I take full responsibility. Don't put this on Jak. He didn't know I'd be there."

Interesting. Sig was trying to protect Jak.

But in doing so, he was trying to force Damas into an impossible decision. One that would haunt him the rest of his life if he carried out the known sentence. After everything Sig had done for him, exile felt like blasphemy.

Damas clearly wasn't the only Spargan who thought so.

"Sire, think about this!" One of the Arena guards set foot on the pathway as if he intended to join the offenders.

"It can't end this way, it can't! Sig is one of us!"

One of his comrades, emboldened by his courage, joined him.

"He just came home from assignment!"

"Stop," Sig warned them, but was ignored.

"Lord Damas, Sig’s served faithfully as your spy in Haven two years! Surely it's not that surprising that he might forget to check a roster!"

"Char is right!" The first guard cried, "It's the newcomer who deserves no mercy!"

You'd better shut your mouth-

Damas knew they were just standing up for a fellow Spargan. He knew that if Jak had all three amulets, they'd be rallying on his behalf, too. But it rankled to see them turn on the boy so quickly.

"Sire, if anyone must be cast into the desert, it's him!" Rikard pointed a shaking finger at Jak.

The words were out before Damas had time to plan his next move.

"Absolutely not! I'm not letting him off that easy!"

Oh rot. He had to follow that up with something.

Think, Damas! Use your shiny, spiny, head for once and think like Obed taught you!

He thought of the old captain of the Krimzon Guard -- when that had meant something, when only the king’s honor guard wore those tattoos -- the man who had raised him when his own family hadn't been interested in such a weak channeler.

There's always another way, whelp."

Then you tell me, Obed! I don't know what to do!

He reached for that memory desperately.

*Sometimes, you face your enemy head-on. And sometimes, you wait until you see a weakness. A loophole."

"You're talking about my brothers again."

"Now, did I say that? Clean the gunpowder out of your ears, whelp, before you get me in trouble!"

A loophole. I can do that. I can still save them-!

Damas sucked in a calming breath through his teeth.

"You do make a point about Sig’s record of service. I would not be king if I did not try to keep you all alive."

Let this work, please, Obed, if you're still watching over me, let this work.

"This once, I will give you the opportunity to salvage this. In your absence, metalpedes have settled in Turquoise Canyon and begun harassing our artificact carriers."

He leaned on his staff and hoped no one saw the tension in his jaw for what it really was: fear.

"I want you to drive into the heart of the nest and take out anything that moves."

He turned on his heel to send a hard stare Jak's way.

"Unlike Sig, you get a choice right now: stay here and forfeit your second amulet, or go with Sig and repay the damage you did today with something that benefits your community."

He prayed Jak could hear the emptiness of his threat. That he would know what Damas needed him to do.

Jak was not technology-friendly. Anything that required precision or aiming was more likely to be used as a blunt force weapon. But put him on a turret gun and the boy was a prodigy. If he went with Sig, the odds of them both surviving skyrocketed.

Jak's glare melted into something uncertain, even a little fearful. He was weighing his options. Good. That would sell the act more to the guards -- who were, like all watchmen, incurable gossips.

Damas saw the moment the light clicked on for Jak. He knew that glint.

Jak nudged Daxter, almost too quickly to be seen, and Daxter nodded. To anyone else, it would seem he was responding to Jak.

Damas knew that Daxter was answering him on Jak’s behalf.

Message received.

"I'm not gonna let you send Sig in there alone."

Damas almost smiled. Defiant to the last. Never change, Jak. Unless it's to learn some common sense-!

"Then perhaps something good can come of this debacle. But understand this, boy: coming back from destroying that nest does not mean this discussion is over. I expect you to turn over your gate pass when you return. You're off scouting for three weeks."

"You're grounding us?!" Daxter shrieked.

"Keep talking, I'll make it a full month."

That one wasn't an empty threat. If he'd thought it would keep Jak out of harm's way, he'd keep him off missions indefinitely!

"We're going," Sig said quickly, and grabbed Jak by the arm before he could protest.

"I'd say good luck," Damas said dryly, "But then, luck won't help you."

which is why I'm sending Jak.

The second the elevator was out of sight, Damas dropped into his throne with the most long-suffering, exasperated groan he'd ever made.

"Someone tell me this is a dream and I'm actually dying of boredom in a financial meeting right now," he said sarcastically.

When no such reassurance arrived from the guards, he dropped his head into his hands with another irritated sound.

In the silence that followed, even over the water wheel they both heard him mutter,

"What am I going to do with that boy?"

Rikard was...not a bad guard. He did his job, and he stuck by his comrades. But he had a big mouth sometimes.

"You...favor the newcomer then? Is it his age?"

Damas aimed a tired glare at him over his fingers.

"Boy, if I told you some of the things I did at his age...."

He groaned again.

"This is boundary-testing. I've seen worse. Rot, I've been worse!"

Silence enveloped them again as the two guards stared at Damas, and Damas stared back. He hadn't meant it to come out like that. After several seconds of owlish blinking back and forth, he said simply,

"Crap. I think I adopted him."

Char turned her head quickly to hide the fact that she was trying very hard not to laugh at the king’s slightly stunned expression.

"Do you...think this will be an adequate lesson?"

Rikard winced. At least he knew he was questioning Damas’s choices in parenting. Er, ruling.

"The nest? Perhaps. It's the confinement that's going to get him." Damas snorted. "You know how Wastelanders are about adrenaline. You ground a kid like that? End of the world."

Mar was exactly the same. Gods, if he's as stubborn as Jak at that age, I'm done for. Might as well write the epitaph now: "died of a heart-attack from idiot sons doing idiot stunts".

"As long as he doesn't set anything on fire in the Arena, sounds good to me," said Char, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Are we clear to return to our posts?"

"Can't set things on fire if I don't let him get two yards away from me, right?" Damas grumbled, but he waved a hand in dismissal.

Once alone, Damas dragged his fingers down his face and muffled a scream in his palm. He was going to get Sig for this. Babysitting. Indefinitely. Or maybe make him handle Arena trials for a while, let him feel that stress! And Jak? Jak was grounded. So, so very grounded. If he had to make Jak sit through meetings with him in the throne room to get it through his head, then so be it. No stunts, no racing, no "the Precursors made me do it" nonsense.

Briefly, he glanced up at the statue of the Oracle in his throne room. Gaudy thing, but it did house a lot of parts of the water wheel.

Damas flipped it off.

[ofprevioustimes]

thinking about helen n menelaus with their post-war baby excuse me

[menelaiad]

the menelaus castration theory is the idea that after the battle in book three (when paris is saved and returned to his bed), menelaus is metaphorically (some even argue physically, but we'll get there) castrated by the arrow from pandarus. now. we don't know where the arrow hit, it's never specified. some say lower abdomen, some say thigh, some say groin - but it's certainly below the navel and above the knees. very near the crown jewels - and that's intentional.

when menelaus is struck we get that amazing line about how his thighs are stained with blood and it trickles down his 'shapely thighs' his calves and his 'lovely ankles'. so, not only is menelaus stabbed very near his genitals, he is them also made 'woman like' in the words homer uses after the fact. why? well. menelaus thighs are described as 'ivory' - a description mainly used for women. as is 'lovely ankled' also mainly used for women (or any descriptions of ankles at all, really. men's ankles are never really spoken about). this moment here, is it meant to represent menelaus losing his masculinity? his manhood?

the theory is leant strength when one realises that as all this is going on - paris and helen are (heavily implied, sometimes translated as outrighted stated to be) having sex. another man is literally having sex with his wife, on the other side of a wall. that's all that separates them.

and then menelaus experiences this 'metaphorical' castration. this loss of manhood, both illustrated by the physical attack on that part of his body and also the words used by homer after the fact.

some authors take it literally that menelaus was castrated during the trojan war. margaret george in her novel helen of troy has menelaus be castrated, however this is by paris at a later time. (but tbf even she is like 'the loss of ur wife to another man? that shits castration')

it's also unlikely to have been a literal castration, as some authors claim menelaus had a son post-war, nicostratus (mother is debated), so he probably didn't lose the necessary equipment for that.

but still, food for thought.

[bestmothertournament]

Propaganda Below Cut:

Leia Organa (Mother of Ben Solo and Mentor of Rey): Loves her son and desires to save him from himself and able to forgive him for everything he has done.

Helen of Troy (Mother of Iphigenia + Hermione and Nicostratus and others): Married to Menelaus who she had children.

[anastpaul]

Saint of the Day – 5 July – Saint Zoe of Rome (Died c286) Married laywoman, Martyr

Saint of the Day – 5 July – Saint Zoe of Rome (Died c286) Married laywoman, Martyr. She lived during the reign of Emperor Diocletian and his early persecution of Christians. Also known as – Zoa. The Roman Martyrology reads today: “At Rome, St Zoe, Martyr, wife of the blessed Martyr Nicostratus. Whilst praying at the tomb of the Apostle, St Peter, during the time of Diocletian, she was seized by…

[mythological-art]

Helen of Troy

Artist: Evelyn De Morgan (English, 1855–1919)

Genre: Mythological Painting

Date: 1898

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Collection: De Morgan Centre

Description:

Helen of Troy was a figure in Greek mythology said to have been the most beautiful woman in the world. She was believed to have been the daughter of Zeus and Leda or Nemesis, and the sister of Clytemnestra, Castor, Pollux, Philonoe, Phoebe and Timandra. She was married to King Menelaus of Sparta "who became by her the father of Hermione, and, according to others, of Nicostratus also."Her abduction by Paris of Troy was the most immediate cause of the Trojan War.

[troybeecham]

Today the Church honors Sts. Castorius, Claudius, Nicostratus, and Symphorian, Martyrs.

Orate pro nobis.

Castorius, Claudius, Nicostratus, and Symphorian are often called "the four crowned martyrs" who were tortured and executed in Pannonia, Hungary during the reign of Diocletian (AD 284-305). According to legend, they were employed as carvers at Sirmium (Mitrovica, Yugoslavia) and impressed Diocletian with their art, as did another carver, Simplicius. Diocletian commissioned them to do several carvings, which they did to his satisfaction, but they then refused to carve a statue of Aesculapius to be used in a temple dedicated to him, as they were Christians. The emperor accepted their beliefs, but when they refused to sacrifice to the gods, they were imprisoned.

When Diocletian's officer Lampadius, who was trying to convince them to sacrifice to the gods, suddenly died, his relatives accused the five of his death. To placate the relatives, the emperor had them beaten and then executed. They were put into leaden caskets alive and drowned in the River Sava. This happened towards the end of AD 305.

Almighty God, who gave to your servants Castorius, Claudius, Nicostratus, and Symphorian boldness to confess the Name of our Savior Jesus Christ before the rulers of this world, and courage to die for this faith: Grant that we may always be ready to give a reason for the hope that is in us, and to suffer gladly for the sake of our Lord Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever.

Amen.

[hermesmoly]

Imagine Helen trauma-dumping to Menelaus and/or Hermione on some random night/day and they just… understand and let her let it all out and then give her the hug she needs

Yup ❤️ Post-War Helen and Hermione’s relationship is delicate, Helen relearning how to be a mother to her grown child and Hermione who spent all her life hearing other people blame her mother allows Helen to be human, to listen to her

And Menelaus is happy to see his two girls together, feeling whole amidst all the pain

[thesynaxarium]

Today we also celebrate the Holy Martyr Sebastian of Rome. Saint Sebastian was from the city of Milan, was a member of the Senate as well as a zealot for the Faith of Christ, and had converted many to the knowledge of God. When Diocletian and Maximian began a Persecution against the Christians, Saint Sebastian was arrested and pierced with sharp arrows, and the bones of his body were shattered with clubs; and being cut into pieces, he gave up his spirit to God in the year 288. Together with him there were others also who died while enduring various tortures. Their names are Marcellinus and Mark the brethren, Tranquillinus their father, Nicostratus and his spouse Zoe, Tiburtius, Claudius, Castulus, and Castor. May he intercede for us always + Source: https://www.goarch.org/chapel/saints?contentid=343 (at Rome, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmTlktfvXhy/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[spectaculardistractions]

The next day the Athenian general, Nicostratus, son of Diitrephes, came up from Naupactus with twelve ships and five hundred Messenian heavy infantry. He at once endeavoured to bring about a settlement, and persuaded the two parties to agree to bring to trial ten of the ringleaders, who presently fled, while the rest were to live in peace, making terms with each other, and entering into a defensive and offensive alliance with the Athenians.

Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War

[silvestromedia]

SAINTS NOVEMBER 08

Four Crowned Roman Catholic Martyrs, Castorius, Claudius, Nicostratus, and Symphorian were tortured and slain in Pannonia, having been carvers from Sirmium. They refused to carve a pagan statue and were martyred by retired co-Emperor Diocletian. A martyr named Simplicius died with them. The second group of Four Holy Crowned Ones died at Albano, Italy. They were Carpophorus, Secundius, Severian, and Victorinus. Feastday Nov 8

St. Willehad, 789 A.D. Benedictine missionary and bishop. A native of Northumbria, England, he studied at York, was a friend of Blessed Alcuin, and became a monk in York or Ripon. About 766, he embarked upon a journey to preach among the Frisians of the Netherlands. He preached at Dokkum and Overyssel, but was forced to flee with his companions because of the violent pagan reaction. In 780, at the request of Charlemagne (r. 768-814), he became a missionary among the Saxons, but again he was forced to flee, owing to the Saxon uprising against the Franks. He went to Rome to make a report of his activities to Pope Adrian I (r. 772-795) and spent two years at Echternach monastery in Luxembourg. Wufrid gathered together missionary resources, and after Charlemagne's reconquest of Saxony, he received an appointment as bishop of Worms, Germany, in 787, with his seat at Bremen and ruissionary authority over the Saxons. He died at Bremen a few days after dedicating the cathedral of St. Peter.

St. Tysilio, mid 7th century. Welsh abbot. The son of a Welsh prince, Brochwel Ysgythrog, he left home at a young age to become a monk at Meifod in Powys, Wales, later serving as abbot. He departed Wales for Brittany, France, about 617, supposedly in an effort to escape the relentless attentions of the widow of his deceased brother and his father’s demands that he return home. In Brittany he settled on the site that became known as St. Suliac (his name in the region), although it is possible that the name may refer to some other person.

St. Cybi, 6th century. Welsh abbot, one of the most venerated saints in Anglesey, also called Cuby and Kabius. Born in Cornwall, England, and a cousin of St. David of Wales, he refused the throne of his area. Cybi went to Monmouthshire and then to Avanmore, in Ireland, to study under St. Anda. On Anglesey, an island near Holyhead, Wales, Cybi founded a monastery called Caer Cybi. He is the patron of Llangebby and Llangybi, as well as Cornwall, Tregony, Landulf, and Cuby.

St. Moroc, 9th century. Scottish bishop of Dunblane who originally served as abbot of Dunkeld. He was venerated especially in the old Scottish rite, and several churches bear his name.

St. Pope Deusdedit, Pope from 615-618, also called Adeodatus I. He was the son of a subdeacon, Stephen, born in Rome. Consecrated pope on October 19,615, he became known for his care of the poor. An earthquake hit Rome in August 618, and he worked tirelessly during the disaster. He was the first pope to use bullae on documents. It is possible that he was originally a Benedictine. Feastday nov.8

[ofprevioustimes]

Thinking real hard about the difference between Helen as a mom to Hermione and to Nicostratus but that's a story for another day........