Secret of the Oracle

by Saviour Pirotta

‘Just bread, and perhaps a bit of cheese if they have it,’ replied Milo, rubbing the bruise on the side of his face. ‘Olives will do if they haven’t.’

  Solon hurried away to fetch the food, taking the remains of the sprats with him in case their smell offended Milo.

  Abydos wanted Master Ariston to get his first glimpse of Delphi at sunset, so we stayed on at the inn for a while before continuing our journey.

  As we travelled up the mountain, the plain fell away behind us. The sky cleared without releasing a downpour and started to turn red from the setting sun. It became eerily silent save for the call of wild birds and the rushing of water in the springs.

  Delphi remained hidden from view till we came round an enormous stony crag. And then, as if by godly magic, it was suddenly revealed in all its glory. The marble of the famous temple glowed in the sunset as if on fire. A giant statue of Apollo stared back at us with glowing polished-marble eyes.

  Towering behind the city but dwarfed by the might of Mount Parnassus stood two enormous cliff-like rocks with a ravine between them.

  ‘They are called the Phaedriades,’ explained Abydos. ‘A river flows down the mountain to form a spring between them. They call it the Castalian spring, and athletes at the Pythian Games wash themselves in it before they compete.’

  ‘I’d love to watch the Pythian Games,’ said Thrax. ‘They say the athletes who do well here go on to win crowns at Olympia.’

  ‘They took place last year.’ Abydos led us through the crowds. ‘But if you want to visit the oracle you still have to purify yourself at the Castalian spring before you see the Pythia.’

  ‘Ah, Delphi! Delphi!’ sighed Master Ariston as we entered the city. ‘A place special to Apollo and the muses. So inspiring for a writer like me...’

  The god speaks through the oracle on the seventh day of each month. We had arrived in Delphi two days early but the city was already packed with pilgrims. Abydos led us to a roomy and well-appointed inn on the main street. Master Ariston’s Athenian accent bagged him a room with views of the Phaedriades. As Master Aristion explained later, Athenian pilgrims bring a lot of money to Delphi and are always given preferential treatment. Gorgias’s gold got him and Milo a smaller room looking out on to the courtyard.

  Solon, Thrax and I were given sleeping space in a backyard. I swear it was no bigger than my wax tablet. Judging by the piles of rotting vegetables, it was the spot where the cook threw out his scraps. Even as we looked, the mound of rubbish quivered and a small furry face appeared.

  ‘This place is overrun with vermin,’ said Thrax. ‘There may be snakes as well as mice. And it might rain during the night. I’m not sleeping here. Come on, Nico, let’s find some kind spirit who’ll let us sleep in a clean barn or a shed. We could offer to do odd jobs in return.’

  ‘Won’t Master Ariston mind if we sleep away from the inn?’

  Thrax nodded up at a window where Master Ariston’s snoring had started to shake the walls. ‘Listen to that. He won’t notice even if the inn falls down around his ears. Let’s go.’

  We ventured out into Delphi, wearing our himations against the cold mountain air. Even though we urgently needed to find somewhere to sleep, we couldn’t help but be distracted by the sight of the famous sanctuary of Apollo.

  I am not yet skilled enough as a writer to describe the magnificence of it. The huge temple sits on a specially built platform, surrounded by columns. All around it stand priceless statues on pedestals. They are gifts to the sanctuary from grateful cities and important people. There is one of a young man driving a horse-drawn chariot. Another shows a sphinx with pointed wings. Some of the monuments are enormous bronze tripods, the symbols of Delphi itself. Towering above them all is the giant statue of Apollo we saw as we approached the city.

  The Sacred Way, the path taken by the pilgrims, snakes its way through the sanctuary towards the temple. It is flanked by treasure houses filled with gold and precious objects.

  ‘We don’t have time to look at them tonight,’ said Thrax. ‘Unless you want to sleep on a mouse-infested rubbish heap.’

  Reluctantly, I followed him away from the sanctuary. Compared to Corinth, or even Athens, Delphi seemed to be a very tidy city. A place truly worthy of the gods. The streets were clean, the roadside shrines and houses well looked after.

  ‘The great Apollo does indeed bless this place,’ I said.

  ‘You mean running a famous oracle makes a lot of money,’ chuckled Thrax.

  We came to a crowded agora with colonnades around the perimeter. Thrax spied a street vendor and we bought a hot sausage each, wolfing it down as we explored the market. I spotted Milo in the crowd. He was hurrying along with another man in a hood. I raised my hand in greeting but Milo did not see us and walked on. He and his friend seemed eager to escape the crowd.

  After our delicious supper, we left the market and came to a poorer part of town, with smaller houses and narrower, dirtier streets. A milky smell hung in the air, making me wrinkle my nose.

  ‘I recognise this smell from the farm I worked on,’ said Thrax. ‘There must be a cheesemaker nearby.’

  We turned a corner and spotted a small establishment at the far end of a yard. It was still open. An old man with a scuffed leather apron was scrubbing the threshold with a stiff brush.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Thrax as we approached.

  The cheesemaker, who had a kind face as leathery as his apron, struggled to his feet.

  ‘Looking for some cheese for your master, lads?’

  ‘We’re looking for somewhere dry and warm to sleep,’ said Thrax. ‘We can’t pay in cash but we’ll do odd jobs instead.’

  The cheesemaker looked us up and down with watery eyes. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Athens,’ I replied.

  ‘Are you pilgrims?’

  ‘Our master is,’ answered Thrax. ‘But there’s no room for us at the inn.’

  ‘There’s never room for the slaves and servants,’ sighed the cheesemaker. ‘Well, you can sleep in my cheese shop if you want. You look like honest lads to me. There’ve been kids fighting on the streets around here at night and I’m worried they might break into my shop. I could do with someone keeping an eye on the place. You’ll save me the fee for a city guard. People tell me it’s a bit smelly in here, but I’ve been around it so long I never notice the stink. I dare say you boys will soon get used to it. The embers are still warm in the hearth. Better than catching your death sleeping outdoors.’

  ‘It’s a deal,’ said Thrax. He stuck out his right hand, which the cheesemaker shook limply.

  He nodded at a crumbling house outside the yard. ‘I live across the street. If you hear anyone coming in the night, just shout. The wife will hear you and wake me up. Good night.’ He patted a statue of Aristaios, the god of cheesemaking, before shutting the gate to the yard behind him.

  When he was gone, Thrax and I stepped into the shop, which seemed much bigger inside than it looked from the outside. There were shelves all around the walls, piled high with little round cheeses.

  The place wasn’t ‘a bit smelly,’ as the cheesemaker had claimed. It stank to the heavens. Still, the sight of all that delicious cheese made my stomach rumble with hunger, despite the sausage I had just eaten.

  ‘Don’t you dare even THINK about it,’ warned Thrax, spreading his himation close to the smouldering fire. ‘The man trusted us. We can’t steal from an honest worker.’

  Reluctantly, I turned my gaze away from all the goods on display and put down my himation near Thrax’s. The journey to Delphi had taken its toll and soon I was fast asleep with my toes close to the glowing embers. I was in the middle of a luscious dream where I was sharing cheese and nectar with the gods, when Thrax shook me awake.

  ‘Nico! Get up. I heard the gate creak open. There’s someone in the yard.’

  Shaking the muzziness out of my head, I got up and tiptoed after him to the doorway. We crouched there out of sight as a dark figure closed the gate behind it an
d stepped into the middle of the yard. It looked around for a moment, the shawl covering its head swinging from side to side. Then it darted to the altar of Aristaios and crouched out of sight behind it.

  A few moments later we heard loud, rough voices and the gate was kicked open with so much force it crashed against the wall.

  ‘Khaire,’ yelled a boisterous voice. ‘We know you’re in here, fire-hair.’

  A boy around my age, but much brawnier, stepped into the yard. He had a very sweaty face with puffy cheeks and almost no eyebrows. His hair stood up in big oily tufts on his head. A short himation swirled round his chubby ankles and he was wielding a wooden club.

  Behind him stood perhaps six or seven children, all peering around them with a hard look in their eyes and a sneer on their mouths. None of them carried clubs like their leader but a few had their fists balled ready for a fight, or a beating.

  ‘Is she in here, Belos?’

  ‘Come out and face us, harpy,’ called one of them.

  ‘Yeah,’ added another. ‘How come your face never burns when your hair is always on fire? Ha, ha, ha.’

  A wave of cruel laughter rippled through the gang. ‘Come out and get your punishment. You know you shouldn’t trespass into the agora, gorgon. That’s our territory. Boys’ territory. Girls are only allowed in the bit that sells cooking pots.’

  One of the boys spotted the figure behind the altar. ‘There she is, Belos. Hiding like a true gorgon, waiting to pounce.’

  ‘Ha, ha, she is even scarier than a gorgon.’

  The boys moved towards the altar as one, like a pack of vicious wolves closing in on a helpless fawn. I heard the sound of ripping as they tore the epiblema from her shoulder and her face was revealed. For a moment I thought I was looking at a goddess. The girl’s skin was almost white, like a marble statue before it’s painted. Her hair was, as the boys had said, a fiery red. She glared back at Belos with the fiercest green eyes I had ever seen. And then spat straight in his face.

  Belos was so shocked, he froze. A gasp rippled through the rest of the gang.

  ‘Hey,’ said Thrax, stepping out of the doorway before Belos could react. ‘Leave that girl alone. Find someone your own size to pick on.’

  Belos turned round to face us, the girl’s spittle dribbling down his face. ‘Who dares stick up for the gorgon?’

  ‘No one we know, Belos,’ said a boy who had pimples all over his face. ‘Just some stranger.’

  ‘Strangers don’t come to Delphi and tell us what to do,’ sneered Belos. He wiped away the spittle and chewed his fat lower lip. ‘Come on. Let’s teach the gorgon a lesson. And then we’ll see about the... pilgrims.’ He spat out this last word to make it sound like an insult.

  The next thing I knew, Thrax had leapt forward, his muscles taut and veiny. His shaved head met Belos’s stomach full on and they both rolled over in the dust. A money bag under the boy’s himation split under the impact and shiny coins scattered in the dust. There was a cheer as some of the younger boys forgot about the fight and made a dive for them.

  The rest turned away from the girl and surrounded Thrax. I have to confess that fighting scares me. I am no good with fists and kicking feet. But there was no way I was going to let Thrax take a beating on his own. So I let out a loud yell (or at least I tried yelling; the sound that came out of my mouth was more like a mousy squeak) and hurled myself straight into the fray.

  Before my feet had even touched the ground, I got two dizzying knocks on the head and a wallop full in the face. It sent me reeling out on to the street.

  ‘Boys, are you all right?’ boomed a voice above me.

  A light appeared in the window of the cheesemaker’s house and a dog started barking madly.

  None of the others even heard the roar. The fighting followed me out on to the street, with Thrax in the middle of it. I could see him lashing out with the fierceness of Hercules attacking the Nemean lion. He had that glazed, angry look in his eyes that I had seen the first night I met him, when he’d had a nightmare about his long-lost mother.

  More lights appeared in windows across the street.

  ‘Knock it off, you hoodlums,’ someone roared angrily. ‘I have to get up for work soon.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and fight in your own street? Bother your own parents, if you have any. Mutts!’

  The gang dragged Thrax towards a fountain and Belos forced his head under the water.

  ‘Help,’ I yelled at the open windows. ‘They’re going to drown my friend.’

  I had no more opportunity to shout because a moment later, something thick and slimy splattered all over me, drenching me from head to toe. It stank and I realised with horror that people in the nearby houses were emptying their chamber pots on us.

  I was not the only victim. Many in the gang were dripping wet too, Belos’s tufty hair was plastered to his head with pee. Howling in outrage, he let go of Thrax and hurled his club at a window. It fell short, making the people in the houses on either side of the street jeer and laugh.

  ‘If I still had my health, I’d come down and sort you out,’ growled the cheesemaker. ‘I know who you are. If I ever see you round this part of town again, I’ll have a word with your master. You’ll be out of a job.’

  Belos kicked the cheesermaker’s door to show he wasn’t scared by threats. ‘Come on, gang,’ he hissed, his eyes red with rage and shame. ‘Let’s go. We’ll deal with the girl and these pilgrims some other time.’

  A boy handed him his club and the gang ran off into the night.

  Thrax turned to me. ‘Are you all right, Nico?’ The mad look had disappeared from his eyes but a vein on his forehead was still throbbing.

  ‘I’ll be all right once I’ve cleaned myself up,’ I said, trying not to vomit at the sight of a big fat turd plastered to the front of my chiton. ‘I smell like a cesspit.’

  ‘You look like a cesspit too,’ Thrax laughed. Somehow he’d evaded being hit by the contents of the chamber pots and his chiton was still spotless. But his left eye was beginning to swell. He was going to have a glorious shiner by morning.

  ‘What about the girl?’ I said.

  Thrax dashed back into the cheesemaker’s yard while I took off my chiton and shook away the turd. But the mysterious girl with red hair had vanished.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Puzzling Symposium

  Master Ariston’s jaw dropped when he saw us early the next morning. Thrax’s left eye had swollen like a loaf of bread before it goes in the oven. My bashed lips were almost as bad and my chin was redder than an onion in a stew.

  ‘What in the name of Zeus happened to you two?’ he gasped, sitting up in bed. ‘Are there wild boars in the backyard?’

  ‘No, but there are mice,’ said Thrax. ‘And possibly snakes and scorpions. It’s not safe to sleep there. We found a cheesemaker who let us spend the night in his shop.’

  ‘Only, we were attacked by a gang of local boys,’ I added.

  ‘Serves you right for creeping out of the inn without my permission,’ sniffed Master Ariston. ‘Help me get dressed, Thrax. I shall have breakfast with the other pilgrims downstairs.’

  The innkeeper greeted Master Ariston with a grovelling nod and tiganites – wheat pancakes topped with honey.

  ‘A message for you has come from one of the great archons of Delphi, an official in the sanctuary,’ he said. ‘It was delivered by one of his slaves this morning.’

  Master Ariston’s face lit up at the news. ‘A message from a magistrate? How wonderful. What did it say?’

  The innkeeper cleared his throat. ‘Glykon has heard that Ariston, the son of Lykos the retired sea captain, is in Delphi and invites him to dinner this evening. He will send a slave to escort Ariston and his retinue to his house just after sunset.’

  ‘My fame precedes me,’ beamed Master Ariston through a mouth full of figs and pancake. ‘Glykon might help me get in to see the Pythia. Go and brush down my clothes, Thrax, and do something about your faces, both of you
. I can’t have my retinue looking like a gang of common criminals.’

  ‘I’ll bring my writing tools in case you are inspired, sir,’ I said.

  ‘I am going as a guest not a performer,’ sniffed Master Ariston. ‘But I suppose you should bring parchment and papyrus. It will make me look rich.’

  The sun had barely set when the archon’s slave arrived and led us across town. Glykon’s house was modest from the outside, with a small altar of Hermes by the front door such as you would find in Athens. But inside, the andron was lavishly decorated with a mosaic floor and statues of athletes. The archon welcomed us as we removed our sandals and a slave bathed Master Ariston’s feet.

  ‘Khaire! Greetings to our visitor from Athens. We are quite a far-flung gathering tonight. We have a merchant and his son from New Sybaris coming too. I believe you know them already.’

  Glykon invited Master Ariston to recline on a couch piled high with cushions while Thrax and I took our positions behind it, hoping our facial injuries would not be noticed. If they were, no one was rude enough to mention them. Gorgias and Milo came in, and then more guests, till nearly all the couches in the andron were full. They washed their hands as slaves poured water on them. Then Glykon clapped twice and other slaves ran in to fill the place with small tables.

  ‘I say, this food looks delicious,’ said Master Ariston, watching the slaves cover the tables with piping-hot dishes. He raised his cup at Gorgias who was sharing a couch with Milo. ‘Although you might not be impressed, sir. I hear the people of New Sybaris are famous for their extravagant dining.’

  ‘They might be,’ chuckled Gorgias, holding up his own cup in greeting, ‘but as a seaman myself, I prefer simpler food like this.’

  Milo sipped from his wine cup thoughtfully and did not join in the conversation. He had the same distant look in his eye that Thrax gets when he’s thinking hard and I wondered what was on his mind.

  There was a commotion outside the andron and a late guest was shown in. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and a long beard flecked with grey.