Sacred Games (30 page)

“Of course we are,” said the kottabos winner. “That’s ’cause we watch it most.”

“Right. What can you tell me about Dromeus?”

“Which one?”

“Dromeus the Olympic victor.”

“Yeah, which one?”

It took me a moment to realize what he meant. “You mean there are two Olympic victors named Dromeus?” I asked.

“Of course, there are. Don’t you know nothing? There’s Dromeus of Stymphalos who won the
diaulos—
”

I looked at him blankly.

“The
diaulos
, where they race two lengths of the stadion. Diaulos—two lengths—get it?”

“Sure.”

“Well, he’s the Dromeus what said athletes should eat nothing but meat, and he won, so ever since athletes have been on meat-only diets. That philosopher who preached this morning, the one with the bread cow—”

“It was an ox.”

“He’ll be lucky to leave these Games alive if he keeps talking against meat. That bread cow was a laugh, though.”

“What about the second Dromeus?”

“That’s Dromeus of Mantinea. He won the pankration in the seventy-sixth Olympiad.”

“I’m after Dromeus of Mantinea.”

“You’re wrong,” another herald spoke up. “Dromeus won in the seventy-fifth.”

“It was the seventy-sixth,” said the first.

“You’re both wrong. It was the seventy-fourth,” said a third man.

“Don’t tell me what’s what. I can name every Olympic victor in every event going back to the days of my father.”

The second man spat in the dust. “That’s nothing. I can name every running victor since the days of my grandfather. My grand-daddy memorized the winners in his own day, and he passed it on to me dad, and me dad passed it on to me. And when my son is grown he’ll know the victors for four generations.”

Diotima spoke up. “Gentlemen, could we get back to the issue at hand?”

“What’s
she
doing in the stadion?” one of the heralds demanded. He stared at her like she was some creature from the underworld.

“Are the Games on?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then she can be here.” I was right, and he knew it. Women were only barred during competition. “So as my wife says, what was Dromeus like, as a competitor? Aggressive? Smart? Tough?”

“You mean, how he fought? Ha!” They shared a good chuckle before one of them deigned to explain. “You know how Dromeus won his crown, don’t you?”

“I imagine by beating his opponents.”

Now all the heralds guffawed.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said the kottabos winner. “Dromeus won without raising a fist.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, it ain’t. That year there was only one other contestant for the pankration.” He shrugged. “It happens, some years. Anyways, the other man was Theagenes of Thasos, and he’d also entered for the boxing. Theagenes won the boxing, then claimed he was too exhausted to fight the pankration.”

“I’m not surprised.”

He spat. “Surprise or no, the man was a coward. It’s an insult to Zeus to enter the Games and then refuse to fight. The judges fined Theagenes two talents.”

“Urrk.” That was more money than I ever expected to see in my life. Two talents were twelve
thousand
drachmae, enough to feed a family for thirty years.

The herald said, “Yeah, but here’s the thing. Dromeus of Mantinea stood to fight, and no one stood against him. So they had to award him the crown for nothing. And ever since then, men have said he’s the weakest Olympic victor ever. That’s gotta burn him to the core, don’t you reckon?”

“T
HAT
’
S THE BEST
motive I’ve heard for killing someone in, oh, at least half a day,” Diotima said as we wandered away.

“It certainly makes it more likely he’d kill for a win,” I agreed.

“The more I hear about this Dromeus, the less I like him,” she said.

We stopped dead, because there, in front of us, stood Diotima’s stepfather, Pythax. He looked gray and old, two words I would never have associated with the Pythax I knew. Had he been taken ill?

He said to me, “I’ve just been talking to your dad. He’s officially turned down my dowry offer unless I throw in the farm.”

“Throw in the farm,” Diotima said at once.

“Do you want your mother to starve?” he said quietly.

Diotima paused for a long moment. “No.”

Pythax turned back to me. “So it’s like this, Nicolaos.”

I blinked. It was the first time Pythax had ever called me anything other than little boy.

Pythax said, “I gotta find another husband for my daughter. I would have liked you, but it ain’t gonna happen. Diotima might not be my natural daughter, but she’s mine all the same, and I’m going to do right by her. I’ll find her someone decent, I promise you that, ’cause I ain’t giving her to no one but a decent man.”

I nodded. “I understand, Pythax.”

“I thought you would. We both want the best for her, right?”

I almost choked. “Of course.”

“Yeah, and the best place to find someone is right here at Olympia.”

Pythax might not be the smartest man in Hellas, but he wasn’t stupid. Many men brought their daughters to Olympia to find them matches, and many men came here to find a wife. Diotima was a beauty. Pythax could find a husband who’d want Diotima for herself, whose father didn’t need another farm.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Diotima demanded.

“No,” Pythax and I said simultaneously.

“I’ll talk to my father,” I said.

“He ain’t gonna budge.”

“I know.” And I knew why. If Father accepted Diotima on the offered terms, we’d be bankrupt within a month. He was too proud to tell Pythax that, and Pythax was too proud to admit he couldn’t make it as a citizen without Diotima’s wealth. They were both trapped by poverty.

“Go back to the women’s camp, Diotima,” Pythax said. “If you’re seen alone with Nicolaos, everyone will know you two’ve been … er … friendly. Fortunately we’re at Olympia. There’re a lot of eligible bachelors here, from other cities. Men who don’t know … er … aren’t aware of …”

“My unfortunate family history?” Diotima supplied. Her tone could have frozen an ocean.

“Well, yeah.” Pythax shuffled his feet. He could command hundreds of guards with ease, but one stubborn woman was beyond him.

“If you think I’ll agree to this,
Pythax
,” Diotima said, “then you’re quite insane.”

There were fathers who would have struck their daughters for such rudeness. Pythax wasn’t one of them. He was silent for a long moment. He seemed sad. Finally, he spoke.

“Then there’s only one thing left I can do,” Pythax said. “I’ll give Sophroniscus the farm. You can marry Nicolaos, and I’ll hire out as a mercenary.”

Mercenary?

Diotima exclaimed, “No! Father! You can’t do that.”

I agreed with her. For all his tough talk and tougher ways, Pythax was a man who ended fights, not started them.

“If I ain’t got the farm, I got to do something to earn money to support your mother. Mercenary is honorable work, even for a citizen,” he said, then added, “And it’s something I can do.”

“I won’t have this,” Diotima said.

“Then go back to the women’s camp,” said Pythax.

“You’ll have to go, Diotima,” I said.

Diotima knew it, too. She offered me one look of despair, and walked away.

We watched her go.

“Nicolaos, I want you to know I’m ashamed about this.”

“I understand, Pythax,” I said. “I don’t like it, but I understand. I would have liked you as a father-in-law.” I forced a grin. “I never thought I’d say that, after we first met.”

“Yeah, well, we still don’t take piss-poor little mama’s boys in the Scythian Guard.”

He paused.

“Of course, you ain’t one of those anymore.”

I said, “Pythax, I was just about to go into the gymnasium. There’s someone there I need to talk to. Want to come along?”

His sad eyes brightened. “See the Olympic gymnasium? ’Course I do.”

“Come on.”

Dromeus was exactly where I’d left him, with his cronies, Eosilos and Theo and the rest of them, old warriors recalling old times. There was no reason Dromeus should have moved; he didn’t have a student to train.

“Dromeus,” I said at once. He and his friends looked up from their talk. “You said your friends were with you the night Arakos died. Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve seen how close you pankratists are to each other. You might have tried to kill each other when you were young men, but I reckon you’d die for each other now.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Dromeus said, and his friends about him nodded.

“Which makes me wonder if your alibi is any good. Did you kill Arakos?”

He snorted derision and said nothing.

“I wonder how much you needed Timo to win. I wonder if you needed this victory as much as One-Eye?”

“You’re crazy. I’m an Olympic victor. Nothing could compare to that, not even if my man wins.”

“How did you win your victory, Dromeus?”

He glared at me. “You know. Everyone knows what happened. I stood to take on anyone who cared, and no one came forward. I can’t
make
them fight me, can I?”

I said, “It’s true, isn’t it, Dromeus, men consider your victory lesser because it was unopposed?”

“Listen here, weakling, it’s Zeus who grants the victory. At my Games, that’s the way he chose to do it.” Dromeus was almost shouting.

“What do men whisper behind your back? ‘There goes the man who won his crown for nothing.’ ”

Dromeus picked me up with one hand and slammed me against the wall. He was so fast, I didn’t know until it had happened. My legs dangled off the ground. I could feel his hot breath on my face.

“Is that what you say?” he asked.

“Er …” Something had gone horribly wrong. I’d wanted to provoke Dromeus into an angry admission, not a beating rage.

Dromeus drew back his fist to punch me in the face.

From seemingly nowhere Dromeus was thrown to the side. I dropped to the ground.

Standing behind Dromeus was Pythax.

Dromeus rolled like the expert he was and sprang to his feet ready to fight. Pythax stood there, solid as a rock, with bulging muscles. The two huge men faced each other: the expert pankratist and the hard-muscled barbarian.

Pythax said, “Leave him alone. I know he ain’t much, but he’s a friend.”

Dromeus sized up Pythax and spat at his feet. “Stay out of this, barbarian. You shouldn’t even be here. The Sacred Games are for Hellenes.”

“I’m a citizen of Athens,” Pythax said in his barbarian accent, and even I winced at the sound of it.

Dromeus laughed. “They make men out of dogs now, do they?”

I thought Pythax would strike—he turned angry red—but instead he said, “I reckon Nicolaos got it right. A man who wins a crown for nothing ain’t worth much.”

Dromeus flushed. “I earned my victory!”

“A real man would’ve refused the crown, ’less he had to fight for it.”

“Anytime, barbarian.”

They squared up to each other like two angry Titans.

“The agora. Before the light closes. I like to see a man when I kill him.”

“I’ll see you there, barbarian.”

Pythax and I backed out of the gym; it was that sort of tension. When we were out the door, I said to him, “You realize you just agreed to take on a professional fighter?”

“I had to, little boy. That bastard questioned my right to be here. Me, a citizen of Athens.”

And who was I to question that? Pythax had defended the greatest privilege any man could have.

“Pythax, when you meet Dromeus, let me back you up.”

He clapped me on the back, and I almost fell over. “I knew you’d say that.”

“At least I discovered something important.”

“What?”

“That Dromeus was capable of killing Arakos. I didn’t even know he was about to attack me until my head hit the wall.”

Pythax shook his head. “You picked a dangerous trade, little boy.”

This, from a man who was about to face a trained bare-handed killer.

The feeling between us at that moment was intense. If we’d both been Hellenes, we would have hugged. But I refrained. Pythax was a barbarian, and I didn’t want to embarrass him. Then I remembered Pythax was trying so hard to be Hellene.

But the moment had passed. I watched Pythax’s back as he strode to the agora.

“You look rather depressed,” a voice said from behind.

I turned around to see Markos.

“I am.”

“The man you were speaking to, when I saw you just now, that’s the father of your fiancée, isn’t it?”

“That’s Pythax, and that’s why I’m depressed. The wedding with Diotima is officially off.”

“What’s this?” Markos asked, surprised.

“They can’t agree on the dowry,” I said shortly, unwilling to tell him the details.

“I see.” He rubbed his chin. “Well, it happens, even among the Spartans, but I’m sorry for you. They say fathers know best about these things. What happens to Diotima now?”

“Pythax hopes to find her a suitable husband here at Olympia.”

“A girl like her, she’s bound to get offers before the Games are over.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked.

He put a hand on my shoulder.

“Nico! Nico!” Socrates ran up, stopped in front of us, panting. “Another message! It was dropped in our tent, just like the last one.”

Socrates handed it to me. Into this ostrakon, scratched in shaky, barely legible letters, were these words:

Why haven’t you arrested them? I’m scared but I have to do something. Meet me at the Temple of Zeus at dusk and I’ll tell you but only you or I’ll run away
.

“Did anyone see him?” I asked.

Socrates shook his head.

I said, “Who is this man?” But there was no answer. I would have to find out when I met him.

It was unfortunate Socrates had found me in the presence of Markos. Though we were supposed to share everything, this meeting was an advantage I could have held. I turned the new ostrakon over and over, in hopes of gleaning something more.

“The shard was taken from the side of a broken amphora,” I said, and Socrates nodded.

“How can you tell?” Markos asked.