See Delphi And Die Part 5

Every group of people thrown together by accident contains one creep; we had all met them. I pointed out how fortunate my companions were that I had a.s.sembled our party on scientific lines, omitting anti-social loners in large hats. They guffawed again.

'A man like that could be the killer,' Helena said.

I disagreed. More likely he himself would be murdered by someone he had driven crazy with his odd behaviour.

As Helena stacked our foodbowls neatly, she asked, 'I wonder where they have all trotted off to? That's one thing Aulus doesn't say.'

'Sparta.' I knew this from the Tracks and Temples tour itinerary I had pinched from Polystratus. I went to fetch it from my baggage pack, to double-check. One thing was certain: my personal group was not going to Sparta. Helena and I had a pact. She hated the Spartan att.i.tude to women. I loathed their treatment of their inferiors, the Helots. conquered, enslaved, maltreated, and hunted down by night as sport by belligerent Spartan youths.

I had brought other lists among my note-tablets. One was a roll-call of the tour Marcella Caesia took three years ago, the names given to me in Rome by her father. I lined up his research against our new list, but apart from Phineus there were no matches.

'So the mystery is solved: we want Phineus!' declaimed Albia.

Informers are more cautious; most of us have made mistakes over naming suspects too fast. I explained that Phineus would be crazy to be so obvious, that it now looked as if the two dead women had met dissimilar fates, probably at the hands of different killers - and that accusing Phineus was too easy.

'Simplicity is good!' Albia argued. She waved her wrists and posed her head elegantly, as if she were modelling Roman fas.h.i.+ons under Helena's tutelage.

'If you accuse an entrepreneur unwisely, it's a very simple lawsuit for defamation.'

'Then you could defend us in court, Marcus Didius.'

'I only chase achievable compensation; I won't go bankrupt! I could just as easily mess up my life by becoming a trapeze artiste. Danger, thrills, and -'

'Going up in life,' capped Gaius.

'See more of the world, joined in Cornelius, catching on fast.

'In all its ups and downs!' I quipped. Helena shot us a look implying none of us had reached formal manhood.

After we stopped giggling, I explained that we had to find solid evidence, using mundane investigation techniques. All the young people lost interest. This would be how it felt to run an educational leisure tour, with reluctant adolescents hating the culture. Bored young people might start plotting mischief - though not, I thought, actual murder.

Albia was annoyed that I had dismissed her theory, but she did support me next morning when I went to reconnoitre the spot where the Seven Sights tour had camped. Helena wanted to come, but was unwell; Greek food had struck her down. After breakfast Albia and I walked quickly southwards from the Leomdaion along the embankment formed by the great retaining wall of the River Kladeos. The Kladeos was a hesitant trickle, wandering among bulrushes, though no doubt in flood it became dramatic.

Jumping fleas pinged around our feet. The air was thick with vicious insects.

'This is nothing, Albia. Imagine this place during the Games, when a hundred oxen are slaughtered at one sitting. Don't even try to calculate the quant.i.ties of blood involved. Plus hide, bones, horns, entrails, sc.r.a.ps of uncooked or uneaten meat. While the smoke is soaring up to the G.o.ds on Mount Olympus, down here the flies are in their own heaven.'

Albia picked her way cautiously. 'I can see why those two Germans we met said they always prayed it would not rain. The ground would become very muddy.'

'Mud and worse!'

We found where the camp had been. Aulus had drawn a clear plan. He was a strong, rough draughtsman, using thick stubby lines, but what he meant was clear enough. We could just about discern pale gra.s.s, about the footage of two ten-man army tents. We even found tent-peg holes and trampled hollows where they had had a couple of doorways. For a wide area around, three-year-old detritus disfigured the riverbank, left behind by the spectators at the last Games. But where the Seven Sights people camped, there was absolutely no rubbish.

'The travel company are such tidy people, Falco!' Albia had learned informing irony. 'They have been so careful to remove any clues.'

I planted myself in what would have been the outside approach to the Seven Sights tent, feet apart and thumbs in my belt. It was my favourite belt and this was a useful stance for thinking. The belt had stretched in two places to accommodate my thumbs. 'I doubt if there were many clues, Albia. And I don't credit the Seven Sights party with immaculate housekeeping.'

'Then who did it?'

'Barzanes said the girl had been killed somewhere else and the corpse was just carried here afterwards. Forensically, you might search a crime scene. But here, cleaning up so thoroughly gains nothing.'

'Forensically,' Albia repeated, learning the new word. 'Why then, Marcus Didius?'

'The place was regarded as polluted. Murder ruins the good name of the sanctuary, and maybe brings bad luck as well. So they eliminated all trace of everyone who stayed here with Valeria.'

'The priests?' Albia's grey eyes widened. 'Do you think the priests killed Valeria?' There was heavy derision in my foster-daughter's tone. She had learned on the streets of Londinium to distrust all authorities. I cannot say that att.i.tude had been discouraged by Helena and me.

'Albia, I believe anything of priests!'

We stood in silence, feeling the suns.h.i.+ne and listening to birdsong. Beneath our feet the gra.s.s, starved of nourishment while it was covered by tents, was already greening, the blades standing up again stalwartly. Leafy hills surrounded us, thickly covered with olives, plane trees, larches, and even palm trees, above a thick undergrowth of vines and flowering shrubs. The conical Hill of Cronus dominated, waiting for me to tackle other secrets.

With its bright skies, tumbling rivers, sacred groves, and its ancient attributions, this remote spot hummed with fertility and folklore. At any moment I expected some lithe G.o.d to hail us and ask if we knew any virgins who might consent to be ravished in the interests of mythology.

'Albia, Valeria Ventidia was not much older than you are. If you had been with that party visiting Olympia, how would you feel about it?'

'Older than we think I am!' Albia could never miss an opportunity to remind herself how little she knew of her origins. She had no birthday We could not say for sure whether she was fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen. 'Aulus made the people sound bad. I would not have liked it.'

'Say you are Valeria and you feel that way. Would you duck out of any organised events?'

'What could she do? Staying in the tent alone might be a bad idea. If some man knew Valeria was there by herself...'

'True. While the male tourists studied sporty things, Valeria and the other women of the party would have been taken around together sometimes.'

'She might not have liked those women.'

'When you travel in an escorted group, you have to live with your companions, Albia, whoever they are. How do you think the women occupied themselves? There are poets and musicians to listen to.'

Albia pulled a face. 'You could look around, like we all did yesterday. Valeria could go out by herself - but that might be a worry.'

'Men might make personal overtures?'

'You know they would do, Marcus Didius.'

True again. A young woman would be an immediate target. Men hanging around a sanctuary alone would be odd types by definition. Groups could be even more threatening. We did not know whether Valeria Ventidia was pretty, but she was nineteen. Wearing a wedding ring would not help.

'If she was spotted alone, she would be thought to be waiting for men's attention. Of course,' murmured Albia slyly, 'Valeria might have liked that.'

'Albia, I am shocked! Valeria was a bride.'

'She married because she was told to.'

'And Aulus says her husband was a dumb cluck!'

Albia giggled. 'Why stay chaste for a man like that?'

Perhaps because in a sanctuary like this, word would soon get around if you did not.

XII.

Feeling my responsibilities more than usual, I escorted Albia safely back to the Leomdaion, where I told her to check up on Helena. I had arranged to meet Young Glaucus. There was a lavish new Roman clubhouse, donated by the Emperor Nero after his visit ten years ago, but since Nero's death it had remained unfinished. So I walked on to the old palaestra, into which Glaucus had wormed his way yesterday.

As I went, the workshop of Phidias and the shrine of the Unknown Hero were on the right; to the left stood a bath house and an enormous outdoor swimming pool. A door porter refused me admittance to the sports facilities, so I waited until somebody else distracted him, then slipped past. There was no way Claudius Laeta and the Palatine auditors would pay a subscription to join this elite exercise club. My official expenses hardly covered a bread roll a day.

The indoor sports facilities at Olympia were as grandiose as you would expect. Yesterday we had spent most time admiring the gymnasium; that sumptuous facility had a mighty triple-arched gateway, leading to a vast interior where running could be practised on a full-size double track, safe from rain or excessive heat. It was so large that in its central area discus and javelin practice could occur, even while races took place on the perimeter.

Attached to the gym was the palaestra - more intimate, yet still impressive. It had four grand colonnades, each housing rooms with specialist functions, around a huge central workout s.p.a.ce that was open to the skies. In one preparatory room athletes oiled themselves or were oiled by their trainers - or their boyfriends. Another contained bunkers of fine dust which was slathered all over them on top of the oil. It came in different colours. After practice, the dust and oil and sweat would all be sc.r.a.ped off. Because there were splendid full-scale baths elsewhere in the complex, was.h.i.+ng facilities here were basic - a clinical stingil-and-splash room and an echoing cold bath.

The main courtyard was used for contact sports. During the Games this area would be jam-packed, but it was quieter off-season. Upright wrestling was carried out on a level sanded area, called the skamtna, also sometimes used by the long-jumpers, which could lead to arguments.

Ground wrestling, with compet.i.tors flailing on the floor, took place in a crude mudbath where the sand had been watered to the consistency of sticky beeswax - a sure draw for exhibitionists. Both types of wrestling were considered refined in comparison with boxing, where - with the aid of spiteful arm-protectors with great hard leather knuckle-ridges - opponents might have their faces mashed so badly that none of their friends recognised them. It was in boxing, the ancient sport of beauteous, golden-haired Apollo, that a savage fight occurred where a man going down from a great blow to the head somehow retaliated by jabbing his opponent so hard he tore out his entrails with his bare fingers.

Even boxing paled beside the vicious no-holds-barred Greek killer of a sport they called pankration. Pankration fighters used a mixture of boxing and wrestling, plus any blow they liked. Only biting and eye-gouging were against the rules. Breaking the rules was much admired, however. So was the breaking of ankles, arms, heels, fingers and anything else that would snap.

Being peopled by brutes who gloried in these hard sports, the palaestra had its own atmosphere, one I did not like. It had its own smell too, as all sports halls will. Yesterday Glaucus and I had agreed not to bring Helena, Albia, and my young nephews in here - even if it had been possible. Today I stared at the occupants, but this was definitely not my kind of hole.

Back home, Glaucus senior's gym at the rear of the Temple of Castor was just as exclusive, yet it had an air of civilisation - not to mention a peaceful library and a man on the steps selling hot pastries. n.o.body came here to read. It was just a fighting pit for bullies. Glaucus had somehow talked his way in, on the strehgth of his size and visible prowess, but in an official year of the Games neither Young Glaucus nor I would have got anywhere near the inside.

I wondered whether Phineus ever managed to infiltrate the men on his tours. I bet he did. I bet that was why they all thought he was good Working around the open court, I had to sidestep around several slobs looking for a quarrel. I had outsider written all over me. I only hoped my name and mission had not been pa.s.sed on to these bruisers, as it had been pa.s.sed yesterday to the guides in the sanctuary.

Glaucus liked the longjump. He had told me where to find him at practice today - a long room off the southern colonnade, which had side benches for spectators, though it was possible to look in from the corridor too. A musician who was playing double pipes which he had tied to his brow with headbands in a curious traditional way. He was meant to a.s.sist the athletes with their concentration and rhythm. The fluting sounds were an odd contrast to the mood of aggression elsewhere. I almost expected to discover a roomful of dancing girls.

No chance of that. I could not imagine what I considered normal s.e.x ever happening here. Two centuries of Roman rule had not changed the atmosphere in any Greek palaestra. The erotic charge was automatic. A palaestra was where young men congregated and older men openly came to gape at their beauty and strength, hoping for more. Even I was being sized up. At thirty-five, scarred and sneering, I was safe from old goats wanting to ask my father for permission to sponsor, seduce, and smooch me. Just as well. Pa would probably bellow with laughter, extract a big bribe, and hand me straight over.

It was a relief to sidle into the sanded practice room.

'Falco! You all right?' Glaucus looked nervous. He was supposed to be my bodyguard. I could see him regretting that he had told me just to turn up.

'Don't worry; I can handle those idiots.' He believed it. His father trained me. 'You watch yourself, Glaucus!' Glaucus shrugged, unfazed. He was good-looking enough to be a target, but seemed utterly unaware of it.

Before he joined me on the spectators' bench, he finished his next jump. No run-up; the skill is in the standing start. I watched, as he prepared himself on a take-offboard. The musician went into a strong rhythmic beat. Glaucus fixed his mind on the jump. In each hand he was holding a weight. He swung them back, then swept his arms forwards, using the weights to propel himself. He was good. He flew across the sand, straightened his legs, and flexed, making a clean landing. I applauded. So did a couple of sleek young bystanders, attracted by this handsome dark-skinned stranger. I waved them away. I didn't care if they thought Glaucus and I were lovers, so long as they slunk off and left us to talk privately.

Weights were hanging on the walls - lead and iron varieties, in pairs, mostly boat-shaped at the bottom, with top handles to grip. These were familiar to me. My father sold a popular range of fake Greek vases and amphorae, which he claimed had been prizes at the Panathenaic Games; his discus and javelin throwers were most popular but there was one version which showed a long-jump compet.i.tion. Pa's artist was quite adept at red-figure Greeks, bearded, with pointed noses, slightly hooked shoulders, and outstretched legs as they completed throws or leaps. Many an over-confident connoisseur had been bamboozled into buying.

Glaucus saw me inspecting the displayed weights, and shook his head. Opening his left palm, he showed me one he had been using. It was a different design. This was made of stone, a simple double-ended cylindrical shape, like a small dumb-bell, with fingers carved into the body to grip. 'These are what we moderns use, Falco! Those old things are just hung up as a historical memento.' He pa.s.sed me the modern weight; my hand dropped. It must have weighed five or six Roman pounds. 'About twice as much as the old kind. And you can get some even heavier.'

'Is this your own?'

'Oh yes. I use the ones I'm used to.'

'I know jumping is difficult - but don't these make life even harder?'

Glaucus smiled. 'Practice, Falco!'

'Do they really help propel you further?'

'Oh yes. They add several extra feet to a jump.'

'They certainly turn you into a sand flea!' I applauded him, grinning. Then I became serious. 'I wonder which type was used on Valeria?'

Glaucus was ahead of me. He signalled to the musician, who stopped piping. He was a pallid wisp, malnourished and insignificant, who had been improvising while we talked; his tuneless drivel told us he was the off-season act. 'Falco, I'd like you to meet Myron.' The musician started a bow, then lost confidence. 'Myron, tell Falco what you told me.'

'About the woman who was killed?'

'Valeria Ventidia, a Roman visitor. Was she known around here in the practice rooms? Had she been hanging about the athletes?' I asked.

'No. It's not allowed.'

'Was the palaestra busy at that time?'

'It's very quiet this year. Just a few stragglers and people who turn up on spec.'

'So tell me about the murder. You heard how it happened? Did the weight used in the murder belong to someone in particular?'

'No, it was taken from the wall here. It was found in the porch afterwards, covered with blood and strands of the girl's hair.'

'Tell him about the weight, Myron,' Glaucus urged.

'It was very old, historic, very unusual. Formed in the shape of a wild boar.'

'Any chance I could see it?' I would have liked to examine it, even after all this time, but Myron said the bloodstained weight and its partner had been taken away.

'Where was the young woman found? In the porch too?'

'The slaves who come at first light to clean and to rake the sand found her lying in the skamma.'

'She was killed inside the palaestra?'

'It seems so.'

'Was there any evidence at the scene?' If she was battered, there would have been blood.

Both Glaucus and the piper laughed.' Falco, the skamma is the practice ground for boxing and pankration!' Glaucus was shaking his head at my gaffe.

'There is blood in the skamma sand every day.' The piper had to emphasise the point. 'Who knows whose blood it is?' He chortled, showing the casual heartlessness that might have been encountered by Caesia's father and Valeria's husband when they appealed for help.

'So, what's the story? What do people think?' I demanded. 'Look, if a museum-piece weight was used, it may have been taken down from the wall display to show to the girl. There are plenty of the new ones lying around-'

'To show her?' Glaucus was clearly an innocent.

'I imagine,' I told him, feeling old, 'it is a well-worn chat line in athletics circles. Approach an attractive young lady, who looks easily impressed. Try out the enticing ploy. Come to the palaestra and see my jumping weights.'

'Ah!' Glaucus had rallied, though he coloured. 'Well, I suppose that's better than: 'Look at my big discus, little girl.'