Sacred Games (17 page)

Immediately one of the judges rushed to the landing spot with a measuring rod. The athlete walked back to the group with head hung low. Men about me shook their heads and muttered. One of them was Markos.

“Not the best,” he said.

“No,” Festianos agreed. “But he needn’t worry yet. He still has four more attempts.” He paused. “The tent, yes, I know. I’m not avoiding the question. The truth is I went for a walk to clear my head. To be honest, I knew Timodemus wanted to sneak off.”

“And you let him?”
I couldn’t believe it. After all the effort I’d gone to.

Festianos snorted. “I’m a middle-aged man. Middle-aged men don’t stop young men when they want to party with the women.”

“You knew he was looking for women?”

The next pentathlete had stepped up to the line, and the aulos player picked up the tune. The athlete made a huge leap—well beyond the first—but try as he might he couldn’t stop himself from taking the tiniest step. The crowd jeered, and he walked away without a measurement. Like the first man, he still had four tries.

Festianos resumed the conversation. “Timo has been creeping from our rooms in Elis for the best part of a month. Where else do young men go in the dead of night?”

“But the Spartans might have been out to get him.”

“I was a trifle worse the wear for drink. You probably noticed. I suppose it affected my judgment.”

I felt like throttling Festianos. If he’d done what he’d said he’d do, Timodemus wouldn’t be in trouble now.

“So you let him go to the tents of the pornoi.”

“The pornoi? Timo has better taste than that. No, the lad’s picked up a girlfriend.”

That wasn’t what he’d said to me! I was careful not to let my surprise show. In the most neutral voice I could manage, I said, “What’s this girlfriend’s name?”

“I’ve no idea. He got her in Elis. Apparently she followed him here.”

I thought of how Festianos had promised me he’d watch Timodemus, then let him out on his own the moment my back was turned. Festianos was capable of lying.

“You sure you don’t know this girl’s name?”

“I swear by Zeus,” Festianos said. “Why don’t you ask Dromeus? I bet he knows. That bastard never takes his eye off Timo. I don’t know who’s more driven for my nephew to win: my brother or Dromeus.”

D
ROMEUS SAT IN
a corner of the gym with four other trainers. It seemed the ban against Team Timo didn’t extend to a former Olympic champion. Dromeus and his friends had laid wet cloths across their heads, no doubt to keep them cool in the heat. Even with the open courtyard to let in the breeze, the gym was like an oven.

Dromeus had won the pankration twenty years ago; among these men he was a celebrity. I wondered how much it had cost One-Eye to hire his services. The Timonidae were a wealthy family, but to hire a man like Dromeus must have stretched even their fortunes.

The trainers spoke among themselves. They sat upon the benches that lined the walls. There were bowls of food scattered between them and wineskins in their hands. Markos and I were about to interrupt their lunch. The thought made me realize that I’d probably be missing my own; there was too much to do.

As we approached, I heard Dromeus speak the words, “If you ask me, I reckon it was one of those two what did it—” He broke off his conversation when he saw us. “What do you want?”

They all five looked at Markos and me, standing side by side.

I said, “Dromeus, we need to ask you what happened in the procession.”

“You were there?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know.” He turned his back on us.

I stood my ground. “Dromeus, what did Arakos say?”

Dromeus turned. “Listen, kid—”

“My name’s Nicolaos.”

“Listen, kid, I’ve got a reputation to think of. You understand?”

I nodded. “You don’t want to be associated with a killer.”

The trainers burst into laughter. Dromeus said, “This young idiot thinks I don’t want to be seen with killers. Hey Theo, when did you last kill a man with your bare hands?”

Theo scratched his head. “Eight, nine months ago? At that contest in Thebes. I got this guy in a real neat choke hold, and he just wouldn’t give up. Bastard grabbed my balls and twisted, so I jerked his—”

“Thanks, Theo,” Dromeus broke in. “Eosilos, how many men you killed?”

“You know I can’t count high, Dromeus! I’m an athlete, not a philosopher.” They all grinned while Eosilos counted on his fingers, slowly. “Reckon I’ve done for eight men as I recall.” He paused. “Not counting Persians, of course.”

“Barely worth the effort of killing,” Dromeus agreed with a straight face. He turned back to me. “You see, kid? Every man here has killed with his own hands, except for you and your friend.”

He was wrong, in my case at least. I’d killed two men, but neither was something I could talk about. Markos kept his
expression carefully neutral and hadn’t said a word, but I felt rather than saw his muscles tense, and I guessed he too had seen his share of mayhem.

Dromeus had made his point.

“Murdering don’t mean a thing, kid. You know what they do before the pankration? They give us a blanket pardon for murder. Because all those kids you saw take the oath? Chances are one of them’s going to kill another before these Games are over.”

“One of them already has,” Theo said.

“But the next one will be fair and square.”

“Where were you when Arakos died?” I asked.

“You’re not suggesting I—an Olympic champion—had something to do with this, are you?”

“As it happens—”

Theo and Eosilos raised their fists.

“Er … no, of course not, Dromeus.”

“Good.”

Markos cut in smoothly, “But consider, sirs, if we know where everyone was, then it helps us to eliminate the innocent from suspicion, you see? Also, anyone you saw must be innocent.”

Markos, the calm voice of reason; once again he was doing better than I in an interview. This was becoming a habit I didn’t want to continue.

Dromeus considered Markos’s words. “All right,” he said. “After the ceremony, where my moron of a student made a complete ass of himself in front of everyone, I dragged the young idiot here to the gym. Well, you know that, Nicolaos, you turned up later.”

I nodded. I could still feel the bruises.

“No one hung around after you left. Timodemus had his rubdown. Then his uncle led him away.”

“Not One-Eye?” I interrupted.

“He wasn’t there. You know that.”

So I did. One-Eye had gone to see Pericles and then the judges.

“What about that night? Did you see Timodemus then?”

“Didn’t see him the entire evening.”

“What about One-Eye?”

“Didn’t see him neither.”

“Is that reasonable? You train his son, who was scheduled to fight in only a few days.”

“No, he isn’t. Timodemus is a prisoner. Remember?”

“You didn’t know that then.”

Dromeus shrugged. “All I can say is I didn’t see One-Eye nor his son nor his brother the whole night, and I stayed up late, let me tell you.”

“Oh?”

“I stayed at the gym to greet my friends. It was dark when we left here.”

“It took that long?” Markos asked.

“I have a lot of friends. Then we went out to dinner together.”

“All of you?”

“Most.”

“Anyone can vouch for you?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Dromeus nodded at Theo and Eosilos. They grinned back at me, or, rather, they bared their teeth.

“I saw Arakos,” Theo said. Every head turned, and Theo looked surprised at the attention his statement got him.

“What?” Dromeus said.

“When? Where?” I added.

“It was when I left you guys. After dinner. Remember, I said I was off to get a woman?”

Heads nodded. Everyone agreed Theo had been off to get a woman.

“Well, I was walking to the women’s camp, and Arakos passed me by.”

“Wait, when was this?” I demanded.

Theo scratched his head. “I dunno. To tell you the truth, I’m not too good at telling the time …”

“He means he was plastered,” added Eosilos helpfully.

Theo looked hurt. “That ain’t true, Eos,” he said. “I walked in a straight line all the way from here to the women, didn’t I?”

“You was walking in a straight line when you left,” Eos allowed. “All right, so you was mellow.”

“Mellow. Exactly.” Theo nodded. “Mellow’s fine. Means you can still get it up. Not like plastered, ’cause in that case with a woman you got to—”

“Could we get back to Arakos please?” I asked. “Can any of you remember when Theo left your company?”

They all looked blank.

“Was the moon still rising, or was it falling?” I asked in desperation.

“Rising,” said Dromeus. “I remember. Not long before it peaked.”

Close enough to midnight, then.

“Excellent. Now, Theo, think hard—”

He gaped at me with an open mouth.

“Where did you see Arakos?”

“We crossed the ford together.”

“Did he see you?”

“Sure. We spoke.”

“What!”

“I said I was going to get a woman, and he said he was, too, and then he was going to meet Timodemus to beat the little bastard senseless.”

“In the name of Zeus, why?”

“In revenge for what happened at Nemea.”

“What happened at Nemea?” Markos asked, looking confused. “What’s Nemea last year got to do with this?”

“Arakos lost. Timodemus won,” Theo said simply.

“I’ve heard there was some unpleasantness at Nemea,” I said.

Silence, but a few eyes turned toward Dromeus.

“Theo, why didn’t you tell me this before?” Dromeus said.

“You didn’t ask, Dromeus.”

“I would have stopped a fight.”

I asked the trainers, “Would it be cheating if two pankratists decided to batter each other in private,
before
the contest?”

They had to scratch their heads about that one. “I dunno,” said Eosilos. “I never heard of it happening, but there’s nothing in the rules against it, is there, Dromeus?”

Dromeus shook his head. “Nothing in the rules says no, but if my student agreed to meet Arakos in the woods, I’d kill the idiot before the judges did.”

“Dromeus, when I walked in, I heard you say, ‘I reckon it was one of those two what did it.’ Who were you talking about?”

“Never you mind.”

There was nothing I could do to force him to answer.

“What would you say if I told you someone—I won’t say who—has accused you of the murder?”

Dromeus laughed bitterly. “I’d say One-Eye was full of donkey crap.”

I gaped. “What makes you think it was One-Eye?”

“The look on your face, for one. But I know ’cause I can read people, and let me tell you that bastard would do anything to get Timodemus off. Do you know the most important skill of a pankratist?”

“Hitting people?”

Dromeus snorted. “If that’s all there was to it, any big man could be a champion. Look at Timodemus, he’s a small guy, but he can mix it up just fine. No, kid, the secret is in reading your opponent. Where he’s looking can tell you a lot. So can his body, which muscles are tense, which relaxed.”

“So you’re saying Timodemus can read people?” Markos said.

“Like a scroll. It’s why he’s the best. He’s never where the other guy’s about to strike. It’s almost impossible to hit the little bastard.”

It occurred to me, if Timo could read other people so well, then he knew Arakos was about to needle him before Arakos
opened his mouth. Then how could he claim he was so enraged by Arakos that he acted without thought?

Markos said, “I take it you don’t like One-Eye.”

Dromeus shrugged. “I gotta train his son. I don’t have to like the father.”

“What about Timo himself?” I asked.

“Timodemus is all right,” Dromeus said. “Listen, kid, I like you. You took on Timodemus when you didn’t have a hope in Hades. You knew he was going to beat you to a pulp, didn’t you?”

“I told you we fought as kids. You said Timo needed to get the anger out of his system.”

He nodded. “I like that. A man ready to take a few lumps for a friend.”

“You said fighting me would get the anger out of Timo’s system. Did it work, Dromeus?”

“I think it did.”

“Then how can you think Timo killed Arakos?”

“You got it wrong, kid. You asked me before who the two were, the two I reckon did it.”

“Yes?”

“One-Eye and Festianos.”

The others in the room showed no surprise. It must have been common gossip. I said, “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? They want their boy to win.”

“Festianos says you’re desperate yourself.”

Dromeus snorted. “I’m a professional. Sure I want my student up there. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna cheat for it. I told you I didn’t see One-Eye and Festianos that night, but I tried. I went around to their tent. Neither of them was there. I reckon they were off, seeing to Arakos.”

T
HE MOMENT WE
left the gym, Markos took my arm and led me to a quiet spot in the shade of the building. Quiet meant
there were only ten other men sitting there, fanning themselves and talking sport. Olympia really was crowded.

Markos said softly, so the others wouldn’t hear, “Nico, this evidence of Dromeus agrees with the ostrakon I found, the one that demanded a meeting.”

“I know, Markos, but Timodemus denied writing it.”

“He’s your friend. I understand,” he said sympathetically. It was the tone of a man who spoke to the bereaved, or the soon to be bereaved.

“I don’t know, Markos. Give me some time. I need to think.”

Had Timo lied? I didn’t want to think about it, so instead, I wondered what Diotima was doing, whether she’d made any progress, and suddenly I was gripped by the empty feeling of not having her with me. So I said, “Come on, Markos. I want you to meet my wife.”

W
E FOUND HER
at Petale’s tent. A queue of men waited outside. Diotima sat at a table beside the entrance with a stack of coins and a water clock dripping away the time.

A man emerged smiling from behind the tent flap. He blinked, adjusted his tunic, and sauntered off.

“Next!” Diotima called, without taking her eyes off the clock. It had only a few drops left to run. At the last drop, Diotima turned it over and made a mark on a wax tablet. She consulted her notes and said to the man at the head of the queue, “Let’s see, you’re doggy.” She handed him four obols from the stack of coins.