Overnight, Olympia deteriorated into islands of armed camps. Men moved carts, packing boxes and supplies-anything they could find-to create low walls around the tents of each city. With so many blacksmiths and weapon-makers present, it was a simple matter to turn tent poles into serviceable spears. Despite the Sacred Truce, a few forbidden swords appeared as if from nowhere. Where a man might the day before have walked between camps unhindered, now guards protected each entrance. They stopped and questioned every visitor and passed through only the men of allied cities.
A strange thing had happened.
“Olympia has turned into a microcosm of Hellas,” Pericles said to me within the privacy of his own tent, next morning, the dawn of Day Four. He was bleary eyed. Pericles had spent the night consulting with the leaders of the other cities and doing what he could to keep men calm. Despite which, he was oddly exhilarated. Sport might have bored Pericles senseless, but he lived for politics.
“Is that bad?”
“It’s fascinating. I’m beginning to think there might be a point to the Olympics after all. Do you realize, Nico, what we’re seeing here is how each city would react if it came to general war between the Hellenes? What happens here will inform our foreign policy for years to come.”
“And what is happening?”
“The cities of the Aegean Islands are supporting us, for the most part. It’s in their best interests. They’re closest to Persia; they need a strong Athens to protect them. The cities of the Peloponnese are supporting Sparta. No surprise there. If they didn’t, they could expect a Spartan army at their gates. All except Argos.”
“The men of Argos don’t fear Sparta?”
“The men of Argos have hated Sparta since time immemorial.”
“Oh. What of the cities to the north?”
“The opportunists from Thebes are negotiating with both sides. Delphi is staying out of it.”
“Is anyone playing any sport through all this?”
“Apparently, but I’m not paying any attention. We must consider the alignment of forces if a fight breaks out.”
“At Olympia? With the Sacred Truce?”
“I know. But Nico, the way things are going, it could come to blows between Athens and Sparta. If it does, every other city will be drawn into it. We should be thankful the Sacred Truce forbids bringing arms into the district. If it does turn into a fight-and I wouldn’t put it past the Corinthians to egg everyone on-then the lack of weapons will limit the deaths.”
I had a sudden thought. “Do the Spartans have any better idea than us on how to control this?”
“No. Worse, if anything. Spartans make excellent bullies, but terrible diplomats.”
“Then no one knows what will happen if it comes to blows.”
“I sincerely hope no one wants to find out. But we must prepare, Nicolaos. We must prepare for the worst.”
“What should we do?”
“There’s only one thing you should do.” He glared at me. “Find the answer to who killed Arakos. And it had better be the right answer. Without that, I can guarantee a war inside Olympia.”
Despite all our theories, we were no closer to proving a killer. There was only one thing left that I could try. Libon’s guided tour of the temple had inspired me. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but I’d discussed it with Diotima anyway, late last night, after everyone else had left the temple and before she’d returned to her tent in the women’s camp. I always talked things through with her. I wondered how I’d cope when she was some other man’s wife. Diotima and I had both agreed my idea was unlikely, but with so little time, any hope was better than none.
I took Socrates with me to the Sanctuary of Zeus, where Niallos continued his mission to drink himself to oblivion. Luckily for me, it was early morning. Niallos had had most of the night to sleep off the previous day’s effort. Even so, the smell was horrendous.
I slapped him around until he came to. Niallos peered at me with eyes that were red from excessive drink and copious tears, and he mumbled, “You again? Go away. Every time you turn up, it’s bad luck for someone else.”
That was so true I didn’t bother arguing. Instead I said, “Maybe not this time. Listen, Niallos, do you want to do something for Iphicles?”
“There isn’t anything anyone can do for Iphicles.”
“Yes, there is, but only you can do it.”
“What? Why me?”
“Because you know better than anyone all the parts that make up a chariot. You’d recognize even the tiniest piece, wouldn’t you?”
“Sure.”
“I want you to go with this boy-his name’s Socrates. He talks a lot, but try to ignore that-and I want you to search the hippodrome for pieces from Iphicles’s chariot.”
Niallos looked at me as if I were mad.
I told him what to search for, and why. It was the first Socrates had heard of my idea. When I finished, Socrates looked at me in admiration and said, “Nico, that’s brilliant.”
Niallos rubbed his chin and sat up straighter. “I see. If this were true-”
“I don’t know, Niallos, but do this for me, will you? Socrates will help.”
Niallos dusted off his clothing. He looked human again already. “If you’re right, we can do this quickly.”
I was torn over what to do about Diotima. With the fighting that was about to break out, would she be safer in the women’s camp or in the middle of the Athenians? I went to see her.
Pythax was with her in her tent. He was black and blue from the beating Dromeus had delivered. There was a lump over one eye, and his hair was still matted with traces of blood. But I was relieved to see him. If it came to a battle, Pythax would see Diotima safe.
“You’re not needed,” Pythax growled.
Technically, he was right. Diotima was no longer my responsibility, but that wouldn’t stop me protecting her.
“What’s your plan, Pythax?”
“Diotima’s safe enough,” said Pythax. “She’s got a Spartan admirer.”
“What’s this?” I noticed Diotima’s eyes were red. Had she been crying?
“I told you I got to do my best for my girl.”
“Yes.”
“I got an offer.”
“Already?”
“Surprised me, too. I hadn’t even asked around yet, not with all the troubles. But he said he knew Diotima had become free. It’s a good offer. He’s a Spartan, good family, got a high position. And he don’t want much in dowry.”
“What position?”
“Says he’s a knight. That’s high up.”
“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.”