The roar of the crowd rose steadily over the noise of the race crews as they put the vehicles through final prep. Nervous horses neighed and danced in excitement, held barely in place by struggling grooms.
Against the noise I said, “Do you know a man named Arakos?”
Iphicles bent close to say, “Isn’t he the dead man? Heard of him but never met him. I’m a race driver, not one of those fighting thugs.”
Unfortunately, that made sense. “Where were you last night?”
“Across the river, screwing as many women as possible and guzzling the best wine.”
I blinked. Iphicles was a straight talker.
“I puked twice already this morning. I’m still nursing a massive hangover.”
“Do you always drink and wench yourself senseless before a major race? The preparations don’t seem entirely adequate.”
Iphicles laughed. “Look about you.” Across the boxes, attendants and crews everywhere made last-moment preparations the same as the men next to us. In many boxes the driver had already stepped up to his vehicle. “See those men taking the reins? Some of them will die today. What man doesn’t make the most of his last day on earth?”
“Last night, did you see-”
Iphicles said something I couldn’t hear over the rising noise.
I leaned close to his ear and shouted, “What did you say?”
He leaned close to my ear and shouted back, “I said, What did you say? You’ll have to speak up; I can’t hear you over the crowd.”
The next box along housed Team Megara. Their chariot had a problem of some sort; the wheels screeched fit to tear out my teeth. Men with buckets smeared fat as fast as they could ladle.
I cupped my hands together and shouted into Iphicles’s ear, “How did you lose your whip?”
“This is hopeless,” Markos shouted. “We’ll have to wait till after the race.” He abandoned the struggling conversation and stepped back to watch the crew prepare the chariot. I silently agreed with Markos that there was no hope of getting any useful information, but I wasn’t willing to give up.
Iphicles had watched my mouth as I spoke, and he nodded to show he understood. He shouted something back, but though I heard fragments, I couldn’t make sense of what he’d said. I wanted to drag Iphicles away from the noisy place, but I knew he couldn’t go.
The noise level suddenly dropped.
“Quick, tell me how you lost the whip.”
“I already told your friend that. I took a wrong turn while I staggered home, went left into those woods instead of right across the river. Sounds dumb, I know, but my head wasn’t working too well, so I followed the guy in front of me.”
“What guy?”
“I dunno. There was a man ahead of me. Obviously I thought he was going back to camp, too. I just staggered along behind.”
“Obviously. What happened then?”
“The man turned around and said I was going the wrong way. He pointed me toward the ford. I said thanks-at least I think I did-and then I must have tripped, ’cause next thing I knew I was flat on my face. When I came to, I went in the right direction. I don’t remember much else.”
“You carried a horsewhip to meet women?” My imagination ran wild.
“It’s a lucky whip. When I woke this morning without it in my hands, I almost died.” He shuddered. “I realized I must have dropped it when I fell, and like a fool I was so wasted I hadn’t noticed. I went back for it, but it was gone.”
Because Markos and I had taken it for evidence.
“Would you recognize this man if you saw him again?”
“I dunno. Maybe. Ask me later. Right now I’m all nerves.”
And there I’d been expecting the owner of the whip to solve the case for me. He knew almost nothing. But who was it he’d followed? The murderer? Or Arakos?
As we spoke, a crewman beside us scooped out a large handful of grease from a bucket, slopped it onto the chariot’s right axle where it joined the wheel, and spread it around. When he was satisfied, the crewman raised his arm and called. “Right wheel. Check!”
At almost the same moment a man on the other side raised his arm and called, “Left wheel. Check!”
Markos had crouched down to admire the chariot. “It’s a remarkable piece of machinery,” he said, rising and wiping the pig fat of the axle grease from his hands onto his tunic. “So small, so light.”
“The horse team barely knows I’m there,” Iphicles said. “As long as I’ve somewhere to put my feet and a leading panel to brace myself against the pull of the reins-that’s all I need.”
All along the line, race crews were doing the same as Team Thebes. Men stepped back from the chariots with raised arms to show they were ready, an action easily seen and understood no matter the noise and chaos of the race start.
I had only moments. Iphicles must have seen more than he’d said, something he probably didn’t even know was important. I said to Iphicles, “Quickly, what I really want to know is-”
Trumpets drowned me out. The herald called the contestants to the starting line.
Iphicles stepped up to his chariot. “If you want to talk to me, it’ll have to be after the race.”
Markos said, “By the orders of my king, you must tell us-”
Iphicles grabbed the reins of the two leftmost of his horses in his left hand and the reins for the others in his right. I wondered what happened if a driver dropped his reins, but this didn’t seem a good time to ask.
Iphicles flicked his lucky whip. “I have a race to win. Poseidon preserve me and bring my team home first.”
“Step back there!” The team manager pushed Markos and me out of the way.
Iphicles flicked the reins, and his eager team started forward. We watched him depart without a backward glance, shoulders braced to control the uncontrollable: four peak racing horses that ached to run.
Markos shook his head. “We never had a chance. Bad luck. I hope the rest of the investigation doesn’t go like this.”
“What do we do now?” I said.
“The only thing we can. We watch the race.” Markos took off without a backward glance to see if I followed. “There might still be time to find a good spot.” I hurried to catch up with him. And that is how I came to see the first event of the Olympics in the company of a Spartan.
Most of the crowd was clustered about the two turning posts, particularly the one at the east end, which had a reputation for producing the most spectacular crashes. There was no room at either end, so we elbowed our way to the front at the middle of the field, where we would have a good view of the sprints between posts. There was plenty of room for anyone who wanted to watch; the hippodrome is three times larger than the stadion where the running races and the fights are held.
The judges were already seated, ten abreast in their special box on the opposite side of the field.
I nudged Markos. “There’s Klymene.” She stood alone in a box beside the judges. I told Markos about the interview Diotima and I had held with her. His eyes brightened at Klymene’s parting words, and he studied her from afar. “Now there’s a girl I’d like to meet. Do you think she’s doing it now?”
“Control yourself until after the Games,” I told him. “Have you any idea what would happen to the man who polluted the Priestess? They’d have to suspend the Games while they replaced her.” I thought about it. “I wonder if it’s ever happened?”
“Not that I’ve heard of,” Markos said.
I looked at the sports-crazed Hellenes all about us. “Imagine telling this lot they have to wait because some guy had it off with the Priestess of the Games. They’d impale him.”