by Tom Pollack
“Indeed,” Milo replied. “I am married to his daughter Myia. A strange alliance, is it not? A wrestler and a mathematician. Yet in a curious way we do the same thing. The opponents with whom Pythagoras struggles are formidable, but since they are numbers, they are also invisible.”
Cain was mildly intrigued, but the chance to meet yet another luminary was hardly his motivation for accepting Milo’s invitation.
“I will come to Croton soon. You have my word.”
CHAPTER 35
South Italy and Greece, 520–516 BC
SHORTLY INTO HIS STAY with Milo, Cain decided to make Croton his home. The colony was burgeoning, and the Mediterranean climate, long favored by Cain, was even better on the Gulf of Taranto than it was in Greece. Milo was as good as his word, welcoming his Athenian guest, introducing him to friends and family, and eventually locating a small homestead near the harbor where Cain could live.
“I know my wrestling days are numbered,” Milo confided to Cain one day. “This body is reluctant to yield up its secrets, but wrestling remains a young man’s game.”
“You will always be the ultimate champion,” Cain replied, sensing the opportunity he had hoped for. “But if you can no longer compete, why not become a trainer? Who has more valuable insights and skills than you? It would be a way to remain involved in the sport that you love more than anything in the world.”
The taller man looked distantly above Cain’s head. “And whom would I teach? I can scarcely imagine anyone worthy.”
“You are looking at your first pupil,” Cain replied with a smile.
Milo looked at Cain incredulously. “Oh, is that so? Take off your cloak so that I may see if you are a fit enough young Athenian to serve under my tutelage.”
Cain untied the knot under his chin and threw his tunic to the ground, revealing a perfectly proportioned body sculpted of solid muscle. His torso and back resembled chiseled stone, and his sectioned abdomen quivered with every breath he took while awaiting Milo’s verdict.
“I have tried to keep myself in shape over the years,” quipped Cain.
Milo’s eyebrows arched upward in complete surprise as he appraised the physique of his younger apprentice.
“In the name of Zeus! For a runner, you have more brawn than any Spartan soldier I have ever seen! You indeed have the physical frame of a potential champion. Now we will see if you also have the heart to compete.”
So the two of them embarked on a brutal regimen. Day after day, week after week, they haunted the palaestra in Croton. Anointing their bodies with oil and then sprinkling them with dust, they began each day with stretches, weight lifting, and rope climbing before progressing to an exhausting roster of wrestling moves that persisted well into each evening. Milo was a stern taskmaster, but Cain was more than up to the challenge.
***
After Cain performed outstandingly at a tryout in Delphi at the Pythian Games of 518 BC, Milo pronounced him ready for training at the Olympic level. The two redoubled their efforts, right up to the day before the Olympic Games of 516 BC. Even for Cain, the pace was grueling.
Milo was especially aggressive in their last practice match before the games began. Catching Cain by surprise, Milo lifted his young apprentice over his head and brutally slammed him to the ground, landing on top of him. The sound of ribs snapping was unmistakable. Cain could hardly breathe, the pain was so intense. He waved off Milo’s hand, outstretched to pull him to his feet.
“What was that?” Cain snapped. “You could have killed me with that illegal throw.” He tried to speak softly to mitigate the sharp stabs racking his wounded torso.
“Sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” his trainer replied, but in a tone Cain did not like.
And then Milo dropped a bombshell. “And by the way, I will be competing one last time tomorrow—a farewell appearance for my legions of fans!”
“What? Are you sure? Perhaps it’s time to get out while you’re still undefeated,” Cain sputtered, now realizing the depths of his master’s competitive nature.
“Nonsense!” Milo thundered. “You are wise to be afraid of me, student. Just so you know, I had made up my mind to retire, but Croton won’t hear of it. They are so used to boasting of champions that I would feel like a traitor if I refused. Why, even King Darius of Persia has sent a message urging me to compete. When the greatest king in the world bids you perform an action, it’s dangerous to deny him.”
Cain sat stunned. Milo was indeed a calculating man, and not just at mathematics.
Milo added, “I have wrestled with far worse injuries. Now we shall truly see if you have the makings of a champion, or are simply a goat.”
Callously walking away from his breathless student, Milo glanced back. “In case you do wrestle tomorrow, don’t think for a minute I’ve taught you everything I know. No master wants to be bested by a former pupil.”
Recognizing psychological warfare when he heard it, Cain remained silent and sat stone-faced. Thoughts of revenge swirled in his mind.
That evening, his dreams brought a disturbing vision from a time long past.
***
“Come with me to the wheat field, my brother. I have something to show you.”
They walked slowly to the field, then entered a row of wheat together, until they reached a large, circular clearing of crushed stalks.
“How could you bring yourself to add insult to injury?” Cain demanded angrily of Abel. “You saw God reject my gift at the sacrifice, but he accepted yours. You showed me up at the altar, and now you’ve trampled my crops to spite me!”
“You charge me wrongly, brother,” Abel replied with quiet urgency. “I haven’t even been here. I’m a shepherd. You are the cultivator of the ground.”
“Liar! Who else would have dared?”
“I do not lie to you,” insisted Abel as he turned aside to leave. But his brother blocked his path. The younger, stronger man grasped Cain’s shoulder to push him out of the way. All of a sudden, their arms were locked around each other. Stumbling over a rock in the wheat field, Abel fell to the ground with Cain on top of him. Wrestling in angry earnest, the two men rolled on thorns that neither one of them had seen underneath the stalks. Both men screamed in pain. Abel rolled on top and pinned his brother’s shoulders to the ground.
“Let me up,” yelled Cain. But Abel’s wrenching hold tightened. Maddened by the accusation leveled so unjustly by the brother he had always looked up to, and enraged by the agonizing sting of the thorns, Abel pressed even harder. Cain felt a blinding wave of pain from the thorns beneath him, digging into his flesh. He tried to reach the rock a few feet away. Perhaps he could use it to free himself. But it lay just beyond his grasp.
Sensing he had gotten the better of his brother, Abel finally relented and brought himself to his feet. “Now get up!” he said breathlessly. “This has gone too far.” Abel turned away and began to leave the field. “Let us forget the wheat…”
Grabbing the rock, Cain rose up and slew his brother Abel.
CHAPTER 36
Greece, 516 BC
WITH A BANDAGE WRAPPED around his chest, Cain approached his match with Milo using a simple tactic. The Greeks called it akrocheirismos, or “high-handed” wrestling. Keeping Milo at arm’s length was the way to defeat him, Cain realized. He would gradually wear the more experienced champion down, taking care to elude his bone-crushing embrace. Milo was six inches taller than Cain and outweighed him by thirty pounds. But Cain had superior reflexes and greater reserves of stamina.
In the ring, Milo laughed at his wounded opponent, who circled about him to avoid his lethal bear hug. He would need just one mistake from his former student and the sixth and final laurel wreath of his career would be secured.
The bout went on for the better part of an hour, with deafening roars from the crowd whenever each wrestler took a fall. Cain’s incessant circling gradually began to frustrate Milo and forced him to spend his energy lunging, with Cain merely darting away at
the last second.
“Afraid to come too close, are you?” Milo taunted, sweat pouring off his back in the sweltering Mediterranean heat.
“Don’t waste your breath, graybeard!” Cain shot back. “You’re going to need it!”
Milo had made it a point to jab repeatedly at Cain’s ribs, and each time he connected, Cain reinforced his opponent’s confidence with a suitable grunt and an agonized grimace. Gradually, the crowd’s sympathies began to shift to the underdog, and a rising chorus of boos swelled each time Milo made contact.
With his opponent virtually gasping from the protracted exertion, Cain finally saw his opportunity. Cain’s hand shot out for his opponent’s leg behind the kneecap. Astonished, his face contorted, Milo was slammed to the ground. Cain pounced on top of him and rammed his knee into Milo’s groin. Quickly applying a crushing chokehold to the agonized champion’s throat, Cain now had only to wait for the inevitable. Summoning what little strength remained, Milo bucked and thrashed for almost two minutes before reaching the edge of consciousness. Finally, with a slap of his palm on the sand, he signaled his surrender.
Cain jumped to his feet. The obviously stunned referee first hesitated, then grabbed the victor’s hand and raised it high for all the crowd to see.
“Take this back with you to Croton while I wear the crown of a champion!” snarled Cain, tearing off his fake bandage and dropping it on Milo’s face.
The dethroned Olympic champion lay writhing in the sand as the crowd went crazy with adoration for its new hero. For over an hour, they applauded the impressive skill and craft that had defeated a living legend. Cain was jubilant. Nothing quite like this had ever happened to him.
It was as though all of Olympia thronged the victor as they paraded him around the gymnasium-palaestra complex on their shoulders. From his higher vantage point, Cain smiled as he watched a defeated Milo limp off into the night, never to see him again. He then turned his attention to enjoying the love of all Greece.
The adulation was exactly what he had been seeking—and it had been worth every effort.
***
Late that night, after the celebratory banquet, Cain settled into bed. He had given no more thought to the vision from the past that had so troubled his sleep the night before. As with all ghastly memories, he would have to balance it against more soothing distractions, both present and future. Instead, he lay awake, savoring in his mind the scenes from his incredible victory. A column of moonlight angled through the window, bathing his bed in a comforting, soft glow.
Almost imperceptibly, Cain’s focus drifted from the images in the gymnasium to the surroundings of his small quarters. His finely tuned senses detected an unseen presence in the room, and the hair on his forearms stiffened. He bolted upright.
“Show yourself!” demanded Cain, while squinting to see who was lurking in the shadows beyond the foot of his bed. Was this some crazed fan stalking him in the night?
“I see you have taken up a most popular sport, Cain. Your wrestling days are not over after all!” scoffed the master of spirits.
“Why do you taunt me, spirit?” Cain sighed heavily as he slumped back against his pillow.
Ignoring his question, the master of spirits continued. “And I see that, long ago, you prayed to God for a child. But he did not give you a child, did he? Instead, he took Tanith away from you. What kind of God is that, Cain? Can you not see how he hates you? Can you not acknowledge that his dearest wish is for you to suffer in solitude?”
“Leave me spirit, or I will…”
“Wrestle me? That would be foolish. I am more resourceful than your former trainer.” The spirit chuckled. “But after your transitory taste of victory today, you will do well to consider: if you would like to see dear Tanith again, recognize your God for who he truly is, your sworn enemy. And do not remain so aloof with me.”
As the voice faded, Cain tried to drift off into sleep. But he remained wakeful, tortured by the spirit’s taunts and by pangs of grief for his beloved Tanith.
CHAPTER 37
Greece, 483–480 BC
A HAGGARD CAIN RETURNED to Athens some thirty-three years later, having spent the intervening decades wandering the remote Greek Isles in misery and anonymity. His wrestling career had ended almost as soon as it began, for each time he pinned an opponent he guaranteed himself a night of torturous memories of Abel.
Unable to stand the slow pace of life any longer, Cain was now returning to an urban environment, despite a new danger—he had learned that Athens and Sparta were the only cities left to defy the Great King of Persia, Xerxes, who seemed determined to conquer all of Greece in his expanding empire, now the largest on Earth.
Upon arriving at the docks, Cain immediately sought employment in the local shipyard, a job considered vital to the security of Athens, to protect himself from being drafted into either the army or the navy. He had no desire to be at the front line of any brewing battle and put his immortality to that sort of test.
A few months passed. While waiting for a sudden winter rainstorm to abate before completing a boat’s keel, Cain tinkered on one of his inventions at his workbench in the back of the shipyard.
“You there, what is that strange device you hold in your hands?”
Surprised he had not heard the richly dressed, middle-aged man sneak up on him, Cain turned around and thus met Themistocles, Athens’s leading politician, for the first time.
Neither man knew how much he would come to depend on the other.
“Sir, it’s a finely geared timing device. I have been working on it with local metalsmiths. My hope is one day it may help ships navigate across the open sea,” he offered.
“Hmm. Interesting how a simple shipwright spends his lunch hour. What is your name, sailor?”
“Agathon,” replied Cain.
“Walk with me while I evaluate this yard’s capability to produce warships. So far all I see are lazy Greeks content to build small fishing boats while Greece is slowly surrounded by our enemies. At least someone is thinking of ways to improve the military strength of Athens,” he said in an exasperated tone.
***
Over the course of the next few months, Cain discovered that Themistocles was unlike any politician he had ever known. He lived in a large, renovated house in the poorest section of town. He never forgot anyone’s name. But underneath that guise, Cain learned, was a cunning general highly skilled in the ways of war from his younger days in the army.
One evening, to his surprise, Cain received an invitation from Themistocles to eat supper at his house with his family. Cain thought this was odd, as they had known each other only a short time and had talked only briefly. But unbeknownst to Cain, Themistocles recognized a bright and talented man when he saw one, regardless of his station in life.
“Every man, woman, and child in Greece will be put to the sword if these barbarians have their way. It will be a holocaust!” sputtered Themistocles. “It has now been a full seven years since the Battle of Marathon, and most Athenians have become far too complacent. They’re not expecting another invasion.” The politician’s tone about his fellow citizens was acerbic.
The two men were sitting in the spacious dining room of Themistocles’s house in Athens. As was the custom, Themistocles’s wife had retired after dinner to the family’s private quarters.
“You really think the Persians will organize another attack?”
“I have not the slightest doubt of it. Ever since he succeeded his father Darius on the throne three years ago, King Xerxes has considered punishment of the Greeks as his sacred duty. He gloats on our slaughter, Agathon. It is only a matter of time. My spies in Babylon tell me the Persians intend once more to bridge the narrow straits of the Hellespont and invade Greece.”
“That will not be an easy task,” said Cain.
“No, indeed,” chuckled Themistocles dryly. “Their first attempt was washed out in a storm. Furious at nature’s disobedience, Xerxes had the waters of the strait flogged.
Can you imagine? The man is mad—but he is very dangerous.”
Cain tried to imagine the scene as Themistocles continued, “It is not only time that runs short; it is money as well. You remember that I was one of the ten Athenian generals at Marathon? With all due respect to the courage and sacrifice of our troops, I will tell you, in confidence, that our victory there was an almost incredible stroke of luck. It will be very difficult, perhaps impossible, to beat the Persians on land a second time. They outnumber us several times over. We need warships, hundreds of them. Our best chance to repel another invasion is on the sea, before their overwhelming forces ever reach our shores.”
“But how will you pay for such a fleet?” Cain asked.
“Exactly. And even if we had the money, I am not sure I could sway the legislative assembly to use it on building a fleet of huge warships. My political rivals, especially Aristides, would vote to give the people handouts before they would spend any extra money on the navy.”
“Well, your first step is to lay your hands on the funds,” Cain pointed out. “Then you can deal with Aristides. Have you thoroughly explored the silver deposits at Laurium?”
Themistocles leaned forward. “You mean the mines near Cape Sounion?” he asked. “My own family has estates there.”
Cain nodded, with a haunting recollection of his swim to shore with Tanith. He also remembered, from the time he wandered the earth, seeing chunks of high-grade silver ore washed into a canyon from an unexplored river valley. “In my travels years ago, I recall noticing that the production of silver there was rather lean. My advice is that you send a team of miners and engineers to look for fresh new veins of silver in the next valley to the south. You may find yourself with the money you need in a matter of months.”
Themistocles, well known in Athens for his mercurial temperament, growled angrily. “What idiots we have in this city! No one has thought to explore Laurium further—including me! Such are the wages of complacency, and I am as guilty as the next man.” He slapped his forehead in frustration.
