The Great King (20 page)

I left him at his camp before the sun was really hot, bathed in the shallow, clean waters of the river upstream of the temples and the camp, and then walked back and put on a clean linen chiton for the events. And then I went to see the games.

The third day is, in some ways, the first full day. The whole of the pentathlon is performed on the third day, and I watched it – indeed, I devoured it. I’m not sure I can tell you exactly why, but I walked back and forth around the stadium, watching the events – javelin, always my own weakest event, held me riveted to the spot like a hilt to a blade. The races were splendid, and the jumping was felt by many to be the best in twenty years.

No Spartan placed higher than fifth.

All the Spartans tend to sit or stand together in a single block, and they move together – like a taxeis of infantry, really. It can be imposing, until you understand that they feel themselves to be different and, like many different people, they are shy with outsiders. Sparthius, for example, having run with me, showed no reserve at all – he grinned when our eyes met and took my hand. He introduced me to four other men from his mess, and they seemed a pleasant, if silent, crew.

None of them spoke to Brasidas, but then none of them attacked him, either.

I went back to my campfire that night to find that we’d sold all of our wine, that I had a nasty sunburn despite my huge straw hat, and that I still hadn’t had my surfeit of the Olympics. I was in love with the whole thing. I don’t think that I had ever seen so many men demonstrate arete in so many ways. I don’t think I had ever been so proud to be a Greek.

Themistocles, as is often the case, said it best that night. Aristides gave a dinner – note that I could afford to give men free wine, but Aristides could afford to have two hundred men to dinner – and when Themistocles spoke, it was about what it was to be a Greek. He was funny – there are, I promise you, many comic aspects to the Greek race – and sometimes trite or bigoted, but in the end, he said:

‘Look around you, brothers! Where else will you find this – the contest of men against men, for nothing greater than honour – judged not by kings, but only by men like we ourselves. Here we are, at the shrine of the gods, and what we do here – this is
who we are.
’

He was a little drunk, but I thought it was well said.

And yet – I suspect the Persians said the same, when they raced their horses and shot their bows.

We all lay on rented kline in the oil-lamp-lit darkness and swatted the voracious insects and complained about the wine. I remember I was lying with Cimon, and we were debating whether to press our forward naval plan on Themistocles one more time, when a breeze made the lamps flicker and a group of Spartans approached. I was delighted to find that the young man who wished to speak to me was Polypeithes himself, and that he had made a full recovery.

‘I owe you my life. We take this seriously, in Lacedaemon,’ he said.

It is the special gift of the Spartans to give every utterance a spin that makes other men angry. I was tempted to tell him that we took such things seriously even in Plataea, but he was young and earnest and I merely pressed his hand.

‘Will you race tomorrow, or use a charioteer?’ I asked.

He smiled. ‘Sir, I would rather come in sixth in control of my own team than win the laurel with another’s hands on the reins.’

Cimon applauded. ‘That’s a proper spirit,’ he said. ‘If you go on in this vein, I’ll have to cheer for you and not for Athens.’

While he was perched on my couch, I leaned forward. ‘Any idea who hit you with a sling stone?’

Spartans are dreadful liars. He looked away and said, ‘No!’ and hung his head.

‘Have you spoken to the queen?’ I asked him.

He nodded. ‘That is a Spartan matter,’ he said stiffly, and rose from my couch.

I waved goodbye and let him go. His friends bowed respectfully – oh, it is such a pleasure to be a famous man! – and withdrew.

Later, at my own fire, I asked Ka to make some enquiries, and I raised the whole matter with Moire and Harpagos and Paramanos, all of whom agreed. I suggested to them that it was in our interest to figure out who had done it.

Paramanos’s beard had a lot of white in it, suddenly. He looked old and wise. He sat back, accepted more wine from his own boy, and met my eye. ‘Twenty thousand suspects,’ he said.

I shook my head. ‘More like fifty thousand,’ I said. ‘Slaves can use a sling, too. Even girls.’

They all shook their heads like the chorus in a tragedy.

‘On a positive note, whoever did it is probably within half a mile of us right now,’ I said. ‘We know a few things. The guilty person was up very early, and went out along the river – that has to limit our potential group. I assume the attack was paid for by people who want Persia to triumph – or who want Sparta to submit.’

Harpagos grinned like the Chian fisherman he really was. ‘Or someone who wants Athens to be defeated,’ he said.

Moire laughed. ‘Well – that’s about everyone here.’

I already knew who I suspected. But I had no desire to poison their efforts – I knew that none of my captains could resist such a challenge, and I knew that all of them had rich resources in friends and business partners and foreign contacts.

Before I went and rolled into my cloak – alone, again, damn it – I had a whispered conversation with Sekla, Brasidas and Alexandros. We made our plans – to protect Polypeithes. It was – and is – funny to consider the four of us plotting to protect a Spartan, but something told me that not all Spartans were united in this.

In the morning, I took a staff and went for a long walk. I went up into the hills and talked to some sheep and came home by a roundabout course intended to put me on the plain in time to meet the Queen of Sparta out for her morning ride. I am as male as most men, and sometimes more so, and I won’t deny that I looked forward to seeing her, but I had some business to transact, as well.

I saw her in the distance, already done and turning back, and I came down into the valley to meet her, as if by chance. I waved and she rode to my side.

‘Good morning. You look like . . . one of the more equestrian goddesses.’ I smiled too broadly, and she frowned.

‘Wouldn’t it be a better compliment if you named one?’ she asked.

I shook my head. ‘No – that would only offer you more opportunity to disclaim the compliment and the giver. Aphrodite? No. Hera? Too presumptuous. Athena? Un-Spartan. Artemis?’ I shrugged. ‘In truth, you do not remind me of Artemis.’

Gorgo laughed. ‘You are not like most Greek men,’ she said.

I shrugged. ‘I travel. Listen, o Queen. Do you have an idea who tried to kill Polypeithes?’

She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Will he try again?’ I asked.

She shrugged.

‘You don’t care?’ I asked.

She looked away. ‘I cannot be seen to care,’ she said. ‘For some very complicated reasons that have little to do with the matter at hand.’

I nodded, although in truth I didn’t understand. ‘Adamenteis of Corinth?’ I guessed.

She blushed. Almost all of her.

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘How do you know?’ she asked.

I shrugged. ‘I don’t, but I saw the look he gave your chariot the other day, I saw his charioteer talking to Ka and asked Ka to ascertain a few things – and I saw the glare he levelled at your husband.’

‘He hates Themistocles ten times as much as he hates my husband,’ she spat. ‘He wants his team to win any way he can arrange it, and he has accepted a fat bribe from the Medes.’

I nodded. ‘Well,’ I said. ‘My second question is purely personal. Why do you want me to take your heralds to Susa?’

She looked at me as if I were a fool. ‘So that they won’t be killed, of course,’ she said. She smiled – it changed her expression from serene self-possession to a nymph-like wonder. ‘Do you really think that a pair of Spartan gentlemen who can make themselves disliked merely by walking are going to be a triumph at the court of the Great King? They are my friends, and my cousins. They are my husband’s friends. They are making a brave sacrifice for our city – I’d like to keep them from paying too high a price.’

I looked into those laughing, nymph-like eyes, and somehow failed to say ‘no’.

By the time we were entering the main valley, Gorgo and I, it was plain that something had happened at the edge of the encampment. Gorgo raced away – for the Spartan tents. I ran as best I could.

The cluster of men in the early light proved to be gathered around a corpse – a dead man with three feet of black arrow protruding from his head. He was quite dead. A pair of Olympian priests were already mourning him, and complaining that the blood shattered the truce and defiled the games. Even while I stood there, more priests came, and some of the judges. They were angry – even fearful.

A killing in the Olympics was no small matter. The impiety – the sacrilege – was so intense that men in the crowd spoke of the games being cancelled.

No one knew who the dead man was until one of the Argosian trainers identified him as one of the Corinthian grooms.

I said as little as possible and kept moving after that, because the dead man had a heavy south Egyptian arrow in him, and it virtually had to be one of Ka’s. I jogged back to my camp, cursing my wounds, and found Sekla directing operations.

‘I’m releasing the last two amphorae of wine,’ he said. ‘I’ve sent Ka to the coast to buy more.’

I understood immediately – Ka was out of camp and thus difficult to catch or question.

‘I arranged for him to have a horse,’ Sekla continued.

While Sekla spoke, I noted that Leukas had a sword under his chlamys – a long Keltoi sword – and several other men were unobtrusively armed. Sittonax was lounging on a spear, his wrist and left leg both curled lovingly around the shaft. Some men still used spears as walking staffs back then – Sittonax was taking advantage of that.

‘What happened?’ I asked quietly. I took Sekla by the arm and towed him into the back of the wine tent.

Quite loudly he said, ‘It’s foolishness to keep two amphorae for our own use. We can get a drachma a cup today.’

Then he lowered his voice. ‘The man had a sling, and he went to use it on the Spartan charioteer. That’s all I know. Ka made the call and killed him.’

It was an act of gross impiety – an attack on the Olympic grounds, during the truce. On the other hand, as far as I know, Ka had never believed in our gods, so perhaps he is immune. But if the attack were traced to me . . .

It is a difficult thing, having men who serve you. I gave them orders to protect Polypeithes. They did. Ka acted as he thought was correct, and now we had a corpse and some very angry Elisians.

‘What is done is done,’ I said. ‘On my head be it. How is the Spartan?’

‘I doubt he even knows there was an incident,’ Sekla responded. ‘Leukas followed him all the way to his encampment, dressed as a slave. He says the Spartans have thrown a cordon around their camp since the chariot returned.’

I poured myself a precious cup of our wine and sat on a leather stool. I beckoned to Sittonax, Harpagos and Leukas, all waiting visibly close. They came into the small back area of the tent.

I popped out and walked all the way around the tent to make sure we were alone. I caught Hector’s arm – he was carrying a basket of bread for Gaia – and sent him to watch the tent from a little distance, to make sure we were not overheard. I took Alexandros off his duties running our watch against theft and placed him at the door of the tent. I summoned Brasidas to our meeting. Behind me, Sekla and Leukas continued a fairly unconvincing haggle about what to charge for wine.

Committing an act of impiety at the Olympics raised the stakes enormously. Suddenly, it was all life and death.

‘Gentlemen,’ I said when I went back. ‘This is family only. Oikia, yes? Not for Cimon. Not even Paramanos.’ I looked around, and everyone nodded. ‘If Ka were to be taken, he would be tortured and then executed.’

That got to them. The south Egyptian was a very popular man.

‘Sekla – well done getting Ka away. Now – what’s our next step? It is five hours before the chariots run.’ I waved at the Spartan camp in the distance.

Brasidas did not hesitate. ‘Put a watch on the Corinthians. We have the manpower to do it.’

I had thought in terms of protecting Polypeithes. I had to smile at the Spartan-ness of his solution. I was prepared to defend, and Brasidas was, in effect, ready to attack.

‘We watch them, but what more can we do? If two slaves leave their camp . . .’ I shrugged.

Sekla smiled. ‘Every one of theirs who leaves camp is followed by a couple of ours. Do we have to be secret? Why not make it obvious? There are fewer than a hundred Corinthians here.’

I scratched my beard. ‘We could end with a war between Corinth and Plataea,’ I said.

Brasidas shook his head. ‘Look – send a few men – led by me – to watch the Corinthian camp. And some boys as runners. Do the same for the Lacedaemonian camp. If the chariot leaves their camp – then we can act.’ He shot me a hard smile. ‘I doubt the Corinthians will try again, but if they do – we need to catch them at it.’

Hector’s high-pitched voice shouted outside, ‘Lord Aristides, master!’ and I was outside in a heartbeat, smiling falsely.

Aristides looked as angry as an outraged husband. ‘I would hate to think . . .’ he began, and I came out to find that I had half the noblemen of Athens in my camp. I sent Hector for stools and wine. Cimon gave me a sign that I needed to talk fast.

‘They are saying in the camp that the Spartans killed the Corinthian groom. Other men say it was a Plataean. Others that it was an African,’ Aristides said. ‘This impiety must be punished.’

The problem with Aristides is that he was completely honest, and thus, he saw most issues in simple terms.

‘I saw the corpse,’ I said. ‘Heavy arrow. Not anyone local.’ I shrugged. ‘Perhaps a Cretan or a Cypriote.’

Cimon’s eyes applauded my lies. ‘Cretans do use heavy shafts like that one,’ Cimon drawled. ‘I had forgotten that.’

Other men responded with the sort of spontaneous expertise that every man is capable of when he knows nothing – suddenly a dozen of them were experts on Cretan arrows.