by Lee Arthur
The crowd did not wait for the royal family to depart, but filed quickly out of the amphitheater and off to villas and tents, to dine and dally and rest. Many had found the Olympian games too slow and tame for their nature, and the seats too hard and uncomfortable for their posteriors.
Ramlah, for one, had enjoyed the morning. Not many an Arab woman, nor less-protected Berber, had seen so many naked men. Did not Mohammed tell believers to hide their pudenda from knees to waist from the view of women? Fortunately, for the sake of the games, few contestants were orthodox or even Moslem. However, Aisha had paid special attention to only a few of the contestants: the silver-haired one; the giant Fionn, whom Ali had so strongly recommended; a handsome Taureg from the desert country to the west; a magnificently muscled black; and since they were there, those other tanned bodies that always surrounded the silver-haired one. One other one she watched—with loathing—Eulj Ali, the son of Barbarossa.
If he won, he would be excused from tomorrow's games, and that would not do. Tomorrow, gladiators fought. Nothing would please her more than seeing a sword through the redhead's heart. She wished she could arrange a special opponent for Eulj Ali, someone against whom he would have small chance of surviving. But the judges had demanded all draws from the gold dish be honest. Not yet was she ready to overrule these respected men. Not yet. As for Eulj Ali, she would hope for the best: the worst for him. In all honesty, however, she had to admit that he did have a masterful physique, with his father's red hair seeming to flow, uninterrupted, from his head to his beard to his full chest and in a narrow line down to surround his studlike genitals. She reminded herself Arabs hate body hair.
The Moulay Hassan too had enjoyed the morning more than anticipated. He could get used to watching naked athletes run and jump and contort their bodies. He too had been attracted to the beautiful pale-haired one, finding it curious that his head was hoary but his body hair dark, only barely tinged with multi-grays. He found this one quite stimulating. To enjoy himself until he got back in his villa, he sent for two boys from the group brought to al Djem for his own purposes.
The "Terrible Ten" spent the rest period sequestered in their own quarters, eating sparingly from the fruit, meats, and breads provided for the athletes, and resting on their pallets.
These hardened righting men marveled at what they considered the tameness of the first day's events, calling them, "Womanly!" "Unmanly!" "Perfect for children and cowards." And more. De Wynter and Carlby said nothing. But each knew what the other was thinking, Perfect for Gilliver. Only because nine men had deliberate-
ly done more than their share had the frail young man survived the trip to and the days at al Djem. If tomorrow's games were Roman as suspected from the lineup of the judges, it followed that they would be gladiatorial. If gladiatorial, they might be competing to the death, Gilliver's death.
"But if Gilliver should win today—" de Wynter didn't have to say it. Gilliver would be excused on the morrow.
"How? The events are based on individual effort."
"Except running." de Wynter reminded Carlby. "Suppose we were to crowd out some of his faster competition? Anyway, it's worth a try."
That it might cost Cameron his own chance to escape, neither thought worth mentioning. Carlby was too much the priest; de Wynter too long the leader of the companions, who thought first of others. Which was why de Wynter had agonized so about his choosing to escape the cage by involving the others. Of more immediate concern was the wrestling contest. "Suppose two of us are paired?" Carlby wondered.
"Enjoy it. At least we'll fight clean; more than I can say for the others. Did you see—" His comment was cut short by the rattling of the cell door, an announcement by the silent one that the men were to come out. The games were about to resume at the javelin range. Muezzins announced the starring order, Cameron, Angus, Drummond, and Fionn in the early throwing, and de Wynter, Gilliver, and Ogilvy toward the end.
Aisha and Rami ah were back in their seats, but the Moulay was absent as were many of the morning's spectators when came the official call for the javelin throw: "One hundred and ten competitors. The winner will be he with the longest throw—without foul from the starting board—that is nearest to the center line drawn from the great post in the middle of the arena. One throw by each contestant. May Allah bless him who competes."
The javelin was the height of a tall man, one end fitted with a metal point. Before making the throw, the contestant fitted an amentum, or throwing loop, to the shaft near the balance point. Placing the index finger, or the index and middle fingers, in the loop and balancing the shaft on his thumb, the throw was made by a rapid thrust forward and upward, the body and legs, as well as the arm and shoulder, playing major roles in the execution. The purpose of the amentum was to increase the carry and to impart a slight rotary motion which helped to stabilize the flight, and thus control its direction.
The same balbis used for the discus event was also used for the javelin. One step over the front board resulted in a disqualification. In one detail, the javelin event was to differ from that in the earliest Olympics. The judges had agreed to forego the usual three throws and allow just one per contestant. The reason was that no other event could be staged during the javelin throw because this arena was shorter than the original stadium at Olympia. In Greece, a jumping or running event could be staged simultaneously with the javelin throw without fear that one competitor might spear another contestant with the deadly six-foot shaft.
In quick succession the throwers were called to the balbis and made their single throws. Cameron easily outthrew the first eight, his long legs and arms coming into play as though the javelin was the spear he had thrown all his life. Angus didn't really stand a chance. Drummond threw it well past Cameron's mark, but not as well centered. Fionn got his fingers fouled up in the loop and saw his strong throw veer off and out of the boundaries.
This was de Wynter's golden chance and he knew it. He watched Drummond's lead disappear several times over. And when he stepped onto the balbis, centered the loop, and tried to recreate all the positions and moves in his mind, he felt quite at home. So used was he to his hair, he forgot how it distinguished him. So he never knew three pairs of royal eyes—the Moulay finally having rejoined the group—plus those of one Berber and one hermaphrodite watched his throw with special interest.
It was a thing of beauty, sailing two lengths of the shaft past the tardiest peg and not far off the center line. It held the record for long minutes, until, in an absolute fluke, a strong but awkward thrower stepped up and actually hit the post inches beyond where de Wynter had thrown.
Gilliver rjerforrned about as expected, and Ogilvy made a long but off-the-mark throw; the hopes of the "Terrible Ten" in this event were dashed.
As the winner was announced by the crier—a Spaniard by the name of Balberus, with a throw of 65.6 meters—slaves removed the great post from the center of the arena, leveling out the mound of dirt and removing the boundary timbers that constituted the balbis. Other slaves placed five gaily decorated poles at intervals in holes already bored in a row of timbers sunk in the earth across one end of the arena. At the far end, a ribbon was stretched taut between two poles about twenty meters apart.
When all was in readiness, the muezzin cried, "The next, the stade race. One hundred and forty-four contestants. The distance, the length of the stadium. To be run in five heats of twenty each. Four contestants have drawn byes in the heats, and will move to the finals with the heat winners. The ultimate winner will be he who breasts the tape first in the finals. Impeding another runner will result in disqualification. May Allah bless him who competes."
None of the "Terrible Ten" were lucky enough to draw byes. And, as fate dictated, Gilliver was in a heat by himself. In another heat were de Wynter, John the Rob, and Menzies. Carlby and Cameron were matched in still another heat.
"Rotten luck," Carlby said to de Wynter. "They bunched us up in just three heats, and poor Gilliver is all by himself
. No way to help him now."
"Well, we got one break," de Wynter said. "Menzies and I can try to help John the Rob. Especially. Menzies. Since he's already won, it won't matter if he gets himself disqualified."
The first heat was soon called, and twenty athletes took their places, five between each set of poles. Carlby noted that they were assigned specific starting spots. With a blast on a ram's horn, they leaped from their crouched position on all fours and sped down the 150-meter course, seeming to Carlby, though his vantage point was not good, to break the ribbon en masse.
The second heat saw Gilliver finish in the middle of the pack, still puffing like a blowfish when he rejoined the group at the starting line. The third pitted de Wynter, John the Rob, and Menzies against seventeen other eager runners. And, in trying to help the beggar, both athletes had to slow up, and ali three-wound up out of the top finishers. The fourth heat held none of the "Terrible Ten." Cameron bested Carlby and all others in the final heat, his long legs churning and his chest thrust out to reach the tape a split second before his closest rival.
It was really a five-man race in the finals, the four byes turning out to be just mediocre runners. Cameron, who had had the least rest of any of the nine, was last off the starting block, but picked up ground with his long strides down the center of the arena, and outfought the third heat winner in the final two meters to win the stade race and the accolades of the crowd.
Immediately the clean-up crew was back in the arena, sweeping, raking, and laying down two bands of salt in wide circles near the center. These completed, they drew even larger circles of salt. These would be the lines behind which all but the four wrestlers, the judges, and umpires must remain.
The crier announced Cameron as the winner of the stade race, no one mentioning the fact that Scotland had now recorded two victories on the first day.
"The final event of the day, Greek wrestling. Ninety competitors. Each to compete until defeated. The matches to be from standing starts. Three clean throws constitute a win. The decision of the judge will decide the throws. Pairings in the first round will be decided by draw before the judges. Additional draws will be made after each round, with byes where necessary. May Allah bless him who competes."
The pairings of the first forty-five matches revealed none of the group matched against another of his fellows. Carlby explained why it was to their advantage that this was to be standing wrestling. "The main things to look out for are leg holds and tripping. Once the opponent gets you on one leg, he has you at a great disadvantage. Trips over an opponent's leg could put you off balance in a split second. The best defense is to be leaning forward, keep the arms moving so that the opponent cannot grab them easily, and stay on guard against sudden lunges for the legs."
Carlby had drawn the seventh pairing. But with matches going on simultaneously in the two rings, his was really the fourth that the group watched. But it proved an eye-opener for them. From the first instant when the umpire dropped the bright red cloth, Carlby was in the air and grabbing for the nearest leg of his opponent. So surprised
was the poor fellow, who had instead expected the usual sparring and feeling out before an actual move was made, that he failed to retract the leg. Carlby gripped it firmly in both hands, and, with a mighty heave, literally toppled the athlete on his back. A clean fall, the judge signaled. Back at it again! Carlby's opponent, his confidence shaken, took two more quick falls without ever laying a serious grip on the Englishman.
Fionn was paired in match number thirteen with a moderate-sized man who knew what the sport was all about, but who just couldn't stand up to the brute strength of the young giant, in fact, after the second fall, his opponent refused to continue, having landed heavily on one shoulder, which be continued to hold in pain. Fionn was declared winner by forfeiture.
Ogilvy, Drummond, and John the Rob, in that order, also won their first round matches. Only Angus, who drew a very tough and experienced opponent, went down to defeat after a good match tied at two falls apiece.
Forty-five names went into the gold bowl and were drawn in pairs for the second round; the single name remaining in the bowl earned its owner a bye.
Again in these matches no two members of the group were pitted against each other, a matter of luck drat de Wynter hadn't counted on and that Carlby ascribed to Divine Providence. Only some of their opponents had they seen in the first round, since the others- had performed in one ring while the slaves were wrestling in the other.
"Any more of those hicks up your sleeve?" Drurnrnond asked Carlby. "I could use one this time around."
"Try the same opening move I did," Carlby said. "If you are fast enough, you should get the first fall. After that, your opponent must think defense, rather than offense, until he can catch up with you. Try it. It should work. Any other trick I might show you would take too long, and your opponent might see us at it."
Ogilvy drew the first match of the group in the fourth spot, and despite his strength, he went down to defeat at the hands of a skilled wrestler. John the Rob was not quite so quickly dispatched by a much heavier man who used his weight successfully to offset the beggar's darting moves.
Carlby got by his second-round opponent after a grueling match that remained tied at two falls apiece for so long mat the judge called a halt to the match and awarded the decision to Carlby on the basis of his greater aggressiveness.
Drummond's opening move failed, and it left him open for a counter-move that had him on the floor almost instantly. He did manage one fall, but was eventually defeated by a worthy opponent.
Now only Fionn had a shot left at the next round. His opponent was a lighter but quicker man, who gained the first two falls before Fionn realized he must tire the man out and slow him down. Risking a disqualification, Fionn bluffed, faked, tantalized, played defense until his man grew both tired and frustrated at not being able to finish off the giant Scotch-Irishman. Fionn then used his greater strength to record three straight falls.
Carlby and Fionn advanced to the next round of eleven matches, with one man drawing a bye. Fionn survived. Carlby, showing the effects of a rigorous day, went down three and two. Fionn got through still another round and made the quarter finals. Hie six winners met in three matches mat may well have done the original Olympics proud. Fionn, now well over his head as far as foul-experience went, lost a heartbreaker to Eulj Ali, a dirty fighter, and the final three were put in a draw to see who would gain a bye. The lucky Turk rested while Eulj Ali and another battled it out in the semi-final. He came on refreshed, totally expecting to finish off Eulj Ali's victor in three straight falls.
The crowd, which had been quiet, had come alive for the final few bouts, a lot of wagers being made and paid. The Moulay, easily bored, left. Rami ah and Aisha, delighted when Eulj Ali finally lost, found themselves without a favorite to cheer on. They stayed only because they did not want to drag Ali ben Zaid away.
The final event pitted two worthy opponents—the Turk with a heavy-slung belly, but short legs mat gave him great balance, and a tall, rangy Nuba wrestler from Western Tunisia. When the Turk bent forward, his great belly seemed to act as a shield, protecting even his knees. On the other hand, the Nuba was one of mat renowned clan who had wrestled practically from the time he was born, and his unorthodox style and strange gruntings were enough to throw fear into any opponent.
The crowd came to its feet for this one. And more than one contestant was glad he didn't have to meet either foe.
The Nuba scored the first fall, bending from the waist until his head nearly touched the floor, then driving up underneath the huge belly with his head and grasping for the knees. Down went the surprised Turk. Fall one. Back came the Turk with a trick of his own. With surprising agility, he suddenly dropped to his hands and scissored the Nuba's leg with his short, stubby, powerful ones, bounding back to his feet as his hands came off the dirt, leaving the olive-skinned Nuba lying on his side for a few moments in disbelief. The judge hesitated, never having seen
such a move, then signaled a clean takedown.
Now wary of each other, the two circled and pawed and grunted. The crowd urged them on; the contestants watched in awe. The Nuba had an edge in conditioning, and the longer the match went, the more tired the Turk became. His forte was weight and a rounded body that was well oiled and hard to grasp. His foe was the more agile, being able to leap straight in the air for half the Turk's height, and circling constantly to make the tiring Turk pivot.
Like a cobra the Nuba struck, grasping a pudgy arm and going into a fiendish spin. Again the judge consulted briefly with his fellow judge, and announced a clean takedown. Two and one in favor of the Nuba. The Turk was beginning to heave his chest in an effort to give his lungs more air. And the Nuba flew around him in great leaps and lunges, now screaming and punctuating his lunges with staccato outbursts. Like a wounded boar, the Turk backed and parried, covered up and sidestepped. The Nuba saw an opening. It was all over.
The crier announced the winner even as one muezzin after the other called the faithful to prayer.
CHAPTER 29
Sobriety reigned throughout al Djem that evening, except, of course, at the villa of the Moulay. After the her/him sipped the customary, perfunctory first drop of wine, the Moulay grabbed the cup, relaxed his throat and drained the cup to the dregs in one long gulp, then held out the cup for more.
"You know," he confided to his attentive her/him, "they told me, no, they promised me, there would be blood. I should have known better. You can't trust a word a woman says. I sat all day long on that damn hard seat and all I saw were great big fat men running and jumping with their little things hanging down or flapping around. Disgusting. Men's bodies are so ugly. Did you see that one wrestler? He had a belly out to here. Killing him would make the world better, at least to look at."
