“So bride and groom were one and the same!” said Bitto. “Did no one ever see the two of them together at the same time?”
“From what Tryphosa told me, there were a handful of occasions, as when they first returned to Halicarnassus, when the bride and groom were seen in public together-but the bride was played by one of their slaves, who wore a veil so that no one could see her face.”
“And the ‘death’ of Timon-how was that managed?”
“They waited until they could acquire a recently deceased body, reasonably similar in age and appearance to Timon, then hastily held a private funeral ceremony and burned the corpse. I suspect they had to pay a few bribes along the way, but ‘Timon’ was dead and his body reduced to ashes before any outsiders had a chance to pose awkward questions. From that time on, the child lived exclusively as Corinna, the widow of her former self.”
“But how can Corinna hope to maintain this pretense? If she ever tries to marry-or ‘remarry,’ I suppose-her husband will see her for what she is on their wedding night.”
I shrugged. I was learning that the world was not a simple place, and the people in it were full of surprises. “However Corinna plans to deal with her future, she’s determined to do so as a woman. That is her choice, and her mother has done everything possible to help her realize her transition from boy to girl. That’s why they attended the ritual at the spring of Salmacis the other night.”
“I didn’t see Corinna there.”
“I thought I did, but I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t mention it at the time. After everyone else left, a few people, under priestly supervision, were allowed to enter the pool. Corinna drank from the pool and stayed in the water a long time, hoping to eradicate the vestiges of her masculinity. Alas! Having seen her naked, I must conclude that the gods did not see fit to grant her wish.”
“Poor girl!”
I nodded. “So you can see, Bitto, why it would be such an injustice for those two to be persecuted by Straton or by anyone else. In a way, they did ‘murder’ Timon, but his disappearance harmed no one. I believe mother and child should be left alone, each free to pursue her destiny as she chooses, don’t you? You might even consider befriending them, Bitto. They are your neighbors, after all.”
She pursed her lips. “I suppose I could invite them over to dinner sometime.”
“Corinna is shy, but she’s a lovely girl. As for her mother-what is it about Halicarnassus that breeds such strong widows? Tryphosa struck me as a very forceful woman, intelligent and resourceful and fiercely independent. She reminded me of you, in fact.”
Bitto smiled at this compliment. There on her balcony, beneath a sky full of stars, she rewarded me with a tender kiss.
* * *
Spring turned to summer. The month of Sextilis arrived, and if Antipater and I were to attend the Games at Olympia-and see the Temple of Zeus with its colossal statue of the god-it was time to board a ship and set sail.
Bitto had warned me that no man could possess her, including myself. When she saw us off at the wharf, she waved until she dwindled from sight, but I saw no tears in her eyes. It was I who felt a pang of loss at our parting. I blinked and bowed my head.
“What’s the matter, Gordianus?” asked Antipater.
“Just a bit of sea spray. It stings a little,” I said, wiping my eyes.
The last I saw of Halicarnassus was the Mausoleum, its massive tiers rising to a templelike facade of huge columns and gigantic statues, and the step-pyramid roof with its quadriga of glittering gold surmounting all-the widow Artemisia’s everlasting mark on the landscape. But it was another widow of Halicarnassus who left an everlasting mark upon my life.
IV
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” said Antipater. “Have you ever imagined such a spectacle?”
I had not. Romans love a festival; a play or two put on in a makeshift theater, an open-air feast, chariot races in the Circus Maximus-all these things I had seen many times in my eighteen years. But no celebration in Rome could compare with the free-spirited chaos, or the sheer magnitude, of the Olympiad.
Greeks love an athletic competition. One could almost say they live for these events, where naked young men show off their manly prowess in fierce competitions. Several cities in Greece host such contests, but the Games at Olympia, held every four years, are the grandest and most well attended. They are also the oldest. Antipater and I had arrived for the 172nd Olympiad. Multiplying that number by four, I realized that the Games at Olympia had been going on for nearly seven hundred years. When the first Olympiad was held, Romulus and Remus were mere infants suckling at the she-wolf’s teats, and Rome did not yet exist.
This would be the third Olympiad Antipater had attended in the span of his long life. It was to be my first.
Simply to reach Olympia proved to be an ordeal. From Ellis, the city that administered the Games, the journey took two days. The road was jammed with wagons and pedestrians. Antipater and I rode in a hired mule-cart along with several other travelers, proceeding on the crowded road at a pace that bored even the lazy mules. Food and wine, sold at roadside stands or from moving carts, were plentiful but expensive. Water was harder to come by. After a long, hot summer, the river that ran alongside the road was nearly dry. Local landowners with access to a spring charged exorbitant fees for drinking water. Bathing was out of the question.
On the first night out we slept on the ground, for the rooms at every inn were already taken, with some guests sleeping on the rooftops. Many travelers brought their own tents. Some of the richer visitors, accompanied by entourages and slaves, brought entire pavilions. Competition for flat, smooth patches of ground amid the rocky terrain was fierce.
“Where will we sleep when we reach Olympia?” I asked.
“About that, Gordianus, you need not worry,” said Antipater, and I did not ask again. On our journey to see the Seven Wonders, I was learning to trust my old tutor about our travel arrangements and not to question him too closely.
On the second day, as we drew near Olympia, the road became so congested that the cart came to a standstill.
“Let’s walk the rest of the way,” said Antipater, climbing cautiously from the cart. He stepped behind a boulder and I followed him, thinking he meant to relieve himself and ready to do so myself. But as soon as we were out of sight, Antipater produced an eye patch and affixed a putty nose to his face.
I laughed. “What’s this, Teacher? Do you intend to put on mime shows when we finally reach Olympia?” The query was half in earnest. Antipater loved to entertain an audience.
“I am disguising myself because I do not wish to be recognized in Olympia,” he whispered.
“But that hasn’t been a problem in our travels so far.”
“True, Gordianus, but as you can see, the whole of the Greek world is arriving in Olympia. There’s no telling whom we might encounter. So while we are here, I shall sport a false nose as well as a false name.”
“You’re likely to run into something, wearing that eye patch.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
I laughed. “How peculiar you sound! It must be the putty, pinching your nose.”
“Good. My voice shall be disguised as well.”
Instead of returning to the crowded road, Antipater insisted that we follow a winding footpath up a hillside, saying it would be worth our while to see the lay of the land. When we reached the crest of the hill, I saw below us the valley of the river Alpheus, with Olympia laid out like a city in miniature.
Properly speaking, Olympia is not a city, but a religious center. Its only purpose is to host the Games, which are dedicated to Zeus. I had expected to see a racetrack or two, some public squares for the wrestling and boxing competitions, crowds of spectators here and there, and of course the Temple of Zeus, which contained the famous statue by Phidias, the Wonder of the World we had come to see. But everything about Olympia was of a magnitude far exceeding my expectations.