'How the hell do you know so much about pigs?' I asked her.
She grinned at me. 'I don't,' she said.
'Don't be funny with me,' I said. 'You knew they were Argive saddlebacks, whatever that means.'
She lifted her head. 'Actually,' she said, 'that was pure luck. But my heart reminded me of a really boring old man Father had to stay once - you two sloped off out of it, but I had to stay and pass the wine round - and he talked about pigs all night. I remembered Argive saddlebacks, and took the chance. After all, there was nothing to lose.'
I furrowed my brows at her. 'What about all the rest, then?' I said. 'All that other stuff, those questions you asked him.'
She grinned. 'Just what I've overheard people saying,' she said. 'Some of us do have ears, you know. I always listen to people, you can learn so much that way.'
'Oh,' I said. 'Well, it seems to have done the trick.'
'Maybe.' She yawned. 'It was a gamble. I reckoned that since he was the sort of man to build a piggery like the King of Assyria's palace, he'd probably be prepared to talk to anybody so long as it was about pigs. And with me being a girl, it'd be a great novelty.
Now, though, it's up to you. I'm all talked out, anyhow. And I never want to see another pig as long as I live, understood?'
'They're quite nice animals, actually,' I said, 'once you get to know them.'
Anyway; when Ischomachus came back in, I launched an offensive at once. It was an honour, I said, to meet the greatest living boxer, the undisputed master of the art, and so on. Since he couldn't possibly know what I was flattering him for, he didn't suspect it was all hot air and garlic, and immediately he started preening himself like a fighting-cock.
'I'm out of practice, though,' he said. 'Haven't had a bout - a proper one, that is - for years. Thought there'd be some fun at the prince's games, but there was nobody else there who could box worth spit; it was hardly worth my while wrapping my hands. And apart from the prince, nobody's died around here lately.'
'Ah,' I said. 'It's odd you should mention that.'
And then I gave him the whole speech, the one I'd been rehearsing with my heart as audience over the last few days of footslogging. I did it well, though I say so myself. I talked about glory, and how good opinion won in the games is like the ambrosia, the food of the gods; if men eat it, they become immortal and death can't get a grip on them, like a wrestler who's oiled his skin. I put it to him that it was a waste of the gifts of the gods that a great games-player like himself should be denied opportunities to use his wonderful skill just because Triphylians of note were so slow to die; also, if the games are for honour, who better to honour than the immortal gods themselves, rather than some mortal man? I said that by the time we'd finished our journey - the journey alone, I told him, would be enough to win us our place in the minds of men for ever -every games-player in the world would be heart-full of longing for the contest we were arranging, it would be the most extraordinary assembly of great and glorious men since the Trojan war. Poets, I told him, would be singing about the games at Elis a thousand years hence, and wouldn't it be a shame and a travesty if all they could say about the boxing was 'Ischomachus, however, was not present'?
And so on. I had to keep going because our gentle pig-fancier was lapping all this up like a dog who's knocked over the milk-jar. His eyes were shining like the harvest moon, and he was twitching slightly, like a cat that's just about to jump on a mouse.
'I'll be there,' he said eventually. 'Count on it. What an absolutely wonderful idea. Some god must've put it into your heart, I'm telling you.'
'Absolutely,' I replied; and then I told him about King Leon's dream - not the one he told the Sons of the Achaeans about, mind you; a different one that I'd made up specially for the purpose. Or at least, a god probably put it into my heart, and if he could put it into my heart, no reason to believe he didn't put it in Leon's, too. So for all I know, what I told him may have been perfectly true.
Ischomachus was so thrilled, in fact, that the only way he could properly express his excitement was in pork; he dashed out and dashed back in with a couple of fat young suckling-pigs, squirming and squealing in his arms, and we had another enormous meal of roast pork, followed by more of that unspeakable wine. Then Ischomachus and Sarpedon suddenly discovered they'd both been in a battle once, on the same side (fortunately); we had the whole battle, blow by blow, glorious feat of arms by glorious feat of arms, until it was too late to go back down the mountain that night, and Ischomachus went back out to find a pig to kill for dinner.
What with pigs and the immortal deeds of heroes, I'd had enough by that stage; I ate as much as I could, just enough to be polite, propped myself against the edge of the table and went to sleep. When I woke up, everybody else had gone to sleep too, on the benches or on the floor under blankets; I crawled on to a bench and closed my eyes, with the feeling that at last we'd made a start, that the adventure was under way, everything was going to work out. My heart could see the successful outcome, the way a man in a forest can see the edge if he climbs a tall enough tree, and although I recognised that we still had a hell of a long way to go, somehow it all seemed so much more possible now that we'd actually netted a games-player. If we could convince Ischomachus, especially after the catastrophic start we'd made, winning over the rest of them was at least possible. Bear in mind, nobody had ever done this before, so when we started there was no reason to believe it could be done, we'd been marching on hope all the way. I tell you, once you know that a thing can be done, has been done before, it's much easier to do it. I suppose that's why we take the trouble to remember the achievements of our forefathers, so we'll know that all the things they did are possible - what someone's done before, someone else can do again. Think what it'd be like if each generation had to find that sort of thing out for itself. Wouldn't that be unbearably lonely, without the past to keep us company?
For some reason (Cleander went on), we all had headaches the next morning.
We said our rather muted goodbyes to Ischomachus, reminded him yet again of the time and place of the games, and said we'd see him there. Then we set off down the mountain.
Fresh mountain air on the morning after has different effects on different people. Sarpedon and I soon felt much better. Dusa was in turns quiet, querulous and noisily sick. I don't know how Cratus and Tachys were feeling, since they were lagging behind. Anyway, going down the mountain was rather less of a chore than going up it.
At the foot of the path we met someone we knew.
'Hello, Alastor,' I called out, before he had a chance to dodge off the road and out of line of sight. 'Fancy meeting you here.'
'Cleander.' He smiled at me. Now, we'd always got on pretty well, Alastor and me; my wife's best friend when she was a girl was Alastor's sister-in-law's cousin, while he and I were both nominal members of some college of priests - another of those Sons-of-the Achaeans things, doesn't mean we ever had to dress up in white sheets and murder goats, it was all to do with family grazing rights and access to shared water supplies. Anyway, whenever we'd had occasion to spend time with each other, we'd found we had a lot in common, in terms of interests, experiences and ways of looking at the world. Two more such meetings and we'd have been friends, rather than just cordial acquaintances. But you didn't have to be the Oracle to know why he was here, or why he was planning on going up the mountain.
'This is jolly,' I said, giving him a friendly hug that left me standing directly in his way. 'I wish I'd known you were coming out this way. We could have travelled together.'
He looked at me for a couple of heartbeats. 'Actually, I'm not travelling alone,' he said.
'Really? Where's the rest of your party, then?'
'Oh, they went on ahead. I'll catch up with them later.' He made a small sideways movement, which I matched exactly. 'So you've been to see Ischomachus, have you?'
'That's right.'
'Interested in boxing, are you?'
I grinned. 'You bet,' I s
aid. 'I love a good fight.'
'Really.' He tried moving the other way, and I matched him again. 'This is something to do with these games-with-nobody-dead, presumably.'
'In a way,' I replied. Not a very strong answer, but it was the best the god was prepared to give me at the time. 'How about you?' I asked.
'Duty call,' he replied cheerfully. 'Since I was in the neighbourhood. Oh, didn't you know? He's my - now then, let's get this right - third cousin twice removed. On my mother's side.'
I hadn't known that. 'Oh,' I said, brilliantly.
At the time, it felt like being kicked in the nuts by a mule; all that time, effort and patience, most probably gone to waste. Later, as we discussed it among ourselves on the road, it was possible to take a less dismal view; like, if forced to choose between a man who promises you immortal glory and your third cousin twice removed, who would you choose?
'Anyway,' Alastor said, 'mustn't keep you. Take care.'
'And you. Oh, by the way.'
'Hm?'
'Your cousin,' I said. 'Have you met him before?'
Alastor shook his head. 'It's a big family,' he said.
'Right. Well, a word of warning. He's a scruffy-looking man, it's fatally easy to mistake him for the hired help. So if you see a big, bald man all covered in pigshit-'
Alastor laughed. 'Nice try,' he said.
'Honest.'
He shook his head. 'Be seeing you,' he said, and went on his way chuckling.
We were in two minds what to do next. Tachys was all for traipsing back up the hill again and confronting the two of them, arguing it out like a debate, fair and square. Inevitably, Sarpedon's suggestion included murder by the wayside and bodies buried under loose piles of shale. Cratus shrugged, and said, 'What's the point?'
'Dusa?' I asked.
'Let's move on,' she replied. 'We'd better make tracks if we want to keep ahead of him.'
I agreed with Dusa and, by default, Cratus. Sarpedon tried to insist that at the very least we should break Alastor's arms and legs and cut out his tongue, but the consensus was against him.
Nevertheless, we had a fair bit to talk about as we walked toward Bassae. The optimistic faction held that Alastor couldn't possibly be related to every single games-player of note among the Achaeans and Danaans, and since what we had to offer was so desirable that once we'd spread the word it'd take a miracle of eloquence to talk anybody out of it, we should just take him in our stride. The bleaker outlook reckoned that the least we could do was try to figure out the sort of arguments he'd be likely to use against us and see if we could pre-empt them with arguments of our own (though that probably wouldn't help much, since the last word is always twice as loud). A minority view pointed out that the mountains around Ira were known to be infested with thieves and outlaws, on whom the violent death of a stranger could easily be blamed. We were still considering the various issues when, a couple of days later, we walked into Bassae.
Nice place, Bassae. We stopped at the well and asked directions to Prince Onesimus' house, and an old man went with us to show us the way. It was impressive enough: two thick stone pillars framed the porch, and the doors had genuine-looking Assyrian bronze hinges.
'That's a man who believes in appearances,' Dusa said. 'Also first impressions. We'd better tidy ourselves up and think what we're going to say.'
In the end, we decided that when you're anxious to make a good impression, a present is worth a thousand words; so we unslung the packs with the presents in and tried to decide what would be most suitable.
'Assyrian door furniture,' Tachys said, 'suggests a taste for imported goods and show. I vote we give him the Tyrian silver bowl with the ships embossed on the side.'
'Too small,' Cratus replied. 'A man who builds a house like this likes big things. Also, if we give him the Thracian cauldron, it means I won't have to carry the damn thing any further. It's rubbed all the skin off my shoulder.'
'That piece of junk?' Dusa said scornfully. 'Oh, come on. It's going to be hard enough as it is without deliberately insulting the man.'
I frowned. 'I happen to like that cauldron,' I said.
'Do you?' Dusa gave me her get-well-soon look. 'Never mind,' she said. 'We won't let on if you don't.'
'If you ask me,' Sarpedon interrupted, 'you can't beat a good sword when it comes to presents. Valuable and desirable, doesn't take up much space when you're not using it, and in a tight spot...
'Be quiet, Uncle. All right, we'll give him the cauldron, agreed? That's settled, then,' I said, as the rest of them all started to talk at once. 'Now then, strategy. If we blunder in saying the first thing our hearts tell us to, we're going to get off to a lousy start, just like we did with the pig man. Dusa,' I went on, turning to her, 'what do you reckon?'
I knew I was bound to offend the rest of my companions by asking her opinion first; but so what? Her observation about the door-hinges had impressed me no end; also, she'd been the one who got us out of trouble with Ischomachus, thanks to the insight some god put into her heart.
'Me?' she said (making trouble, as usual). 'Well, if you really want my opinion, I'd stress the point that these are going to be the biggest games ever. That's all, really.'
'All right,' I said, 'that's what we'll do. Tachys, I'll need you to join in after I've made the initial attack and he's come back at me with the "Yes, but..." Cratus, you stand by in case Tachys and I get ourselves in trouble. Sarpedon, keep your face shut. Dusa-'
'Yes?'
'Just don't start, that's all. Agreed?'
I didn't wait for an answer. Didn't take me long to work that one out: leadership is the art of asking everybody for their opinions and then doing exactly what you intended doing in the first place.
The doors were opened for us by Prince Onesimus' porter, one of the grandest mortals I've ever had the privilege of encountering. I think he was squinting when he looked at us, the way you have to if you want to focus on something extremely small. According to this remarkable object, the prince wasn't in; he was outside in the palaestra, exercising.
I hadn't heard that word before, and asked what it meant; but I must have mumbled or something, because the porter didn't seem to hear me. Fortunately, the god put it into my heart to keep myself between the porter and Sarpedon; my uncle fancied himself as something of an ear-doctor and generally prescribed a short, swift flight through the air as a sure-fire cure for deafness in porters, stewards and the like.
The palaestra turned out to be a threshing-floor, just like the ones back home; except that instead of a bunch of men bashing ears of barley with jointed wooden sticks, we found one enormous individual trying to jump from one pile of stones to another.
('Wouldn't it be easier just to walk?' Dusa asked.
'Quiet,' I replied.)
In each hand he gripped a heavy lump of iron; as he crouched and bent his knees before each jump, he'd swing these objects out in front of him, presumably to add to his momentum. All he was wearing was a thin coat of olive oil and a narrow band of sheepskin around his forehead.
'Hello,' I said.
He looked round, saw us and immediately, too fast for deliberate thought, adopted a rather more heroic posture. 'Hello yourself,' he replied, looking first, briefly, at me and then at Dusa. 'Travellers?'
I opened my mouth to speak, but Tachys (of all people) beat me to it. 'That's right,' he said. 'We were just saying what a wonderful place you have here.'
'Yes,' Onesimus replied.
'And this -' Tachys waved his hand vaguely. 'This is where you train? For the games?'
'Yes.'
'What a good idea. I expect one day all games-players will have something like this.'
'Only the rich ones,' Onesimus replied.
It was one of those moments when you look to your heart to suggest something, only to find the door wide open and nobody home. I couldn't think of anything to say. Tachys was standing quite still, with his mouth tight shut. There was a fair chance Dusa might say something quite
soon, but I doubted very much whether it would help. Sarpedon was growling softly like a dog that can smell a fox, something he did a lot. And that only left- 'You know,' said Cratus, not even looking at Onesimus, 'we could have something like this at home. All we'd have to do is pull down the old house - you know, the one out on the thirty-acre; level it off, root up those vines out the back, it'd be ideal.'
I hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about. True, we had a thirty-acre plot; or at least we had a mountain whose base covered well over thirty acres, but the only possible use we'd ever been able to think of for it was asking a god to uproot it and use it to imprison uppity frost-giants under. Also, I doubted very much whether Cratus really wanted the old house pulled down, since he lived in it.
On the other hand, it looked like the god had put an idea in his heart. Who was I to argue with the gods?
'It's a thought,' I replied cautiously.
'And when we've done that,' he went on, starting to sound disturbingly excited, 'we could chop down those useless old olive trees, terrace up the ends and build a chariot circuit. It'd be nicely handy for the stables.'
Just as I was reminding myself that the ideas the god puts into our hearts aren't always necessarily any good, Prince Onesimus turned his head sharply and looked at us. 'You're thinking of having your own chariot circuit?' he asked.
'Why not?' Cratus shrugged. 'After all, how can you get better if you don't practise? And it's not as if we haven't got the space.'
A little fold of skin twitched between Onesimus' eyebrows. He was worried.
'Actually,' he said, 'I've been thinking about doing something like that here.'
'Really?' Cratus asked politely.
Onesimus nodded. 'I was thinking about pulling down those barns there -' He gestured in the direction of four large, newly built barns, each one the size of my house, each with an untarnished gold thatch. 'Then I could have a bank dug for spectators, over where the sheep-pens are now.'
I'll say this for Cratus, he can convince you he's what he isn't better than any man I've met, when he's in the mood. He pulled this face; it made him look like a god who's been asked for advice about when to plant leeks. 'Could do, I suppose,' he said. 'Though it'd be a pity to lose a nice run of barns. Still, if you're cramped for space here-'
Olympiad Tom Holt Page 12
