whips to control the contestants, but a referee’s whip is shorter and less flexible.
“What’s a whip doing here?” I wondered.
He shrugged. “I suppose someone must have dropped it.”
“Yes, but who carries a whip around Olympia?”
The Spartan shrugged. “It might have nothing to do with the murder. I’ll show it around, see if anyone recognizes it.”
I snatched back the whip. “I’ll keep it, if you don’t mind.”
“What if I mind?”
“Finders keepers.”
“T HANKS A LOT , Pericles,” I said, after I’d tramped back to the main grounds. I’d caught up with Pericles at the Bouleterion. The moon was on the way down. Soon Apollo would rise upon his chariot of fire. “But I must warn you, I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Yes, you can,” he said. “You’ve done it twice before.” He turned and began a quick step south, toward the Athenian camp and, presumably, his tent.
Indeed I had. My first investigation had been such a success that I’d made it my trade. But this time there was an important difference.
“That’s not the point,” I told him. “Timodemus is my friend. I can’t possibly do this and remain objective.”
“Objectivity isn’t the requirement. You’re supposed to get him off.”
“But what if he did it?”
Pericles stopped his fast, angry walk and turned on me. “Listen, Nicolaos, I don’t give a curse if—” He broke off to see who of the men staggering back and forth in the cold early morning might be listening in. He dragged me into an alcove of the nearby gymnasium, where we wouldn’t be overheard.
“I don’t give a witch’s curse if one of our people murdered some Spartan. If your friend’s innocent he deserves justice, and if he’s guilty I don’t want the rest of the world to know it. If you feel strongly about it, we can punish him in the privacy of our own city, but not here at Olympia. There are politicalconsiderations, and I’ll point out we wouldn’t have this problem if you’d watched that overmuscled, underbrained friend of yours like I told you.”
“You didn’t say to watch him every moment. You said to make sure the Spartans didn’t eliminate him. Well, they didn’t.”
“He looks pretty eliminated to me!”
I had to concede Pericles was right. Pericles saw he’d won, as he’d surely known he would. He stalked off with his final words: “Stop arguing. Get out there and save Timodemus.”
T HERE WERE TOO many things to do and, as Pericles had pointed out to the Chief Judge, not enough time to do them. Day Two of the Sacred Games was about to begin; four days, then, to find the man who killed Arakos, or at least prove it was not Timodemus. Or—and I had to be honest, though I wanted to believe him—perhaps prove my friend was a murderer; for Socrates and the Chief Judge were right; on the face of it, Timodemus looked as guilty as any man could be.
Two actions were pressing: I needed to talk to Timo, who had been led away, and I needed to interview that priestess of Demeter in whose tent Timo had been discovered. The testimony of a woman of her stature would hold great weight at judgment time.
The Priestess of Demeter from Elis was the only woman permitted to observe the Games. Indeed, she was required, and once the Games began at dawn, she would be ensconced in her box, in full view of the crowd, and unapproachable until the night—a whole day lost.
But a strange man could hardly expect to be admitted to her tent. I needed help, and luckily for me I knew just the person. I went to pay a call on my Diotima.
I’ D LEARNED MY lesson. I wasn’t rash enough to poke my head through the tent flap without warning. Instead I stoodoutside Diotima’s tent, where flying knives couldn’t hit me, and called, “Diotima, it’s me. Is it safe to come in?”
Not a word in reply.
Of course. Normal people were still asleep at this time. It was only slaves and investigators who tramped the cold, damp ground of Olympia before
“What’s a whip doing here?” I wondered.
He shrugged. “I suppose someone must have dropped it.”
“Yes, but who carries a whip around Olympia?”
The Spartan shrugged. “It might have nothing to do with the murder. I’ll show it around, see if anyone recognizes it.”
I snatched back the whip. “I’ll keep it, if you don’t mind.”
“What if I mind?”
“Finders keepers.”
“T HANKS A LOT , Pericles,” I said, after I’d tramped back to the main grounds. I’d caught up with Pericles at the Bouleterion. The moon was on the way down. Soon Apollo would rise upon his chariot of fire. “But I must warn you, I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Yes, you can,” he said. “You’ve done it twice before.” He turned and began a quick step south, toward the Athenian camp and, presumably, his tent.
Indeed I had. My first investigation had been such a success that I’d made it my trade. But this time there was an important difference.
“That’s not the point,” I told him. “Timodemus is my friend. I can’t possibly do this and remain objective.”
“Objectivity isn’t the requirement. You’re supposed to get him off.”
“But what if he did it?”
Pericles stopped his fast, angry walk and turned on me. “Listen, Nicolaos, I don’t give a curse if—” He broke off to see who of the men staggering back and forth in the cold early morning might be listening in. He dragged me into an alcove of the nearby gymnasium, where we wouldn’t be overheard.
“I don’t give a witch’s curse if one of our people murdered some Spartan. If your friend’s innocent he deserves justice, and if he’s guilty I don’t want the rest of the world to know it. If you feel strongly about it, we can punish him in the privacy of our own city, but not here at Olympia. There are politicalconsiderations, and I’ll point out we wouldn’t have this problem if you’d watched that overmuscled, underbrained friend of yours like I told you.”
“You didn’t say to watch him every moment. You said to make sure the Spartans didn’t eliminate him. Well, they didn’t.”
“He looks pretty eliminated to me!”
I had to concede Pericles was right. Pericles saw he’d won, as he’d surely known he would. He stalked off with his final words: “Stop arguing. Get out there and save Timodemus.”
T HERE WERE TOO many things to do and, as Pericles had pointed out to the Chief Judge, not enough time to do them. Day Two of the Sacred Games was about to begin; four days, then, to find the man who killed Arakos, or at least prove it was not Timodemus. Or—and I had to be honest, though I wanted to believe him—perhaps prove my friend was a murderer; for Socrates and the Chief Judge were right; on the face of it, Timodemus looked as guilty as any man could be.
Two actions were pressing: I needed to talk to Timo, who had been led away, and I needed to interview that priestess of Demeter in whose tent Timo had been discovered. The testimony of a woman of her stature would hold great weight at judgment time.
The Priestess of Demeter from Elis was the only woman permitted to observe the Games. Indeed, she was required, and once the Games began at dawn, she would be ensconced in her box, in full view of the crowd, and unapproachable until the night—a whole day lost.
But a strange man could hardly expect to be admitted to her tent. I needed help, and luckily for me I knew just the person. I went to pay a call on my Diotima.
I’ D LEARNED MY lesson. I wasn’t rash enough to poke my head through the tent flap without warning. Instead I stoodoutside Diotima’s tent, where flying knives couldn’t hit me, and called, “Diotima, it’s me. Is it safe to come in?”
Not a word in reply.
Of course. Normal people were still asleep at this time. It was only slaves and investigators who tramped the cold, damp ground of Olympia before
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