Gary Corby: Sacred Games

“No. I love her, Timo, seriously love her.”

Timo winced. “No dowry?”

“None. No contract either. No one’s happy.”

“Couldn’t your fathers work it out now between them?”

“They could, except mine refuses to acknowledge the marriage.”

“Why?”

“Because Diotima’s mother is a … er … she was a hetaera .”

“A courtesan?” Timo guffawed.

“At least she was an expensive one!”

“Oh, well, that’s all right then!” He laughed.

“Anyway,” I said, slightly miffed. “Diotima’s mom is retired now and married to Pythax.”

“So your girlfriend’s mother is an ex-prostitute, her stepfather is a former slave, and your father isn’t impressed? I can’t imagine why,” said Timo. “You know your father’s never going to agree, don’t you? Mine certainly wouldn’t. One-Eye would probably beat me senseless if I did anything like that. Can you give her back?”

“Never! Besides, in the words of Diotima’s stepfather, I’ve soiled her.”

“Er … how soiled is she?”

“Very,” I said with a broad grin.

Timo whistled. “Pythax isn’t only going to kill you. He’s going to tear your limbs off first. But I still can’t believe it. My friend Nicolaos is married.”

“Your turn will come, Timo.”

“Not so long as I can help it. I’ll do what any normal man does: hold out until I’m thirty and then ask my father to find me a fourteen-year-old virgin from a good family.”

“Fair enough.”

The masseur slave stepped forward and reminded Timo he must submit to massage immediately-if he didn’t, his muscles would lock, and his groin might be permanently damaged. Timo departed with good grace, stopping only to ask, “Nico, if they let me stay in, will I see you at the contest?”

“Of course, Timo! I wouldn’t miss seeing you crowned for anything.”

The Athenians had been allocated camp space well to the south of the central Sanctuary of Zeus, where stood all the buildings. To the north of the Sanctuary was Mount Kronos, some ancient ruins, the agora, and the road to Elis. To the Sanctuary’s east was the stadion and the hippodrome. To the west was the river Klodeos and, across it, the women’s camp. It was to the south, then, where most of the city camps went. They nestled where the Klodeos met the Alfeios River. The flat ground was well suited for tents, but unfortunately less so for drainage.

The Athenian camp was a confused, raucous mêlée of tents and campfires; men drank and laughed and sang, and tethered donkeys brayed. It was only the first day of five, yet already the air blowing past the tent flaps was a trifle rank with the aroma of donkey droppings, sweat, stale wine, and the urine of men who couldn’t wait. The scene would be the same in every direction about the stadion. Every city was allocated its own grounds, and only the brave or the truly drunk would walk into another city’s camp and declare support for their own.

A new spirit of enthusiasm, pride in our city, and optimism for the future had infected the Athenians ever since the new democracy had begun the year before. We were at Olympia to cheer on our city, which we knew to be the greatest in the world.

I found Pericles in the middle of this chaos, in his tent, located in a prime position on the main thoroughfare through the camp. He read a scroll and scratched notes upon a wax tablet with a stylus. He looked at me in surprise when I entered and raised an eyebrow. “What happened to you?” he asked.

I was bruised all over. I limped from my damaged knee, which was visibly the size of a melon below the material of my short-hemmed tunic. Timo’s trainer had worked it over and assured me the swelling would soon disappear, but it still hurt like Hades. My left eye was black and swollen-I didn’t even remember Timodemus hitting me there-and my neck was bruised from side to side. Everything above my diaphragm hurt, so I couldn’t quite stand straight.

“I was sparring partner for Timodemus,” I said modestly.

“Oh, is that all.” Pericles dismissed my injuries. He had no interest in sport of any kind. It was a wonder he’d come to the Games at all, though every Athenian of importance had made the trek this year, as well as many obscure families such as my own.

“It’s Timodemus I want to talk to you about. The judges have decided your friend is to be expelled. The father has been to see me. What’s his name?”

“The father? Timonous. People call him One-Eye.”

“Timonous, yes. How did he lose the eye?”

“Fighting in the pankration, in his youth.”

“I thought gouging was forbidden.”

“Sometimes people cheat.”

That took Pericles aback. “So it seems. Well, Timonous One-Eye has been to see me. He’s asked for my help with the judges.”

“You’re not a member of the family,” I said. “You have no standing.”

“No, but I can be … persuasive … on their behalf.”

So true. Pericles could persuade a fish to try rock climbing, a lamb to try lion hunting, a man to try criminal investigation.

I asked him, “Will you help?”

“These are the first Games since we instituted the democracy.” Pericles avoided the question and continued to play with the stylus between his fingers. “A victory would be good for Athens. It would show the world we are still the first city in Hellas.” Pericles smacked the bronze stylus down onto the folding table. “The experts tell me the only event an Athenian is likely to win this Olympiad is the pankration.”

I nodded. I’d heard the same opinions.

“Our enemies would be pleased to see us humbled,” Pericles continued. “If we won nothing, they would say the democracy had sapped the will of the people or claim the Gods have abandoned us because our way of government is unnatural.”

He was probably right. Powerful men all across Hellas already feared that the democracy might spread to their own cities.

Pericles walked to the entrance of the tent and raised the flap to look out upon the chaos. At that moment an unwashed donkey passed by. It stopped right outside the tent and turned its head to stare at Pericles. Pericles stared back. The donkey excreted a large quantity of diarrheic poo, then walked on.

Pericles grimaced in disgust, flung down the tent flap, and turned back to me. “If I intervene, it will cost political capital. Capital I don’t want to spend, unless this Timodemus will win. Tell me, Nicolaos, he’s your friend, what do you think?”

I said, “Timodemus is good, very good.” I rubbed my throat and winced. “But so are the other competitors. At this level, anything could happen.”

“Particularly if the Gods take a hand,” Pericles added.

“Yes, but no one has a better chance of winning than Timodemus,” I said, careful with my choice of words but determined that Pericles should support Timo.

“Not even this Arakos from Sparta, to whom your friend took such a dislike?”

“Timodemus defeated Arakos at the Nemean Games last year. He has nothing to fear from the Spartan.” I repeated the words Dromeus the trainer had said to me.

“Nicolaos, I want an Athenian victory. We need a victory.”

I said, disturbed, “Pericles, why do you tell me? It’s Zeus who grants the victory. No one else.”

“But Timodemus is our only hope. Let us give Zeus every opportunity to decide the outcome our way. I will go to the judges and convince them that this has been a tussle between two young men worked up by the emotions of the ceremony, and no different from the hundreds of squabbles we all know will occur over the next five days. No one expels the young men in the camps for high spirits and rough play. I will persuade the judges to see this unfortunate incident in the same light.”