We two ran across the end of the gym to a corner exit. Looking back, we saw Glaucus taunt the big man, then set off around the running track, trying to lure him that way. Milo of Dodona had his mind on one thing – and that was killing me.
"Cornelius – let's go!'
We hared out of the gymnasium, with the monster in hot pursuit. Glaucus failed to follow at once; I cursed his tactics. The boy and I came to the open-air swimming pool. A long expanse of serene water was warming up slowly in the morning sun on the bank of the River Kladeos. I pounded around the perimeter. Cornelius, too out of breath, had stopped, bent double and panting. Milo was almost on him. My nephew took a scared look; then he held his nose, jumped for it into the pool, and dogpaddled away like mad. The jump took him a yard or two, but his churning fists hardly moved him along. Milo hesitated, perhaps unable to swim. Well, that made two of us.
Glaucus had reappeared, holding something with one hand. I saw what he was up to. He stopped. In classic style, his body twisted back. He did a full three-quarter crouching turn, one leg bent, one shoulder dropped, then he spun back and unleashed his missile. Bronze glinted.
A discus flew towards Milo. Once again, Young Glaucus was breaking rules; this time, the rule that says a discus thrower must ensure that no bystander is in his way.
The bronze plate caught Milo full on the base of his enormous skull. He never heard it coming. In the pool, Cornelius had turned on his back, mouth agape. Now he began a hasty backstroke, to avoid expected spume as the mighty man keeled forwards. In fact Milo landed on the edge of the pool. I covered my eyes as he smashed face down on the stone.
Cornelius reached the side; I hauled him out, dripping and shivering, and wrapped him in Glaucus' tunic. Glaucus himself had walked calmly up to the pool edge, considering whether the rules of combat required him to tender aid. He had a steelier mentality than I had thought; he decided against. In Greek athletics you win, by any means the judges will accept. The loser slinks off in shame – if he is still on his feet. "Through the back alleys, home to mother', as they put it.
I took Cornelius to join Glaucus.
"He dead?'
"No.'
"Pity we can't just nip off- but I fear we have witnesses.'
Other people arrived, headed up by Lacheses, the damned priest who offended me yesterday. Affecting a superior air, he stood at the pool edge, ordering slaves to roll the wrestler over.
Today Lacheses wore full-length robes with a decorated hemline, and carried a spray of wild olive; this presumably signified he was attached to the Temple of Zeus. "You nearly killed a pankration champion!'
"Him or us,' I answered curtly. "Someone told him to attack me.' The'priests of Zeus were my first choice for that. "Glaucus my friend, I hope that your discus was of approved Olympic size.'
"Absolutely,' Young Glaucus responded, straight-faced. "I took down an official standard from the gymnasium wall. Unfortunately for Milo, the ones used at Olympia are heavier than normal… The priest drew a sharp breath at this disrespectful act. "Mine was at home,' Glaucus apologised meekly.
I took a hand. "Your champion wanted to kill us all. My friend had to act fast.'
"You abuse our hospitality!' snapped Lacheses. He had a quaint view of traditional guest-friendship. "Your visit to our sanctuary must end. Leave Olympia before you cause more trouble.'
The crowd increased. A middle-aged woman pushed the priest aside. A satchel was slung diagonally over her travelling cloak; she wore a dress with brightly coloured borders, and a long matching veil, on which was pegged a high-pointed head-dress, an expensive gold stephane. A male attendant behind her was dressed in the long pleated robe of a charioteer. A younger woman held a pannier and looked on meekly. The female attendant was in a simple folded-over chiton, and had her hair rather attractively bound up in headscarves. She could have been a maiden on a vase, with a half-suggestive smile as she leaned on one elbow and poured perfume. Glaucus and I both flashed Roman smiles admiringly.
The matron in charge noticed and glared at us. A forceful presence. She shoved aside the slaves, then knelt beside the wrestler in a sprightly manner, checking him for vital signs. "Well, gracious me, it's Milo of Dodona. Is he still hanging around Olympia? So devoted!'
"He can be taken to the doctors at the gymnasium – " Lacheses began.
"No, no; he will do better at the Temple of Hera, Lacheses. Let us look after him.'
Glaucus offered a hand, and the woman stood up, this time acknowledging that she had creaky knees. The priest bowed deferentially. She nodded, without wasting time on it, then told him she had brought him a pot of the preserved cherries he liked. That seemed to settle Lacheses.
Then she turned to me. "I am Megiste. I am one of the Council of Sixteen.' It meant nothing. She explained briskly. In memory of the sixteen matrons of honour at the wedding of Hippodameia, the most respected women of Elis form a committee to organise the running races for maidens in the Games of Hera.' I bet they organised more than that.
The priest began to say something.
"I'll deal with this, Lacheses!' The wimp subsided. "I have given some thought to the problem. It is all in hand. A wagon will take these people to the coast tomorrow; a ship will come from Kyllene to pick them up at Pheia.'
"Well, excuse me – " I should have known better.
"No, Falco!' How did she know my name? I came to the conclusion the Council of Sixteen knew pretty well everything. I hated interfering women of that type in public life. "Strife is polluting the sanctuary. You must leave.'
"Oh, that's Elis for you.' I refused to be quashed. "Always in there,
brokering universal peace! You didn't need to set your champion to batter us,' I snarled bitterly to the priest. "Just ask the matrons of Elis! This lady can fix up extradition for inconvenient visitors at the same time as she lays down a pantryful of salted olives, braids a four-colour floor rug, and cleans out her beehives.'
He gave me his priestly shrug. "I hope you have enjoyed your time here, and found it uplifting.' He did let slip a trace of admiration. "Let us hope Milo recovers.'
"Should do,' Glaucus assured him. "The throw was at the end of its trajectory. He was unconscious, so he went limp as he fell. Anyway, he has plenty of padding!'
Milo in fact looked pathetic, but he was sitting up and starting to mumble. Megiste ordered the slaves to take him away to her temple. Lacheses ambled off as well.
Megiste watched the rest depart then tackled us.
"Now, let's see about you!' To our amazement she had switched straight from Greek to a polite version of our own language. When we looked startled, she giggled endearingly. "Tatting and beekeeping don't keep me busy enough! I thought it might be fun to learn Latin.'
It was obvious that if the idea struck her, she would be just as enthusiastic about a practical course in glass-blowing or home druidry. I indicated her driver, the one in full charioteer's kit. And I suppose you fill in any tiny spare moments running racing chariots?'
"Yes, I am an owner. I'm very fortunate – " She was very wealthy, then. She looked at me closely. "Hmm. Clean teeth, haircut, and mended tunic – mended in matching thread, I see. There must be a woman somewhere. Is it too much to hope she has come with you to Greece?'
You can deal with me.'
"I think not, Falco! We of the Council of Sixteen are chosen for our respectability.'
Wondering what else she had deduced about me in her scientific manner, I admitted that Helena Justina was at the Leonidaion. Megiste gathered her attendants. "Tell your wife I have one or two errands at the Temple of Hera, then I shall trot along to see her. Ask her to make sure she is there; I am a very busy woman.'