Sacred Games (34 page)

“Dear Gods.” My heart raced.

“His name is Markos.”

He’d asked me if Diotima had a sister, and I’d told him he’d have to find his own beautiful and clever priestess. It seemed he had. Markos had betrayed me.

“This Markos, what’s he like?” Pythax asked.

I wanted to say he was evil. I wanted to say he was poor, and a coward, and he beat women. But Pythax had to do his best for Diotima, and I had to help him, because I wanted the best for her too. I thought about my answer for a long time, before I came to a reluctant conclusion.

“I admire him,” I said. “But Pythax—”

The tent flap flew open at that moment and Socrates ran in, followed by Niallos, who was both excited and sober.

“Nico! Nico! Look what we’ve got!” Socrates skidded to a halt in front of me and held up a tiny piece of metal, as if he’d discovered the world’s greatest treasure.

“What is it?” I stared at the bent bronze. It was a thick piece of wire.

“It’s the linchpin from a chariot,” said Niallos. “From our chariot. You were right, Nicolaos; it’s just like the story of Pelops and Oinomaos.”

“Where did you find it?”

“On the floor of the team box,” said Socrates. “Niallos showed me where to search.”

Diotima and I stared at each other. “Then that solves it,” she said. “But … I can barely believe it. Who would have thought?”

“Not me,” I said. “It’s almost impossible to prove.” I thought about it. “We’ll have to trick everyone.”

“And I know how to do it. Listen to this.” Diotima spoke for a long time. I wasn’t happy with her idea, but I knew she was right.

Pythax growled. “I’ll see to my end of it.”

I nodded, reluctantly.

Diotima put an arm around me. “I’m sorry, Nico. This’ll be so painful for your friend.”

I
T WAS THE
afternoon of Day Four. At any moment, the wrestling would begin. Then it would be the boxing, and finally, the pankration.

I went to see Timodemus in his prison. The walls were scarred where an angry mob had attacked because they believed Timodemus was the cause of all their troubles. At one place there was actually a hole smashed all the way through, where someone with a pickaxe had repeatedly struck the weakened ancient stones. It occurred to me that Timodemus was lucky to be alive. I thanked the guards as I passed, though. One of them spat. “Don’t thank me. If it weren’t for the Priestess of the Games, I would’ve handed over the little bastard.”

I blinked. “Klymene was here?”

“She stood where you are now, folded her arms, and dared the mob to pass her. She said they’d only get to Timodemus over her dead body.”

Well, wasn’t that interesting.

Timodemus paced in his room. It was obvious he’d been at it some time.

“I’m not used to the lack of exercise,” he explained. “I need to keep moving.”

“Not much room,” I said.

Timo shrugged. “I’ve been doing jumps and push-ups. It’s enough. The forced rest may even have done me some good.” He smiled wryly. “Do you think it’s important for a man who’s about to be executed to be healthy?”

Timo did indeed look better than he had in a long time. He’d always worn training scrapes and cuts and bruises; three days with no practice had given them time to heal.

“Why do you fight, Timo?” I asked.

He smiled. “It would hurt if I just stood there and let them hit me.”

“No, this is a serious question. Why do you walk into the ring, time after time?”

Timo stood for a long while, contemplating. Then he scratched his balls.

“I dunno,” he said.

“That’s the sum total of your deep personal introspection?” I asked.

“Listen, Nico, have you ever known a time when I
didn’t
fight?”

“No.”

“There you are, then. Fighting is what I do. If I stopped, I wouldn’t be Timo anymore.”

“You fight because your father told you to fight,” I said.

“Well, yes,” he admitted reluctantly. “But that was when I was a child, so long ago it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Do you
want
to go on?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Your father demands I move your trial forward, to before the pankration.”

“So I can compete.”

“If you survive the trial, yes. And listen, I think I know what happened. But trials are tricky things, my friend; the result might not turn out the way you’d want.”

“Then it’s like the pankration. No matter how good you are, you can never be sure how it’ll end.”

“There’s something else of which I must warn you, Timo. After this trial is over, even if the judges acquit you, you might not feel like competing.”

“I see.” He sat there and said nothing. I wondered if he truly did see.

“Timo, what do you want me to do? If you want to fight, the trial has to be right now.”

Timo thought for a moment. “The choice is mine?”

“Entirely yours. If you say you want to wait to tomorrow, then
that’s what we do. I’ll tell your father it was my decision. One-Eye will never know it’s what you wanted.”

Now Timo really did think, staring at the floor. I sat as quiet as I could to not disturb him while he considered his fate.

Timo looked up and said, “Let’s go for it.”

“P
INDAR
, I’
VE GOT
a job for you.”

“What, another commission?”

“You’ll want to do this one for free.”

I explained what I needed and why.

Pindar laughed. “You’re right, my young friend. I’d do this purely to see the looks on their faces.”

“That’s good, because I couldn’t afford you twice. Speaking of which, how’s my praise song coming along?”

“At the moment I actively seek inspiration and explore the exciting possibilities, all within the efficient confines of my febrile imagination.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I haven’t done a thing. But don’t worry, I always do my best work in a rush, right before the deadline.”

“So do I. I hope.”

A
S
I
WALKED
through the Athenian camp I came across Festianos outside his tent.

“Have you heard the news?” I said to him.

“No, what?”

“The judges have agreed to try Timodemus this afternoon.”

“A day early?”

“I told Exelon I have enough evidence to clear Timo’s name. Markos says he’s ready to prosecute. They agreed to bring it forward. If he’s found innocent—and with my evidence I’m feeling confident—they’ll allow him to compete. I don’t know why you look so surprised, Festianos. This is exactly what your brother One-Eye demanded.”

“Yes, it is. But I never thought the judges would agree. I’m not … that is, we’re not ready. Timo hasn’t trained at all these last days.”

I shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do about that, I’m afraid. Will I see you at the trial?”

“Yes, of course.”

I continued on my way down the path and out the camp entrance. As I rounded the corner, I passed Pindar and Socrates.

“Don’t lose him,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.

Everything was set in motion, and there was no way to recall it. Timodemus would live or die according to whether our plan worked.

T
HE TRIAL OF
Timodemus was held in the central room of the Bouleterion. To arrange the matter at such short notice, with the presence of the judges required at every event, the trial had to be held between the boxing and the pankration.

I waited inside for the judges and the witnesses to arrive. Markos waited with me.

I barely knew what to say to the man who’d offered to marry Diotima. I settled for, “You asshole! I thought you were my friend.” I resisted the urge to punch him down.

“But … it’s over between the two of you,” Markos said. “You told me so yourself. That’s why I thought I was free to say something.”

“That doesn’t mean I like it. Couldn’t you at least have had the decency to wait until the Games were over?”

“I didn’t want to risk another man offering first. Would
you
risk losing a prize like her?”

“No,” I said bitterly.

Markos put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nico, that was insensitive of me. If I’d thought you were still in with a chance I wouldn’t have said a thing. I’ll go to her father after the trial to withdraw my offer.”

“Don’t bother.” I shook my head. “I can’t blame you for doing what I want to do myself. Forget it, Markos. We both have the trial to think about.”

“The trial, yes.” Markos, hesitated for a moment, then said, “Nico, I’ve come to love you as a friend, but I’m sorry, once we go to trial, it will be a fight between you and me. I warn you I’ll hold nothing back.”

“It’s like the pankration,” I said, echoing Timodemus.

“Exactly,” Markos agreed.

“It’s all right, Markos.” I grinned. “I won’t think the less of you when you lose.”

“What makes you think I’ll lose, Athenian?” He grinned back, the moment of anger between us gone. “It’ll be me who takes the first-ever winner’s crown for investigation.”

“Twenty drachmae says it’ll be me.”

“Fifty.”

“Done.”

The Ten Judges filed in. They’d come straight from the stadion. They were covered in sticky sweat to which a layer of dust had adhered. Their hair was plastered down. Behind them came Pericles; King Pleistarchus and his mother, Queen Gorgo, who stepped slowly; Xenares One-Eye, and Festianos followed by Pindar; and, in the middle surrounded by guards, Timodemus.

The judges sat behind a long bench table. At once slaves placed cups of watered wine in their hands. As one they downed the drink and held out their cups for more. If the red skin on their faces and necks was any indication, being under the sun for four days had given them all severe sunburn.

Exelon opened the proceedings. “I have a pounding headache. Can we make this quick?”

Quick, to consider a man’s life?

“The situation is unusual,” Exelon continued with the understatement of the Games. “But we will proceed along normal
lines.” Exelon nodded at Markos. “We begin with the prosecution case against Timodemus.”

Markos stepped forward and said suavely. “I’ll be brief.” Ten judges nodded in appreciation. Under my breath, I cursed his self-assurance. Why couldn’t I be like that?

“Gentlemen, we can twist and turn all we like,” began Markos. “We can consider one hypothesis or another. We can list suspects. We can check their alibis. We can consider motive until the Gods themselves go gray of advanced age. We can do all these things, but we can’t escape one fact: who could beat to death the second-best unarmed fighter in Hellas, other than the very best? That, gentlemen, is the heart of the issue. I need hardly mention that everyone saw Timodemus attack Arakos on the morning of the murder.”

Markos spoke with such authority, his words measured and reasoned, that I found myself unconsciously nodding in agreement. When I realized what I was doing, I stopped. But I knew what effect his words must be having on the others.

“And the motive for this killing?” Xenares the ephor asked.

“Timodemus cheated at the Nemean Games. Arakos knew it and intended to expose him.”

Exclamations from the judges, though I knew at least half of them must have heard the rumors.

“And the method of cheating?” Xenares prompted. The two must have prearranged this dialogue.

“Witchcraft,” Markos said.

Gasps, and murmurs of shock.

“Is this true?” one judge demanded.

“I believe so, sir,” said Markos. “Arakos, who had been at Nemea and lost to Timodemus in the last round, stood ready to expose what had happened there. Of course such news would disqualify the accused for the Olympics.”

“These are lies!” Timo shouted.

“The rumors about Nemea are rife,” Markos said calmly. “You can check them for yourselves.”

Several men nodded. It seemed they already had.

“The final evidence is this.” Markos tossed onto the bench the ostrakon he’d found in the tent of Arakos. It clattered across the wooden top, loud in the sudden silence of the room. A judge picked up the broken pottery to read the message I’d seen two days ago:
Timodemus says this to Arakos: I offer to meet you in the woods across the river tonight
.

“The implication is clear,” said Markos. “Timodemus lured Arakos to the woods with this message. Timodemus struck Arakos on the forehead without warning—you’ve all seen the body—then beat him to death.”

Markos stepped back.

“A brilliant summary, Markos. Short, succinct, conclusive,” said Xenares.

“What says Athens?” Exelon demanded.

“I can explain this, sirs,” I said. “But … uh … it might take a little while.”

Ten judges frowned. I licked my lips, and tasted salty sweat. I hadn’t realized until that moment how hot and close was the room.

I plowed on. “Timodemus stands accused of cheating through witchcraft, a charge for which there’s no defense; it’s all but impossible to prove innocence in such cases.”

I paused.

“I call upon Festianos, the uncle of Timodemus, to give evidence.”

“What’s this?” Festianos stepped to the center. He looked worried.

“Only that you were at Nemea, Festianos.”