The slave from whom I’d snatched the torch took one look and screamed. She had to be led away, sobbing.
“What is this?” Libon exclaimed, and then, “Who is he? Is this your friend?”
“I think he must be. As to his name, I have no idea, though we met once. I don’t suppose you know him?”
“Not I.”
I gave a slave directions to the tent of Diotima and ordered him to bring her. It was rude of me-the slave wasn’t mine to command-but Libon gave no protest. Perhaps it was because of the torchlight, but his skin had noticeably grayed.
“I’m sorry if the presence of the corpse disturbs you, Libon,” I said. “I wouldn’t have had it happen after your kindness.”
Libon’s voice was harsh when he said, “I manage a building site, young man. I’ve seen dead men aplenty in accidents.”
“This was no accident.”
“No, and that’s what disturbs me.”
A disturbance at the entrance. Heads turned. Diotima ran in, followed by a panting Pindar.
“I saw this young lady of yours race across the sanctuary, and I knew something of importance must have occurred,” he explained between gasps. “I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. What’s happening?”
I told them both of the note and the meeting.
“I suppose you’ve let the informant get killed.” Diotima got straight to the point.
“Thanks very much for your confidence.”
“Is it the informant?”
“Well, yes.” I had to concede. “But I didn’t let him die. He got himself killed without my permission. Remember the weedy-looking fellow who accosted us at the agora? It’s him, Diotima.”
She looked down at the corpse. She turned pale.
“The eyes,” she said.
“Yes.”
We looked at each other, no need to say a word. The eyes of Arakos had been removed. Here they were.
“Notice anything else strange?” Diotima asked.
I looked carefully but saw nothing beyond. “He’s dead?” I suggested.
Diotima glared. “Thank you, Asclepius. Where’s his club?”
“Club?”
“He swung a club at us.”
“Maybe he didn’t bring it.”
“A pity. He could have defended himself.”
The blood had poured from a gash in his throat.
“We’ll never know what he had to say,” Diotima said. “And the Temple of Zeus is polluted, right in the middle of the Sacred Games. Have you any idea the damage it does when someone dies in a temple? They’ll be up all night ritually cleansing the place. What a mess. Well done, Nico,” she accused me.
“Me? I didn’t do anything.”
“Why must you always get there after the witness has been killed?”
Pindar had listened to our argument with something like a half smile. Now he asked, “Has this sort of thing happened before?”
“All too often,” Diotima grated.
Pindar said, “Perhaps if in the future Nico could arrive at secret meetings early?”
Markos ran in. He was hot and sweaty. “I just heard.” He looked down at the corpse. “Unfortunate. Who is he?”
Diotima said, “You knew about this meeting?”
“Yes.”
“Then each of you is as bad as the other. Why weren’t you here, Markos?”
“My presence probably would have scared him off.”
I added, “The note specifically said only me.”
“I don’t suppose it occurred to either of you that Markos could have covered the outside of the building? You might even-” She glared at me. “-have considered telling me. I could have visited the Temple of Hera, which is right next door to the Temple of Zeus. Between Markos and me we could have observed everyone who went in and out, and we could have been in place long before the meeting time. We could have spotted any man going in who looked nervous. We could have noted anyone who followed another man. As it is, anyone could have walked in and out of the building without Nico seeing him.”
A long silence followed. Markos broke it with the words, “I think we’ve been told off, my friend.”
“Diotima’s right,” I said.
“She is indeed. I’ll never conduct an investigation without her approval again. You’re lucky to have her.”
It was the worst thing he could have said, because Diotima wasn’t mine. We both froze.
Markos looked from one to the other of us, then he remembered. “Oops,” he said. “Nico told me, but I forgot. I apologize.”
“You told Markos about the dowry problems?” Diotima said. I could hear her anger.
“Er … yes.”
“How could you?”
“Let’s concentrate on who could have killed the fake Heracles.” I said hastily, to change the subject. “Who knew he’d be here?”
“You and Markos, but not me,” Diotima said pointedly. “Does anyone know who he is? Other than a fake Heracles, I mean.”
Silence.
“Perhaps we should wait to see who reports a missing man,” Diotima said.
Markos and I both stared at her in surprise.
“In Olympia?” I said. “That’s like waiting for one particular drunk in a dockside inn.”
“Men wander between the camps all the time,” Markos added. “You could go missing and no one would notice until the Games were over.”
“I’ll wager that happens,” I said.
Markos nodded. “It does. At the end of every Games there are always a few tents still standing when all the others have been pulled down. That’s when men look at each other and say, ‘Where’s Ariston?’ Or ‘Where’s Lysanias?’ Or whatever the fool’s name is. So they search for Ariston or Lysanias, and they find him dead drunk in a ditch. Or they find he fell into the river when he was dead drunk, and now he’s just dead.”
“You sound like you speak from experience,” Diotima said gently.
“I do. I was assigned to the security detail in the Spartan camp at the last Games. One of the missing men was my own father. We found him floating under the weeds by the bank.”
“I’m sorry, Markos,” Diotima said.
Markos shrugged. “There’s nothing anyone can do about it now.”
I said, “No, and there’s nothing we can do about this murder either. Probably our best witness just died.”
DAY 4 OF THE 80 TH OLYMPIAD OF THE SACRED GAMES
News of the second murder spread like plague. The temple slaves took great delight in telling anyone who’d listen that the corpse had been discovered with four eyes. The gory detail was enough to make men shudder.
Men began to say that the Games were cursed. The body had been found in the brand-new Temple of Zeus; surely there could be no stronger confirmation that Zeus had deserted us.
I had to admit, when you put it all together, it didn’t look good. First the murder of Arakos-a cursed event if ever there was one-the Games are first and foremost sacred to the Gods. Then the affair of the ox of dough. At any other Olympics it would have been laughed off. Now, it was another item on the list of sacrilegious disasters. Empedocles had to quietly leave Olympia that night, for his own safety. I thanked the Gods no one had recognized me; the crowd had been too busy watching the more interesting philosopher.
As to why Zeus had abandoned us, men didn’t look far for a reason. Too many at Olympia had also been at Nemea: the pankratists, Pindar, probably the heralds, no doubt others. People began to talk. By the time the moon had reached its peak, every man at Olympia had heard the ugly rumor, as One-Eye had called it, that Timodemus, the man accused of murdering Arakos, had somehow cheated at the Nemean Games.
Clearly, Timodemus had cursed the Sacred Games.
The guards, who had been set to keep Timodemus in, now found themselves keeping a lynch mob out.
Spartans, Skarithos vocal among them, claimed that Athens was to blame. The Athenians were as vocal in claiming a conspiracy against them. The men of other cities supported one side or the other, as their alliances or inclinations led them. What had been a predominantly Sparta-Athens dispute now consumed every man present.