CHAPTER III
”Oh, here they come, here they come!” squealed Tapho and Tirah in harmony, as they spotted the leading girls of the procession pop from around an outcrop of black rock up the side of Mount Mycale. “Where is Risalla, where is Risalla?”
”Hush, now!” admonished my mother. “She's a little farther back. You will see her in a moment.” My three youngest sisters bounced up and down from excitement, waiting for Risalla to appear, so that they could shriek with pride of ownership. My mother and eldest sister, Ulania, held tightly onto them, so that they would not bolt out into the procession path. Arlana, of course, had refused to attend at all.
The procession had begun at the outskirts of Priene on the other side of the ridge, had proceeded up and over the mountain like a giant snake slithering over a big log, and was descending down the slope as if pouring from a hole behind the craggy rocks. In order to get a decent view of all the participants, people had lined the way all along the entire route with the majority of the onlookers either at the beginning of the parade near the city or with us at the end near the Panionion. I was standing with my family about two stades up from the altar hill, waiting to signal Crystheus that the marchers were in sight, so that he could begin final preparations for the ritual sacrifices.
The leading girls, chosen for their pretty faces, admirable figures, and their fathers' prodigious purses, were now coming down the ridgeface. Each was to act as spondophorai at the ceremony, so they lugged a jug or bowl for the libations of wine at the sacrifices or for slaking the athletes' thirst further along in the parade. They sported their best linen chitons in a flowerlike variety of colors, the predominant being different shades of purple. The chitons were ankle-length, pinned along arms and bodies with small, bronze brooches and cinched in the middle by either a linen or leather belt. Being young and unmarried their shining hair cascaded to their shoulders and was adorned with combs and baubles of all descriptions. Some had their faces whitened with powdered lead, but again, being young, many wore no make-up at all, and you could see the rosy flush that heightened their cheeks and necks. Thoroughly delightful, I must admit.
”Risalla, Risalla!” screamed my sisters, pointing and jumping. They had espied our family marcher coming down the dusty hill now, and could not contain their enthusiasm. People watching beside us shot approving side glances at them, as it is no mean thing to have a family member in the Panionic procession. Risalla's normally rosy complexion was deeper than usual, and she beamed a satisfied smile on all the observers as she passed. I noticed that she had pulled the hem of her chiton up a few inches as she had flounced along, so that it swung at mid-calf, showing off the bottoms of her strong, plump legs. My father also noticed, and his proud smile turned down a bit at the corners, as he considered this minor breach of etiquette.
”Father,” I said as I nudged him slightly in the ribs, “I must report to Crystheus, so that he will be ready for the sacrificial animals.” He nodded in a distracted fashion, his worried eyes on his daughter's impropriety. I headed down the ridge through the throngs of people toward the altar.
Crystheus did not need much warning. He had one of our temporary helpers perched on top of the surrounding wall, shading his eyes and peering off into the distance, attempting to detect the head of the procession. This young worthy recognized the first girls with their wine jugs at the same time I reached the enclosure, and bawled down to the major priest that the column was in sight.
”You were supposed to warn me, yes, warn me of the procession's arrival,” snapped Crystheus at me, as I hurried in through the gate.
”Plenty of time, noble Crystheus,” I soothed, as I drew to his side. “I insured everything was prepared ahead of time. All you need do is meet the procession at the altar wall gate, and I will supply you with the materials needed for the sacrifices.”
His protruding eyes considered me doubtfully, but he hurried over to the
gate, where he could just spy the first girls in the distance through the crowd. They hurried along the track toward us, dancing to and fro, chitons swirling, eyes sparkling, and laughter peeling through the air. Behind them we could now see the young men of the city, who had been designated to lead the sacrificial beasts to the holy grounds. They were coaxing and pulling several small male oxen, all of beige color, as the god Poseidon Helikonios preferred light-colored offerings. Next came several more boys dragging unwilling white nanny goats to be used to appease Poseidon's mate, Amphitrite, after the god had been satisfied. As is the way with goats, their capering and leaping was making much more of a spectacle than the oxen, who plodded along in serenity, unknowing and uncaring.
The onlooking people were chattering and waving wildly by now, pointing out procession participants they knew and calling to one another in pleased recognition.
Some religious festival processions are somber and quiet, as might befit a celebration of one of the gods of the underworld, but this was not one of them. Poseidon was a boisterous, loud god, rightly called The Earthshaker, and the Panionic games procession was always clamorous and exiting.
Now coming into view after the animals were the reasons for the games themselves--the athletes from all over the Ionic League. The crowd's prattle erupted into deafening cheers and yells as the staunch, young hopefuls from twelve city-states strode proudly into sight. On came the burly wrestlers, the muscular boxers, and the lithe foot-racers. Waving and grinning at the crowds were the horse racers, the discus throwers and the javelin hurlers. All wore short tunics to display their fine physiques, their muscles rippling and bunching in the sunshine, as they displayed themselves to the envious
throng. These athletes had much to hope for--by excelling over his peers in the games, the successful athlete gained great honor. By competing he risked not only his own reputation, but also that of his kinsmen and fellow citizens. In addition, he could expect to receive generous material goods upon his return to his native city-state. I have to admit, I cheered as enthusiastically as any as they approached the walls, until Crystheus snarled at me to attend to my duties.
Finally, bringing up the rear of the parade were the artists, who had flocked into Priene for the other aspects of the festival, the poetry, music, and drama contests. While the newest local compositions were offered at the festival of Laneon in the winter, the Panionic games drew artistic participants from the entire Asiatic Greek world, so it was an opportunity to view the most renowned works performed by the greatest actors, poets, dramatists, and musicians in all of Ionia.
Clustered by the altar wall gate and talking quietly among themselves in a tight knot waited the city magistrates of Priene. Their smug countenances showed that they were pleased with the proceedings up to this point, and they occasionally pointed or gestured towards the girls, animals, or athletes heading our way. Behind them on several tables stood row after row of wine psykters, amphoras, and kylixes made of black and red pottery for use by the major priest and the athletes. A quick glance completed my final check of the materials on the altar table to insure that none of the necessary instruments had stolen away on little feet, and I turned back to the gate just as the girls arrived. Like multicolored chicks, they took their prearranged places at the side of the group of magistrates.
The young men then led the animals into the enclosed area, tugging and swearing under their breath as the goats, infested with the excitement of the crowd, were energetically trying to break free. Even the three stolid oxen were growing restive now, rolling fearful eyes and pawing at the hard ground. I signalled the small group of auletes off to the side to commence playing their religious music. They laid to it with a will, startling Crystheus, who was trying to look solemn, but was only succeeding in looking pompous. He shot me another sour look, to which I returned a calm smile.
Having filled their bowls and jugs from the amphoras on the tables, the girls were pouring the watered wine into kylixes held out by the magistrates, who were then handing them
gravely one by one to the athletes, some of whom accepted their kylix with due pensiveness, while others grinned and bobbed. I recognized a few of the more well-known sportsmen, including Priene's own hopefuls, Tyrestes and Endemion, both of whom were trying their best to keep from breaking out in beaming grins and just barely succeeding. They were our two best candidates, and I had watched them compete in several local events during the past six months. Personally, I thought Tyrestes was the stronger athlete, particularly in foot racing, but either of them might have a chance for glory and honor at the right day and time.
”Bring him up, bring him up!” Crystheus snapped impatiently at one of the young men hanging onto a recalcitrant ox, and the youth began dragging it forward toward the middle of the altar. As the animal handler approached, I held a large bowl of water out toward the major priest, who ritually washed his hands with a few waving motions, and then sprinkled some of the water on the suspicious beast, who snorted and eyed him balefully. I thought it would be a good touch for the crowd if the ox bellowed for good luck, but a snort was the most with which he was apparently willing to part. Crystheus then gestured the crowd to silence, waited for the chattering to die down, and portentously pronounced his prayer, while simultaneously tossing handfuls of unground barleycorn at the victim, the altar, and various participants.
”Oh, great Poseidon, Earthshaker, Lord of the Sea, and Protector of Priene and these holy grounds, hear my plea,” he intoned, stretching his arms toward the statue of the god standing expectantly at the entrance of the sacred cave. “Accept this sacrifice and the others to follow as indications of our respect, fealty, and devotion. Bless this festival and these games with your favor and goodwill. Smile upon our city and the competitors here today, and turn away your wrath at our unintentional lapses in your worship!”
With this Crystheus motioned vigorously for his designated mageiros to approach the increasingly nervous ox. He had chosen one of his many cousins as this sacrificer, and I glanced dubiously at him, hoping this slight, young man had the strength to fell the ox with one blow. The cousin cautiously sidled up to the animal, determinedly licked his lips, gripped his large axe in both hands, and swung a prodigious chop, simultaneously muttering a short incantation. At this point the ox, who by now had enough of the whole affair, chose to swing his head sharply against his young holder, who was jolted backwards several steps. The axe descended, neatly sheared off the ox's left ear, and clanged off the marble floor. The small, wounded bullock obviously considered it now appropriate to bellow, roared out his disapproval, and proceeded to knock the mageiros to the altar floor, where he bounced quite satisfactorily several times in a rearwards direction. The infuriated ox advanced precipitously several steps towards Crystheus, who promptly screamed and tried to claw his way out of harm's sight. Only the gods know what would have happened next if I had not scooped up the axe, shouldered aside the shouting major priest, and dispatched the beast forthwith with a sound blow to the head. The poor animal collapsed, kicking furiously on the altar floor and spraying red blood in all directions.
Crystheus stood as still as the statue of Poseidon, staring at the dead ox, while the shouts of dismay and bad luck from the crowd grew in volume.
”By the gods, “ I hissed at him, thrusting the sacrificial knife into his hand, “ get on with it to calm down the people!” He blinked several times, drew a shaky breath, and crouched down to cut the bullock's throat. I caught the gush of oxblood in a wide bowl and theatrically splashed it about the middle of the altar as Crystheus struggled to regain his composure. In the meantime several of our helpers rushed forward to gut the ox, place his innards on a small pyre off to the side, and torch the pyre, offering these parts of the animal to Poseidon. It took a few moments, but the pyre had been liberally doused with oil and flared up, consuming the substantial offering as the smell of burnt meat wafted about the enclosure. The crowd, still muttering, stared at the sacrifice and at the surrounding rocky ridge, expecting perhaps to see some tangible evidence of Poseidon the Earthshaker's wrath. When nothing apparently was going to happen, the noise and
foreboding started to recede like the tide going out, and relieved sighs and chuckles could be heard. I glanced over at the magistrates, who had ceased to peer apprehensively at the people around them and were acting more at ease.
The remainder of the sacrifices were conducted with no signs of displeasure on the part of Poseidon or Amphitrite, and none of the other animals made the slightest disturbance when led to their doom. Crystheus did himself credit by pulling off the rest of the ceremony without a flaw, drawing exclamations of admiration from the throng as he deftly wielded his sacrificial knife amid prayers and showers of barleycorn on all concerned.
The final part of the ritual was now to be performed. The major priest received a kylix of wine from one of the waiting magistrates, and the athletes drew in closer to the altar, their kylixes raised high in salute to Poseidon. Crystheus ceremoniously poured some of his wine on the burning pyre, causing it to hiss like a disturbed snake and produce a cloud of smouldering smoke. He raised his kylix in a completing salute, lowered it slowly to his lips, and drank deep, scanning the athletes' faces as he swallowed. The expectant gymnasts enthusiastically drained their own cups, and then turned and held them on high to show the waiting spectators. The crowd burst into clamorous cheers, saluting and calling to the competitors from their home cities.
The raucous cheering continued for several minutes, while the athletes basked in the glow from the admiring throng. I motioned for the helpers to start setting up the braziers to begin roasting the sacrificial feast for the procession marchers, when from the corner of my eye, I noticed our own Tyrestes pass a shaky hand over a pale face slick with sweat, then clutch his belly with an agonized moan! I took a stride toward him, and he suddenly staggered several steps to his right, grabbing at a startled Endemion for support. Tyrestes slid to the ground, the other athlete trying vainly to hold him up, and vomited violently onto Endemion's sandals.
I and two other competitors close by reached the retching athlete, just as Endemion lowered him to the dirt. Tyrestes stared wildly at his fellow gladiator from Priene for an instant, gurgled deep in his throat, tried to rise and collapsed, clawlike hands grasping momentarily at the air. I thrust my fingers deeply against his neck to feel for a heartbeat, found none, and looked up in stunned silence, feeling the gorge rising in my own throat. The other athletes around me involuntarily took two or three steps hurriedly backward, thrusting their hands out in supplication to Poseidon as pandemonium erupted inside the walled enclosure.
Murder At The Panionic Games Page 3