“I think this young man may be right,” said one of the judges who had been examining the wounds. “But I’m not sure this absolves Protophanes. It’s awfully convenient that the Cynic should have died just now. How did he come to be bitten by a dipsas just when he was about to testify before the judges? Where is this snake, and how did it come to be here? If Protophanes didn’t do the deed himself, perhaps he arranged for someone else—”
“The snake was brought to Olympia not by any friend of Protophanes,” I said, “but by an agent working for a foreign king—the sort of person who’s used to carrying poisons and other weapons for killing people. This man was plotting to kill Simmius of Sidon at least as early as last night; I know, because I overheard him. He’s standing right there.” I pointed at the man with the blond beard. “How he tricked Simmius into reaching into that sack he carries is anyone’s guess.”
The crowd stepped back from the man, who gave me a venomous look.
“You, there!” cried one of the judges. “What do you carry in that sack?”
The man smiled crookedly. “That’s what the Cynic said, when I told him it contained a gift for him. See for yourself!” he shouted, untying the rope and flinging the sack before him. A serpent as long as my forearm flew through the air and landed on the steps, not far from the body of Simmius. Hissing and writhing furiously, the creature darted first in one direction, then in another.
The crowd panicked. Men shouted and tripped over one another in a mad rush to flee.
I grabbed a rod from the nearest judge, who cried out in protest. Ignoring him, I stepped toward the snake and used the forked end of the rod to scoop it up. I grasped the close-set prongs so that the creature was trapped just below the head and could not escape, no matter how furiously it twisted and writhed.
I held the snake aloft. “Someone, cut the creature in two!” I shouted.
Men looked at each other in helpless confusion. No one carried weapons in Olympia.
Protophanes bounded down the steps. He seized the snake with both hands and tore the creature in two, then threw the wriggling remains on the ground and stamped them into oblivion.
The gaping crowd was silent for a long moment. Then a great cheer went up—for Protophanes, not for me.
In all the excitement, the killer had escaped.
* * *
After swearing the oath, the athletes went to the Altis to make offerings at the altars of various gods in preparation for their events. The crowd drifted toward a lavishly decorated marble structure called the Colonnade of Echoes, where the heralds and trumpeters of the Games competed in their own contests, seeing who could hold a note the longest or send the most echoes up and down the colonnade. This tradition had been going on for hundreds of years, and was more engaging than I expected.
The contest had just ended when I saw a familiar figure striding toward us. It was Protophanes. His broad, handsome face was lit with a grin.
“You’re the one who caught the snake, right?”
“I am. Thank you for noticing.” For my quick thinking that morning, I had expected some sort of acknowledgment—perhaps even a reward—but all I got was a begrudging grunt from one of the judges when I returned his forked rod.
“You’re a Roman?” asked Protophanes, catching my accent.
“Yes. The name is Gordianus.”
He nodded. “They let me take the oath, you know. I’m going to win the pankration for sure!” Seeing him so close, I realized that Protophanes was a head taller than I, and twice as broad. “But I still don’t understand. Why did that fellow with the snake kill the Cynic?”
“Because the man with the snake was an agent of Mithridates,” I said. “He didn’t come here to enjoy the Games, but to pursue his own agenda. And he believed that Simmius was a Roman spy who might expose him.”
“That old windbag?” Protophanes laughed.
“Who better to act a spy than the person least suspected?” said Antipater.
“Maybe,” said Protophanes. “But you’d think a spy would keep his head down and not draw attention to himself.”
“Or do the very opposite,” said Antipater.
“A pity the killer got away. The judges could have got the truth out of him, I’m sure. But what’s all this about spying and agents and such? Everyone comes to Olympia in peace. That’s the whole point.”
“On the contrary, young man, Olympia has always been a hotbed of intrigue,” said Antipater. “This is the largest gathering in the Greek world. When so many meet in one place, including some of the richest and most powerful men in the world, there is always more afoot than meets the eye—including espionage. Many a scheme has been hatched in Olympia that has nothing to do with athletics, I assure you.”
Protophanes shook his head. Politics did not interest him. “Well, I just wanted to say hello, and thank you for catching that snake. If they had a contest for quick reflexes, you’d be a hard one to beat, Gordianus! When I win the pankration, I won’t forget you.”
Protophanes walked away. Antipater sighed. “What a pleasant young fellow. I do hope he wins.”
“At least he had the manners to thank me,” I said.
“Well, then, before the afternoon events, shall we return to our quarters for a bite to eat?”
“What! Surely you don’t intend to spend any more time in the pavilion of Exagentus, Teacher.”
“And why not?”
“Because the man’s a killer! Or as good as.”
“Why do you say that, Gordianus?”
“Because of what I overheard last night.”
“You say you overheard the blond man insisting that ‘the Sidonian’ be killed—you thought he meant me, but as you later realized, he actually meant Simmius. But if I understand you correctly, you didn’t clearly hear the other speaker—who may or may not have been our host, and who, if anything, seemed to be disagreeing with the killer.”
“True enough,” I said. “But someone in that pavilion is most certainly in league with Mithridates. ‘He’s liable to expose us as agents of Mithridates’—that’s what the man with the snake said.”
“Even so, what have we to fear from such a person?”
“I exposed the killer! I may have ruined whatever plot they were hatching. What if they mean to take revenge?”
Antipater smiled. “Gordianus, you exposed an assassin. Assassins are expendable. If you fear that you’ve made yourself a target for retribution by the King of Pontus, I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you. Now, let us return to the pavilion. If our host is there, I shall introduce you. Exagentus is quite a nice fellow, I assure you. And he’s justly famous for laying a sumptuous table. I don’t know about you, but this morning’s events have given me quite an appetite.”
* * *
Of the numerous events we attended over the five days of the Olympiad, my memories are all a blur. There were footraces, chariot races, and horse races, as well as the race of hoplites in armor, a cumbersome, clanking affair that struck me as more comical than fearsome. There was something called the pentathlon, which involved throwing a discus and a javelin as well as jumping and running and wrestling. It made me tired just to watch it. Among the final events were the man-to-man combats of wrestling, boxing, and the brutal pankration. Besides these official events, there were exhibition contests for boys not yet old enough to compete, and in the evenings a great deal of drinking and feasting, including the slaughter of a hundred oxen at the Great Altar of Zeus in front of his temple.
Antipater insisted on attending every event, and enjoyed them all immensely. His delight in the pankration struck me as particularly ironic. Here was a man who had devoted his life to the crafting of beautiful verses, striving to capture in words the most delicate sensibilities and elusive states of mind, reduced to a screaming, stamping, bellowing maniac along with his fellow Greeks at the spectacle of two men grappling in the dirt, pummeling each other’s faces with their fists, and gouging each other’s most tender parts. The pankration even allowed choking, and during one of Protophanes’ early bouts, I thought we were about to see him strangle his opponent to death before our very eyes. The sight of the poor fellow’s bright red face, protruding tongue, and bulging eyes caused tears of joy to run down Antipater’s cheeks. The loser barely managed to lift his finger to signal submission before he fainted dead away.