There was nothing special about Sparta.”
“Except that without us you would certainly have been conquered. My father died in that war, Athenian.”
“So did many fathers.”
“Enough. Silence, both of you.” The Chief Judge looked from Pericles to Pleistarchus, scowling. “This squabble between the Athenians and Spartans is irrelevant. You will wait while the judges confer. Again.”
The Chief Judge and his fellow judges stepped apart and spokein low tones to one another in the semidarkness. The rest of us waited in silence.
Pericles caught my eye. As usual I had no idea what he thought. Pericles could hide his true thoughts as easily as most men hide their dagger. What Pericles saw in me I don’t know, but what I felt was confusion for the contradictory evidence and fear for my friend Timodemus.
The Chief Judge returned. He stamped his staff to get our attention. “This is our final judgment. Athens and Sparta both speak truth. There is no city to investigate this crime that is beyond the influence of either one of you. Therefore here is our decision. Let the Spartans assign their own investigator. Let the Athenians, too, have their own man investigate the crime. The Spartan and the Athenian shall see the same evidence and hear the same witnesses. Both will swear before Zeus Herkios to show no prejudice to their own city, to accept no bribes, and to do their best to discover the truth. Both will swear the oath of the Olympic contestants, at first light, on the steps of the Bouleterion.”
Pericles nodded with visible reluctance.
Pleistarchus considered for a moment. Xenares the ephor grabbed the arm of his King. There was furious whispering between them. Xenares was obviously unhappy and wouldn’t let go. Pleistarchus shook him off. The King of Sparta nodded agreement to the judges.
The Chief Judge said, “Name your men.”
Xenares the ephor spoke for Sparta. He said, “Sparta nominates Markos, son of Glaukippos.”
“Very well. Pericles?” the Chief Judge prompted.
“Athens nominates Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus.”
“Then it is decided. We grant you until the end of the Games. You will convene before us to argue your cases after the closing ceremony. If you cannot prove his innocence, Timodemus of Athens will be thrown from the mountain.”
I REMAINED TO examine the scene. So did Markos. I said nothing to him; he said nothing to me. In the absence of outraged Olympic officials, the forest was eerily silent.
Markos and I both wandered about the perimeter of the clearing, looking high and low. I had no idea what I was searching for, and I doubt he did either, but I was cursed if I’d be the first to leave the scene of the crime. If Markos felt the same way, it was going to be a long night.
He whistled cheerful hymns, which quickly became irritating.
Just when I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer, my eye caught on something. Ten steps down the track to Olympia was the longest snake I’d ever seen. I halted and stared.
The snake didn’t move.
Maybe it wasn’t a snake, maybe it was something else. A dark rope?
I walked down the way to touch whatever it was. When it didn’t leap at me, I picked it up. It was thin leather, and as I pulled on it, something longer and heavier emerged from beneath the bushes.
“What’s this?” Markos had seen me.
Now I knew what I had. “It’s a whip.” I held it by the wooden handle, about which a leather grip had been wound.
“Were there any whiplashings on Arakos?” Markos asked.
The Spartans had removed their fallen comrade. Fortunately I had examined the body carefully. I cast my mind back over what I’d seen. I said there’d been plenty of beating marks, but none that were long lacerations, nothing that looked like a whip mark.
Markos took the whip from my hands and flicked his wrist. The thong entangled among leaves and branches no matter what direction he faced. “It’s long.”
So it was. The referees in the pankration use
“Except that without us you would certainly have been conquered. My father died in that war, Athenian.”
“So did many fathers.”
“Enough. Silence, both of you.” The Chief Judge looked from Pericles to Pleistarchus, scowling. “This squabble between the Athenians and Spartans is irrelevant. You will wait while the judges confer. Again.”
The Chief Judge and his fellow judges stepped apart and spokein low tones to one another in the semidarkness. The rest of us waited in silence.
Pericles caught my eye. As usual I had no idea what he thought. Pericles could hide his true thoughts as easily as most men hide their dagger. What Pericles saw in me I don’t know, but what I felt was confusion for the contradictory evidence and fear for my friend Timodemus.
The Chief Judge returned. He stamped his staff to get our attention. “This is our final judgment. Athens and Sparta both speak truth. There is no city to investigate this crime that is beyond the influence of either one of you. Therefore here is our decision. Let the Spartans assign their own investigator. Let the Athenians, too, have their own man investigate the crime. The Spartan and the Athenian shall see the same evidence and hear the same witnesses. Both will swear before Zeus Herkios to show no prejudice to their own city, to accept no bribes, and to do their best to discover the truth. Both will swear the oath of the Olympic contestants, at first light, on the steps of the Bouleterion.”
Pericles nodded with visible reluctance.
Pleistarchus considered for a moment. Xenares the ephor grabbed the arm of his King. There was furious whispering between them. Xenares was obviously unhappy and wouldn’t let go. Pleistarchus shook him off. The King of Sparta nodded agreement to the judges.
The Chief Judge said, “Name your men.”
Xenares the ephor spoke for Sparta. He said, “Sparta nominates Markos, son of Glaukippos.”
“Very well. Pericles?” the Chief Judge prompted.
“Athens nominates Nicolaos, son of Sophroniscus.”
“Then it is decided. We grant you until the end of the Games. You will convene before us to argue your cases after the closing ceremony. If you cannot prove his innocence, Timodemus of Athens will be thrown from the mountain.”
I REMAINED TO examine the scene. So did Markos. I said nothing to him; he said nothing to me. In the absence of outraged Olympic officials, the forest was eerily silent.
Markos and I both wandered about the perimeter of the clearing, looking high and low. I had no idea what I was searching for, and I doubt he did either, but I was cursed if I’d be the first to leave the scene of the crime. If Markos felt the same way, it was going to be a long night.
He whistled cheerful hymns, which quickly became irritating.
Just when I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer, my eye caught on something. Ten steps down the track to Olympia was the longest snake I’d ever seen. I halted and stared.
The snake didn’t move.
Maybe it wasn’t a snake, maybe it was something else. A dark rope?
I walked down the way to touch whatever it was. When it didn’t leap at me, I picked it up. It was thin leather, and as I pulled on it, something longer and heavier emerged from beneath the bushes.
“What’s this?” Markos had seen me.
Now I knew what I had. “It’s a whip.” I held it by the wooden handle, about which a leather grip had been wound.
“Were there any whiplashings on Arakos?” Markos asked.
The Spartans had removed their fallen comrade. Fortunately I had examined the body carefully. I cast my mind back over what I’d seen. I said there’d been plenty of beating marks, but none that were long lacerations, nothing that looked like a whip mark.
Markos took the whip from my hands and flicked his wrist. The thong entangled among leaves and branches no matter what direction he faced. “It’s long.”
So it was. The referees in the pankration use
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