CHAPTER XII
The sole event scheduled for that afternoon in the games was the chariot race.
This was held at the hippodrome, a large outdoor structure located to the east of Priene's gymnasium field and slightly lower down the slope of the dominating Mount Mycale. Actually, it was not a structure at all, having no seats, no beams, and no roof. In reality it was simply a wide oval track about five stades in circumference surrounded by a low stone wall. The wall, approximately of chest height on an average man, was designed to keep the careening chariots from bounding outside the track and smashing into the watching spectators, who fostered a reasonable expectation that they would not be crushed by miscreant horses and carts. The track was broad enough to allow six chariots to race neck and neck down its straight sides, but, of course, they could and would get hopelessly tangled at the ends of the oval.
The crowd could choose a number of ways in which to view the action. Those who arrived very early (often the day before the races) could sit on the wall, dangling their hairy legs over the edge and daring the charioteers to clip them off. This sometimes did happen, which caused the magistrates to frown on this practice, as popular as it was among the bolder, younger portion of an Ionian city's population. A safer and easier way to watch the excitement was to arrive at the hippodrome just as early, but to stand just behind the wall. I always thought the best way was to rent a seat in the makeshift stands invariably set up by enterprising citizens the morning of the contest. Being made of whatever pieces of wood, beams, and rope the builder could come up with, these rickety structures could and occasionally did collapse in the midst of a particularly dramatic race, but on the whole, afforded one a relatively safe vantage point from which to cheer and hiss. Of course, the builders charged an arm and a leg for a good seat, but what was one to do when one wanted to see the clash of horses, frail wooden conveyances, and
straining drivers? One paid.
And so the family dutifully followed my father, who dutifully followed the throng, which enthusiastically made its way from the stadium to the hippodrome in the early afternoon. Unlike the foot races, wrestling, and boxing, the chariot racing and the horse racing (scheduled for the next day), were single events that occurred only once during the course of the games. All the glory and honor to be earned by winning these events had to be accomplished in one mighty effort of skill and luck. The charioteer who walked away with the crown of laurel leaves earned eternal fame for himself and particularly for his horses' owner, for the owner was the person who received the lion's share of accolades. You see, we Ionians and the mainland Greeks as well, tended to believe it was the horses, who strove the most to win the race, rather than the charioteer. Therefore the horses' owner and trainer obtained the greater share of the glory. But do not feel sorry for the charioteer--after all, a winner is a winner in any book.
Holicius, being of sound mind and deep enough purse, had already rented bleacher seats for us prior to the day of the race. As I have mentioned, chariot racing was one of his favorites, and I believe he probably would have sold one of my sisters for a good seat at the hippodrome. But all the way over to the site he did grumble unceasingly about the outrageous price of a seat in the stands, as compared to when he was a boy.
I am sure that the majority of the crowd, that had cheered at the stadium that morning had transferred themselves to the hippodrome for the afternoon's action. The sun burned down relentlessly from a cloudless, bright blue sky, and the sweating, jostling herd of humanity filled the racing grounds to overflowing, until it seemed like the fields would start spitting people out like seeds from an overripe grape. We fought our way through to the stands of Amphodias, the carpenter, who was standing guard over his
bleachers like Jason defending the fabled golden fleece. Amphodias was snarling at a begging spectator as we approached, who was holding out a mina coin in an entreating palm.
”No, I have no seats left,” he shouted, staring longingly at the mina, which was worth sixty stater and more than he normally earned in a week. I thought for a moment that he was about to begin drooling and truly embarrass himself and other onlookers. But he tore his gaze away from the proffered coin and bestowed an ingratiating smile on my father.
”Noble Holicius, welcome to my stands! I have your seats awaiting here. There they are, just there, at the very top, just as you ordered.” He pointed toward a plank set at the top of the bleachers, conspicuous in that it was unoccupied.
”Hey, I wanted to buy those seats,” complained the man with the mina. “You cannot just sell them to him. I was here first!” The carpenter, his hard hands balled into fists, whirled on the protester, who shrank back in surprise.
"This is the noble Holicius, an aristocrat of Priene," Amphodias yelled. "He bought his seats days ago! I have nothing left!" The complainer slunk away, muttering about the inequities of democracy in this rat-infested city-state. The carpenter turned back toward my father, who was trying his best to hold himself straight and appear uninterested.
”This way, this way, noble Holicius,” he gestured toward the empty seats. “I see you have your beautiful family with you, sir.” He reached for my mother's arm, and then shied away as she transfixed him with an icy stare. We climbed over several fellow citizens to the top of the stands. Holicius stood and peered into the hippodrome.
"I suppose this will have to do," he fussed. "I was hoping for better seats, but we were lucky to get these." Tesessa patted his hand comfortingly, and my sisters tumbled over one another in their haste to get the best seat. When they all were properly in place, my father looked them over carefully one by one. After all, it was very unusual for wives and female daughters to be displayed so in public, and I think he was at a loss as to how they should look. Ulania was with us today, balancing a golden Elissa on her knees, as she squinted nearsightedly around her. As usual Arlana and Risalla sat at opposite ends of the plank, the former gazing disinterestedly about, while the latter studiously ignored both Arlana and myself by meticulously inspecting her fingernails. Tirah and Tapho perched between my father and mother, excitedly bouncing up and down as they chattered away to each other. I bowed to Tesessa and addressed Holicius.
"Father, if you will pardon me, I need to seek out and speak to several people about my task." He glanced at me for a long moment, and then waved me away to go about my business.
Climbing down from the stands, I strolled about searching the crowd for familiar faces. The throng was like an everchanging and multicolored fresco, flowing around and between the sets of stands and rebounding from the hippodrome walls like insects
bouncing off a thin cloth screen. I had an idea where to find who I was looking for, as the aristocrats were sure to be in the best stand seats. I had also unleashed Duryattes again, and just for an instant spotted him circulating among the slaves waiting to attend to their masters in the bleachers. I spied Valato and his family, including the bored-looking Ossadia, sitting off to my right in another set of stands. For a moment her eyes locked onto mine; she smiled a small, secret smile, and then looked away toward the track.
A deafening roar from the waiting army of onlookers announced the spectacle of the animal tenders beginning to lead the teams of horses onto the track from a side entrance. Not yet harnessed to their chariots, the horses were able to prance about, snorting and biting at the harassed slaves attempting to jockey them into position. Already on the hippodrome floor the chariots were crouching patiently, waiting for their chargers, their position having been predetermined by lot. The charioteers and owners had not made their entrance onto the stage yet, but that would follow when the handlers had hooked the groups of four impatient animals to each of the waiting carts. Above it all I could hear the hawkers entreating the people to eat maza, quaff wine, and munch olives.
I purchased a cheap kylix of watered wine, gulped it down in a quick swallow, grimaced at its sourness, and moved on to spy Nolarion talking earnestly to Endemion
near the competitor's entrance.
I could not make out what the magistrate was saying to his son, but I saw the young man nod with a grim expression and head to the holding area, where the drivers and owners were gathering. I quickly strode over to Nolarion and caught his attention with a wave. He grimaced as he recognized me, and then smiled in welcome.
”Good day, Bias,” he boomed, a grin splitting his great black beard. “I was just giving my son my final pointers on handling his horses. Not that he needs any, of course!”
”Sir, I have discovered something of possible interest in the wine ceremony at the Panionion.” I cupped my hand around my mouth to be heard above the steady roar of the crowd. “May I ask you a question about the pouring that day?” He stared at me in consternation, and it was not the hardest task under Helios for me to decipher his expression of patient suffering. With a deep sigh, he indicated that I should continue.
”Sir, I have been informed that the magistrates did not necessarily take the kylix cups from the tables themselves to hand to athletes for the pouring of the wine, but that in some cases, young men passed the cups from the tables to you in the crush of the crowd!”
Nolarion continued to observe me, his expression changing from forbearance to interest.
”Magistrate, do you remember if this happened? Did you always take a kylix
from the table nearby or were they passed to you?” I could see his eyes glaze over slightly as his thoughts returned to the Panionion. His gnarled right hand reached up to stroke the luxurious beard.
”Well, I do not know,” he admitted slowly. “I suppose that....wait. Yes, I remember now. Yes, I believe I did have a young man behind me passing me cups. Yes, perhaps after the pouring got very busy. There were a lot of athletes there, you know, and then many citizens desired a cup as well. Perhaps somebody did pass cups to me and the other magistrates!” He peered at me closely, and the words rumbled out from his great chest.
”You are saying that somebody could have passed me a cup at exactly the right moment to hand to Tyrestes? That would take such timing as to be almost impossible, I would think.”
"Yes, sir, almost impossible. But to a determined individual, just almost impossible."
Nolarion looked away, his gaze sweeping the myriad of Ionian citizens milling about the outside of the hippodrome. His hand continued to stroke his long beard, but the action was more determined now, as if imbued with new purpose. I could barely hear his next words, he spoke them so softly.
"So it could have been some person other than a pouring girl or a magistrate," he mused. His eyes swung back to my face. "Who, Bias, who was it?"
”I am not sure yet, sir,” I stammered, surprised by the ferocious expression on his big face. “It is simply another possibility that I must investigate further.” He shook his massive head as if emerging from a pool of water, and the fierce countenance relaxed.
”Of course---pardon me,” he murmured. Again, I had to strain to hear him. He shrugged, and smiled wanly. “Let us forget it for the moment, eh, young Bias? We will put it aside, and watch my son win the chariot race, eh?”
”As you say, magistrate,” I agreed, bowing and moving away. Nolarion straightened up, squared his wide shoulders, and began making his way toward the owners' entrance.
The charioteers' and owners' area was a roped off section of the grounds that emptied onto the hippodrome track through one of the gates in the wall. Inside the area red-faced aristocrats and rich merchants were bawling last minute instructions and warnings to harassed young drivers, who were obviously trying their best to seem respectful and attentive. Down on the track itself, I counted 28 of the chariots in rows of six with four unlucky ones huddled miserably in the last row. All were of a similar design, being constructed of lightweight and springy wood, and were painted in all the colors of the rainbow. Bright reds, yellows, and oranges predominated, set off by white or black, but there were some shades of blue and green as well. The horses, being led up to the chariots by sweating, swearing trainers and slaves, were gaily caparisoned as well, with colored streamers affixed to their harnesses, manes, and tails.
Just inside the roped enclosure to my left I spotted the aristocrat Kreton speaking earnestly with a short, stocky driver, whose head was bobbing in apparent agreement every few seconds. Next to him outside the rope stood Krelonan the wrestler and two other gigantic young men. They were all laughing in a boisterous and carefree manner, each with a hamlike fist wrapped around a large kylix of wine. Obviously these were Kreton's prodigious trio of sons, and gods above, were they huge! Each one of them could have easily made two of me. Then, for just a moment, Krelonan stepped back, and revealed to my sight a dazzling girl in a fawn-colored chiton, staring fixedly into the throng within the enclosure. Her curling, golden hair bounded down her back, festooned with a leafy vine, and her figure was perfect, high-breasted and small-waisted. Her creamy complexion seemed to be natural and twin areas of rosy color accentuated her high cheekbones. This must be the beautiful Bilassa, I conjectured approvingly, my breath caught in my throat. No wonder Tyrestes was interested in this one! My eyes were drawn away from her to the object of her unwavering gaze, but it seemed to be just a slim, boyish charioteer in a black tunic chatting quietly with his trainer off by themselves. Not recognizing him, I turned aside and bumped unceremoniously into Euphemius, the third magistrate with the iron-gray beard and stooped, storklike demeanor.
”Your pardon, sir,” I apologized with a short bow, as he straightened up and peered at me down his long, hawks' beak of a nose. I saw his eyes take in my cropped hair and black tunic, and he nodded in approval. Close behind him stood a handsome, young man, peering all around in fascination. His companion, I supposed.
”Young Bias, eh?” Euphemius' tone was surprisingly high-pitched and reinforced the impression that he had been transformed from some long-legged marsh bird. “How goes your inquiry into the demise of the unfortunate Tyrestes?”
”It proceeds, sir, but not at a very fast or insightful pace. The whole situation is so confusing and twisted. It is like being in a maze in the dark of night!” His birdlike black eyes twinkled at this description, and he nodded again.
”I think you will find that any inquiry into the minds and affairs of your fellow men will lead you to an identical conclusion. When the gods fashioned us after themselves, they included the infinite variety of thought and appearance that they themselves possess.”
”Yes, sir, that is certainly true,” I agreed, “but a little simplicity would not go astray here either. I have uncovered half a dozen people, who may have had reason to do away with Tyrestes.”
”Do not be so downhearted, Bias,” he piped cheerfully. “There are probably another half dozen whom you have not uncovered!” This statement cheered me up to no end, as you can imagine. I changed the subject to one of more interest.
”Magistrate, have you an entry in the race today,” I asked politely.
”Why, yes, I do,” he admitted with a rueful snort, “but I do not expect to win now.”
”Why is that, sir? Surely a man of your accomplishments and wisdom would supply the finest horses and the most able driver.” It never hurts to be courteous to your elders, particularly when one is fishing for information. I noted Euphemius' young companion nodding in approval.
Euphemius flapped his skinny arms in sudden irritation, his snowy chiton billowing about him, conjuring up a vision of his rising into the air like a startled stork.
”Well, I would have had a very good chance of winning,” he groused. “I have a magnificent set of runners, you see. They are the brown ones over there, hooked to that yellow and white chariot. But Tyrestes was to be my charioteer, you see, and with him dead, where was I to find another?” I suppose I must have gaped at this admission, for he bobbed his head several times and repeated this amazing revelation.
”Oh, yes, did you not know? Tyrestes did not have
enough wealth to supply his own team, but he was an excellent horseman. He and I agreed some six months ago that he would drive for me, since each of us would obviously benefit from this arrangement. He would get another win to add to his overall glory, and I would gain
the ultimate honor of having the winning team. He has been practicing racing at my estate ever since that time, attended to by his brother, Usthius, and my trainer, Lacramos.”
”Who did you find to replace him at this late date?” I queried.
”Oh, the only one who could possibly replace him was his brother, you see? He was the only citizen who has worked with my horses other than Tyrestes himself. Tyrestes let him drive the team several times during training to get the feel of them and whet his interest for the next set of games. I approve of that sort of interest in the young.
So, when Tyrestes died, who else could I get but Usthius to drive at these games?”
”Usthius is driving your chariot?” I asked stupidly, feeling my safe and cosy world once more spin about me.
”Yes, of course,” Euphemius replied in an impatient manner. “Is that not what I just said? There he is, over there, talking to my trainer, Lacramos.”
He pointed a long, thin finger across the inclosure to the slim, boyish charioteer in black, who had been the object of Bilassa's intense interest.
Murder At The Panionic Games Page 11