Kayla Jameth's Blog, page 7

Breathless Press Sale

All of my Breathless Press titles are currently on sale for 49 cents. YES! You read that correctly. But I'm not sure how much longer they will be available.

Breathless Press will be closing its doors May 1st and I don't think Alexios' Fate, From the Ashes, or Legends will be available anywhere after that.

So if you want to get your hands on any of those titles, NOW is the time.

The House of Dionysus

Dionysus and the satyrLisa Henry, JP Kenwood and I have created a new group on Goodreads for the discussion of m/m set against the backdrop of the Greco-Roman world.
We are entertaining questions about our stories and the ancient world, Classical History in particular.
Please drop by The House of Dionysus and chat.

Becky Condit of USA Today Gives A Spartan Love 5 Stars

"Kayla Jameth writes the most exciting historical romance, and when I say historical I mean waaaaay back in history. Spartans and Greeks, gods and goddesses, farmers and nomads. I can't recommend her book A Spartan Love highly enough." - Becky Condit

Love and Lust rec: A Spartan Love by Kayla Jameth

A Trip to Delphi

I was asked to take you on my dream vacation. I hope you enjoy the trip.
Disclaimer: I'll warn you now, I will be using an eclectic mix of modern and ancient words. I just want to avoid "that word's too modern" in this post.
Terms:
Helot—Spartan slave
Korai—maidens
Kouroi—youths
Mothônes—helots that accompany the warriors-in-training
Polis/poleis—city-state/city-states
Perioikoi—non-citizens dwelling in the Spartan polis
Pythia—the Oracle at Delphi
My dream vacation? That doesn't just involve a place, but a time.
I plan on visiting the Temple of Apollo at Delphi during the 5th century BC while it still stood in all its glory. Plus I have a little question that I want to ask the Pythia.
You see I was a Spartan woman in a previous life.
Why a Spartan? I hear you ask.
Because other Greek women of that time were not afforded any of the liberties that Spartan women enjoyed. While I could own and administer property and move about as I chose, Greek women of other poleis were chattel. Mere possessions of the men in their lives, whether fathers, brothers, husbands or even sons made no difference in the other city-states. Even Roman women could only get away with independent behavior in later eras if they were very rich.
My name? Since I didn't die in childbirth, the stele on my grave doesn't bear my name and it has been lost to history. But I was just one of many women who did not give their life for Sparta. Even our mighty warriors had to fall in battle to be honored with a marked grave.
So if you will give me a moment, I'll inform my helot to pack for both of us and we'll be on our way.
Oh will you look at that? My husband sent a young warrior and his mothônesto escort us! Lycaretos  is one of the men in charge of training the warriors. But really, I'm not Helen of Sparta to require protection because of my gods-be-cursed beauty.
Just let me say, travel is not for the weak, especially as it's going to take weeks to walk all the way to Delphi. Fortunately, all Spartan girls are required to take part in physical training alongside the boys. Of course, we'll do a lot of camping along the way. These boys are really gung ho about showing off the skills my husband has imparted.
The helots load our mule with clothing and supplies, complete with a small tent for my helot and me. The youths are used to sleeping anywhere with only their cloak and whatever else they can find.

We have several excellent hosts along the way—families that offer us food and shelter for the night. Some are helots who give of what they have. Others are perioikoi tradesmen and merchants with slaves of their own to see to our every need.
But eventually, I see the slopes of Mount Parnassus rising before me. We will have to work our way up the mountainside path to reach Apollo's sacred precinct. Countless pilgrims have made this journey on their way to enlightenment. Although the Pythia is notorious for the mystery she shrouds her prophecies in.
Ahead a gleaming façade of limestone columns and bas relief stands out from the surrounding olive and almond trees. Weathered altars and a pair of smaller buildings that are either treasuries or archaic temples stand to one side of the pristine temple.
Surely this is not the great Temple of Apollo I have heard so much about.
"That's the Temple of Athena Pronaia," another pilgrim names the sanctuary.
Across the way, people flock to an old stone building set back from the road. A steady stream of pilgrims move into the building and return with wet hair.
I stop one of the pilgrims. "Is that the Kastalian Spring?"
"Yes. If you are coming to ask the Pythia a question, you need to enter and wash your hair and hands."
The road stretches forward before turning abruptly to the left, following the shoulder of the great mountain. A ravine cuts across the path, forcing the bend in the road.
I wonder what lies just out of sight. But first I must purify myself.
"Stay here," I tell my young protectors.
The warrior considers objecting, but he has been well trained, and subsides. At his nod, his mothônes leads the mule off to the side. Cypress and a few acacia offer some shade, but the area in front of the building had been cleared to ease the way for pilgrims.
"Come with me," I say to my helot.
"My lady."
I take the six steps down onto the sunken floor of the hallowed manmade grotto. I seem to have stepped into another place and time. The outside world is naught but a distant memory in the hushed cool of the space. Water splashes, echoing, and drowns out the indistinct murmur of prayers.
The interior is taken up by a marble-lined pool surrounded by benches. Men and a few aristocratic women kneel and offer paeans to the Lord of Light.
The age and holiness of the site rest like a weight on my soul. I kneel and quickly rinse my hair and hands in the pool. Rising, I note with wonder that only Kastalia's clear tones echo in the ageless nymph's house. Water drips down my shoulders, cooling my skin and soaking into my chiton, as I leave the spring house.
Now I am ready to approach the god and his Oracle.
Before us, framed by great slabs of rock shining in the noonday sun, rises the sacred precinct. The bright glittering glare dazzles my eyes, spots dancing in my vision. I squint and shade my eyes, unsure which is brighter the temple or the cliff face.
A wall encloses the holy site, climbing in tiers up the side of the mountain. Bright limestone and bold colors glow in the sunlight reflected from the Phaedriades, each level seeming to rest on the one before. It takes my breath away with its stunning display of wealth and power.
How had they built such grand structures into the very side of a cliff? The outright weight of that many buildings and monuments is staggering. Delphi is a behemoth and here Apollo reigns supreme.

The fabled Sacred Way stretches from the bronze gates, the cobbled surface worn smooth by the tread of countless feet. The road climbs the steep route in a series of switchbacks.
Flanking the roadway, monuments and treasuries from numerous city-states vie for pride of place. Statues and stele occupy areas too small to house colonnaded buildings. Everything is painted in vibrant colors.
There is the Rock of the Sibyl. The great, rough rock where the first sibyl chanted her oracles protrudes from the ground. Towering over it all atop a massive polygonal retaining wall, presides the shining Temple of Apollo.
While the young warrior sees to the proper sacrifice and offerings, I look around in awe at the beautiful temple.
The temple perches atop three gleaming limestone tiers surmounted by towering columns. The pediment topping the columns depicts Apollo's arrival in Delphi. Apollo's chariot drawn by four horses fills the center. Three beautiful korai stand to his left and three strong kouroi to his left. Lions savage a bull and a stag in the corners. The bright pigments used on the sculptures bring them to radiant life.
Flames rise from two bronze tripods flanking a ramp leading up the three tiers to the massive bronze doors of the temple. Surrounded by the columns of the portico, the walls of the temple are covered in rich geometric designs.
Soon it is my turn to approach the Pythia with my question.
Sun beams pour inside the antechamber, preceding me and lighting the space. The golden glow glints off the myriad votive offering left by the countless pilgrims as well as my addition, a bronze warrior.
Within the sanctuary, the sacred flame burns, giving a flickering quality to the thin shaft of sunlight entering the holy place. A row of columns marches down both sides of the sanctuary. Bowls of incense send tendrils of smoke streaming upward between the soaring pillars. To the right towers the cult statue in the sunken inner sanctum.
I peer at the shadowy sculpture. The size alone is awe-inspiring. Too bad I cannot approach the god in his house.
"What do you wish to ask of the Pythia?"
I turn to the young priest waiting impatiently for me. "Will I always be barren?"
The look in his eyes, is it pity or distaste? He needn't worry. I'm not his wife.
He leaves me to go deeper into the temple. I can just make out a shrouded figure perching on the sacred tripod Herakles once attempted to steal. He says something to her, most likely repeating my question.
The Pythia begins to writhe and moan. Strange words in a language I do not understand flow from her. Is she speaking some secret language of the gods?
Once she is silent, a trio of priests confers. They glance my direction a few times as if evaluating me. What do they see? A woman instead of the young girl they would have chosen as a wife? A woman who put herself forward instead of relying on her husband to come in her place?
Finally, the first priest returns. "The Pythia says that you are 'the true daughter of Hermione and as it was for her, so shall it be for you.'"
Ah, they know I am a Spartan. That explains their disapproving glances. No matter. We Spartan women are the only women who are mothers of men.
"All thanks to Apollo and his oracle." I motion for the young warrior to accompany me and smile at the priest's discomfort. He wouldn't feel any less comfortable in the company of Amazons.
I can't wait to return home and tell my husband the good news.

A Spartan Love Bonus Scene

Disclaimer: This is a bonus scene not found in A Spartan Love. As such, it has not been edited and for all intents and purposes is a rough draft.


Theron hefted the full wineskin he had "acquired" as Andreas so carefully referred to his foraging. Both words were merely euphemisms for the theft that had kept him fed for years. But if that made Andreas more comfortable in his presence, so be it.
The wine would be his sole contribution tonight. But ever since Andreas had admitted he wouldn't be able to trade to replenish his stock until after the harvest, Theron had been looking for a chance to bring him some.
Ahead he could see Andreas' hut silhouetted against the fading reds and deepening purples of the setting sun.
Now he would have to wait until darkness made it safe to visit the helot. If someone had told Theron that he, a kryptes, would be here to dine with the man, he would have been offended. Kryptes existed to spy on helotsand kill them if necessary, not befriend them.
But Andreas had changed all that with a single meal. A bowl of barley gruel left on a stool beside his door for the kryptes who had pursued him into his home and doubtless scared him half to death. Stunned, and not just at the novelty of the meal—no one had bothered to feed him in nearly a year—Theron had returned night after night. And night after night, food had awaited him. Until the night Andreas invited Theron into his home.
He had set Theron's world on its ear—natural born enemies breaking bread and sharing salt. Theron now had obligations to his host and friend. Obligations that were at odds with his training and responsibilities as a kryptes.
Excited at the thought of a tipsy Andreas, he'd arrived a bit early. Leaning back against a handy tree trunk, Theron wondered what Andreas, the worse for wine, would be like. Would he laugh more? Become more affectionate like Coridan had the one time Lysander had given him his share of wine?
Warmth filled Theron's chest at the thought of Andreas touching him. Would he be able to get the man in his arms? All those hard muscles pressed up against him. Theron shuddered. He couldn't wait to find out.
Finally, Nix covered the sky with her star-studded cloak. Glancing carefully around, Theron held his breath, listening for any indication he was not alone. Nothing but the evening breeze, some snuffling from the goats, and the rising drone of the cicadas.
Using the cover of the goat pen, he made his way to Andreas' door. He glanced down at the stone likeness of Priapus at his feet. "Keep this house safe," he murmured and slipped inside.
The warm scent of food, wood smoke, and animals met him. A smell that was quickly coming to represent "home" to him.
Andreas had just placed a bowl of olives on the table. He glanced up, relief and pleasure shining in his eyes. "You made it."
Theron didn't even try to keep the smile off his face. "And I brought this." He held out the sloshing wineskin.

"Wine?" Andreas asked.
Theron nodded.
"I haven't had any in months. This autumn I'm going to get twice as much."
Andreas accepted the offering and poured some into both cups. He carefully watered the wine, swirling their cups to mix it. With a smile of his own, he handed a cup to Theron before raising the second to his lips.
The sweet, red liquid slid down Theron's throat and warmed his belly. He rarely drank wine and even then only sparingly. Drunkenness disgraced not only the man but Sparta as well.
Licking his lips, Andreas set his cup on the table. "I'd forgotten how good that was."
"Yes," Theron agreed. "I haven't tasted any since the Karneia." In a few short months, he would be called back to Sparta to celebrate the most important of Apollo's festivals. As all Spartans were required to attend, he'd see his mother again, and most likely his younger brother as well.
Speaking of the gods…. Theron stepped over to Andreas' hearth and the household gods arrayed there. "Guard and protect us," he requested of the deities as he poured a libation.
When he turned back to the table, Andreas was draining the wine from his cup. Andreas blushed. "It really is good."
Theron smiled and added more. "I'm glad you like it. I'll bring more next time."
Sitting at the table, Theron perused the food spread across its surface. He was always amazed at the sheer volume and variety Andreas provided. Andreas ladled lentil soup into bowls. Olives and a stack of the ever-present rounds of flat bread sat within easy reach.
A plate held Ictis' favorite roasted eggs, still in their sooty shells.
As if on cue, the furry beast pawed at Theron's leg. The distinctive scent of musty honey followed him.
"Hungry, little warrior?"
"He's always hungry. You should see what I have to go through to protect your dinner from him."
"That's all right," Theron assured the ferret. "I'll see that you get fed now."
Only the work of a moment, Theron peeled an egg and offered it to Ictis. He held the ferret's dinner so he could take the initial bite. As the egg was bigger than the creature's head, he usually had to pursue the oval until he managed to trap it in a corner first.
"You should have just let him chase it. That would have kept him busy for a while. Now he will be back for more soon."
Theron shrugged. "Let him." He liked the silly beast.
Andreas carefully removed the lid from one of his pottery cooking dishes. A roasted rabbit lay steaming inside, nestled in a bed of turnips. The mixed aroma of meat and garlic had Theron's stomach rumbling.
"Did you find some time to take Ictis hunting?"
"Yes. I just wish the rabbits wouldn't make their warrens in my fields. I have to be careful when I till the ground so I don't step in one and break a leg."
"Which field?" Theron asked, alarmed. If Andreas did break a leg, he could die without someone to help him. If wolves found him alone and unable to escape….
Andreas pointed to the hills to the northwest. "The field is up that way. But I'm not ready to work the ground yet. I'll let the goats graze it down first so I can see what I'm doing."
Theron breathed a sigh of relief. He would keep a close eye on the man once he started on that field.He drew the bronze knife from his girdle and carved the rabbit. Two rounds of bread served as plates. He pushed one to Andreas and drew the other across the table for himself.
When Theron groaned at the succulent taste of meat that wasn't simultaneously burnt and raw, Andreas flushed and reached for his wine. He emptied the cup again.
Refilling the wine, Theron noticed Andreas' flush hadn't subsided and his eyes were beginning to sparkle. Theron had never seen Andreas so relaxed and happy. The wine was working its magic on the man. He would most definitely do this again.
Dinner disappeared at a steady pace, but nothing like those first few times when he had shoved the food in so fast it was a wonder he had tasted anything. Theron was used to shield-brothers who would swoop in and devour everything, if he wasn't quick enough to get his own share. Over the course of the past few weeks, he'd learned to savor every bite.
And savor was the only word appropriate for Andreas' cooking. Theron had never in his life tasted so many varied and flavorful dishes. Not in his mother's house and definitely not since leaving for the agōgē. The gods knew he couldn't cook.

"I never knew bread could be soft and so good." Theron waved the golden round at Andreas before taking another bite.
"Uh…. Thank you." Andreas blushed more easily this time and hid behind his wine again.
Theron grinned and Andreas gulped, his throat moving fitfully with each swallow.
Retrieving the wineskin, Theron poured the last of the wine into Andreas' cup.
"I can't drink it all!" Andreas objected. "You should have some."
"I've had some." Theron raised his cup. When he finished here tonight, he would slip back to his hidden campsite. He couldn't risk dulling his senses.
Before Andreas could argue further, Ictis jumped onto the table and made his way toward the last egg. Theron chuckled.
"Oh no, you don't!" Andreas grabbed for the ferret and swiped Theron's cup instead.
The vessel hit Theron. Wine spilled down his chest, pooling in his lap.
"Oh no!" Andreas leapt up and dashed across the single room. He returned with a scrap of cloth.
Theron pulled his sticky chitonaway from his skin. Andreas gripped Theron's bare shoulder and dabbed at the liquid on his chest. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…."
His fingers flexed and slid down Theron's arm. The cloth brushed over Theron's nipple and Theron fought to keep a groan from breaking free. He was enjoying the rare touches too much to risk startling Andreas into releasing him.
Theron knew that Andreas wasn't ready yet to admit to the attraction growing between them. He probably feared allowing Theron to see his need. But Theron felt it too, a desire that could be deadly to them both.
But the danger did not prevent Theron's cock from thickening. Andreas patted Theron's belly just a handsbreadth away from the rising head of his cock. Theron reached out and gripped Andreas' shoulder as a shudder swept through him. He hoped Andreas was too distracted to notice.
Andreas was still muttering, "Sorry" and "Just let me…." His gaze followed the red trail of spilled wine over Theron's wide girdle where it mimicked the trail of hair the leather hid and Andreas' hand stilled. He swallowed very audibly and pressed the cloth into Theron's hand.
"I…. Um…. I can't…." He swallowed again. "You'd better finish." He stepped back, but his eyes followed Theron's hands as he wiped himself.
Now that Andreas had already released him, Theron didn't see anything to be gained by hiding his attraction from the man. Once he removed as much of the wine from the skirt of his chitonas possible, he reached under the cloth and rubbed himself dry.
He couldn't help becoming even harder with Andreas' gaze riveted on him. When he finally dropped the rag, his erection tented his chiton in a fashion neither one of them could deny.
With a shudder, Andreas tore his gaze away. "We should see if Ictis left us anything." He sat back down, staring at the table.
With everything turned awkward, Theron tossed about for something to restore the happy, relaxed atmosphere. The cause of all this was still on the table.
Ictis nudged an egg around the earthenware pitcher filled with water. The egg wobbled and rolled in a half circle before dropping over the edge. The crack as the shell broke was unmistakable.
The ferret jumped from the table to Theron's lap and then down to the floor. He chased the erratically rolling egg until it came to rest against Theron's foot.
"All that and you still can't eat it?" Theron leaned down and picked up the errant egg. He held it up and examined the pattern of cracks in the shell.
Jumping back into his lap, Ictis placed one paw on Theron's chest. His nose twitched as he stretched, attempting to reach the egg.

"Do you want this, little warrior?"
"More like little thief," Andreas muttered.
"Does he know any tricks?"
Andreas shook his head. "I've never tried to teach him any."
"I bet he would be easy enough to train," Theron mused. Could he convince the little clown to do something that would make Andreas laugh again?
Theron moved the empty dishes toward the center of the table, clearing a space in front of himself. He placed the cracked egg on the table. While he peeled it, Ictis nosed around his hand, climbing up on the table top and circling.
"You can't have it yet. You have to earn this one." He chuckled.
Ictis tried shoving his nose between Theron's fingers, chittering with annoyance when he couldn't get to his treat.
"I think I have his attention now." Theron glanced at a puzzled Andreas. At least he no longer appeared uncomfortable.
Closing his hand around the egg, Theron lifted it above Ictis' head. "Stand," Theron commanded. The ferret stood on his back feet and stretched his forelegs up to rest on his fist.
He raised a brow and shared a pleased glance with Andreas. "Good boy." Theron wondered who he was praising as he relaxed his hand. Ictis tore a bite from the egg, and still standing with his paws on Theron's fist, chewed happily.
When Ictis attempted to take another bite, Theron moved his hand and said, "Walk." With his paws still on Theron, Ictis took a partial step forward. Theron rewarded him with some more egg. He repeated this until Ictis had "walked" across the cleared space and Andreas was chuckling just as happily as Ictis.
"Here. You've earned it." Theron opened his hand and held the remains of the egg as Ictis finished it.
"I didn't know he could do that." Andreas' eyes sparkled with delight. "I'll see if I can teach him some other tricks."
Theron stood. This part of the evening always came too soon. "I have to go. The moon will be rising soon and I have to be gone before then."
Andreas rose hurriedly. "So soon?"
"Selênê will not stay her path for the immortals. What hope have I?"
"Then at least take this." Andreas pressed the last of the rabbit wrapped in flatbread into his hand.At the door, Andreas grasped his forearm and pulled him into a brief, one-armed embrace and thumped him on the back. Andreas released him and stepped away so quickly it was over before Theron could respond.
"I'll… uh… see you soon?"
"Every chance I get."
Theron slipped through the door, letting it close silently behind him. He made his way swiftly back into the sheltering cover of the forest.

Nothing can keep me away.

Body Language Is Free on Smashwords

Body Language takes place in Lydia—a kingdom in Asia Minor (now part of modern Turkey) that was conquered by Cyrus the Great during the 6th century BC and became part of the Persian Empire.
Years later, Lykos, the son of the king of the Thracian city-state, Aenus, is travelling incognito through the conquered province. To avoid arousing questions as to why he is there, he is only accompanied by the Persian, Narses, a friend of his father. Hearing cries for help, the two men intervene. They are too late to save a merchant and his slave, but they arrive in time to prevent bandits slaying the third member of the party.
Kas recently lost his family and was grateful to be travelling under the protection of Tahmasp. Now the merchant is dead, his future is once more under threat. He would like nothing better than to remain with the handsome warrior, but how can he explain that to a man who speaks little but Greek?

A Spartan Love Blog Tour

Be sure to stop at every blog as they each have a different excerpt from the book. Plus comment to enter the raffle for an ARe Gift Certificate.

1-Dec                    Hearts on Fire1-Dec                    PrismBook Alliance2-Dec                    WickedFaerie's Tales and Reviews2-Dec                    TheHat Party2-Dec                    ScatteredThoughts & Rogue Words2-Dec                    3 Chicks After Dark3-Dec                    LoveBytes3-Dec                    BFDBook Blog4-Dec                    MMGood Book Reviews4-Dec                    Elisa- My Reviews and Ramblings5-Dec                    RegularGuys, Hot Romance5-Dec                    FallenAngel Reviews6-Dec                    My Fiction Nook7-Dec                    AmandaC. Stone8-Dec                    MyFiction Nook9-Dec                    WakeUp Your Wild Side9-Dec                    BookReviews, Rants, and Raves10-Dec                  Crystal’s Many Reviewers10-Dec                  FangirlMoments and My Two Cents11-Dec                  theTwins: Talon ps & Princess so11-Dec                  InkedRainbow Reads12-Dec                  CateAshwood12-Dec                  MollyLolly
Dreamspinner Press Author Page and Preorder Links

A Spartan Love

Blurb:
Alone, Andreas toils on a remote farmstead for a Spartan overlord. When a kryptes enters his world, Andreas fears for his life. The dread warriors stalk and kill helots—like Andreas' father—as part of their training.
Andreas sees only one way to save himself: he must tame the fearsome warrior.
But what began as self-preservation develops into attraction. Yearning for the company of someone other than his ferret Ictis, Andreas decides to trust the Spartan warrior and risk the fate that claimed his father.
Born to rule by the sword, Theron sees the world as his and acts accordingly, taking everything Andreas offers and reaching for more. However, love between men in Sparta is considered shameful and requires either exile or suicide to redeem Sparta’s honor. Now, only the gods can save them from the terrible price Sparta extracts from men who desire other men.
eBook Preorder LinkPaperback Preorder Link

Body Language

I'm sorry I've been a bit—okay, a lot—remiss in my blogging. I'll just make my excuses right now. I've been busy. Not just with getting A Spartan Love ready for release on December 8th, but with a myriad of other projects.
I'm polishing up a short story freebie called Body Language set in the world of Apollo's Men. It takes place about 15 years before Alexios' Fate and follows King Lykos while he was still a prince traveling in Lydia. I hope to have it ready for download soon.
Young Prince Lykos lives in Thrace, the part of Greece closest to Asia Minor. He is rightly concerned that the encroaching Persian Empire has set its eyes on Greece, and decides to travel through the Satrapy of Lydia to get an idea of what the Persians are planning.
Lykos is traveling to Sardis when he happens upon bandits attacking some travelers in a mountain pass. He rescues the young man, but finds himself dealing with a language barrier.
Body Language is a story about overcoming obstacles and differing backgrounds.
I'm also working on the sequels to A Spartan Love: A Tested Love and A Shared Love. I hope to have them ready to sub before too long.

And of course, the A Spartan Love blog tour to beat all blog tours. Stay tuned for more on that.

That Word Is Too...

My personal soapbox: That word’s too modern. And the implication—not Greek enough.
Newsflash! Every English word is at least two millennia too modern. I have to use English words that my audience will understand. So Old English is out. I could use ancient Greek, but who other than scholars could read my story?
So I use mostly modern English. I throw in older forms of words and sentence structure to give the appropriate “feel”. But even that doesn’t always work. Sometimes the opposite problem comes into play. Some English words have older meanings that have fallen out of use. When I use them in this fashion, I’m told I’ve used the word incorrectly because the modern meaning is ____, ie that word is “too old.”
I have to walk the fine line of old enough to sound right, and modern enough for readability. Some days it drives me nuts.
I’ve used the word “kudos” and was told it was too modern. It’s a Greek word first used in English in 1799, but I’m pretty sure the Greeks have been using it much longer.
When I use the work “fuck”, people get all up in arms about it. Even though it is centuries old. The first recorded use was in 1535. Do you really think they weren’t saying it long before someone decided to scribble it down? So… NOT a modern word. It’s older than most of the other words in the story! And it is an appropriate word. You are correct—it is a translation. As are all the other words in the story, with the exception of a handful of Greek words I insist the reader learn. But since I don’t know Greek, the rest of the story is in English.
Not everything in ancient Greek literature is a euphemism. Homer used them because he was performing in front of an audience, trying to make a living in an older age. But others? Just read Aristophanes. Man could cuss with the best of them. They used coarse words for sex, sexual organs, and a lot of potty humor. If that is making it into print, you can rest assured that just as bad, if not worse, was coming out of people’s mouths.
Read the Priapeia, a collection of the vulgar epigrams attributed to the god Priapus, he of the huge cock, in which he threatens sexual assault on anyone who trespasses on any boundary he was protecting. This was more along the lines of a sacred text!
“I warn you, boy, you will be screwed; girl, you will be fucked;
a third penalty awaits the bearded thief.
If a woman steals from me, or a man, or a boy,
let the first give me her cunt, the second his head, the third his buttocks.
My dick will go through the middle of boys and the middle of girls,
but with bearded men it will aim only for the top.”- Craig A. Williams, Roman Homosexuality: Ideologies of Masculinity in Classical Antiquity, p. 21. Oxford University Press US, 1999.

The impressive list of curses, profanity and vulgarity used in Attic comedies makes modern day obscenity sound lacking by comparison. So when I use “fuck”, “shit”, “cock”, etc, those are words the “common man” or common ancient Greek man would have used. Would he have waxed flowery and used a ton of purple prose? Maybe if women were present (his wife and daughters—he wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near another man’s women, unless he was in Sparta).
But two guys talking? Do you really think they would have broken the euphemisms out? They sure didn’t bother when it came to graffiti that has outlasted them. But what you put on paper (more or less, signing your name to it) and what you say when you’re hanging out with the guys are two different things.

It’s all really perception. Just because the word exits in the modern world, doesn’t meant it wasn’t used in the ancient. The more we are different, the more we are the same.