The new temple was a massive building, visible from anywhere within Olympia, and it only became more impressive as I approached. I stopped in the Sanctuary of Zeus to admire it. There, standing with his back to me, was Pericles. He too looked up at the massive temple.
I stopped beside him. Pericles turned his head, startled, saw it was me, and relaxed.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “Have you come to report progress?”
“No, but with any luck, I’ll have some good news for you before the night is out.”
“That would be nice, because we’re running out of time, in case you hadn’t noticed. The pankration is in less than a day. Timodemus will die the day after.”
Pericles and I stood side by side and gazed. The Temple of Zeus was painted in red and blue. A line of gold ran all around the outside of the roof.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“How can they make so much stone stand upright?” I marveled.
“Don’t ask me,” Pericles said. “I’m no architect. It’s impressive, isn’t it?”
I had recently come from Ephesus, where I’d seen its Temple of Artemis, said to be the most beautiful building in the world. The Artemision had beautiful lines and was covered in the finest sculpture, but for majestic awe this Temple of Zeus at Olympia with its stark, simple lines beat it hands down.
“It’s incredible,” I said.
Pericles nodded. “Athens needs something like this. Something that shows the world Athens is a force to be reckoned with, not only in strength of arms, but that we lead the world in the arts and philosophy and culture.”
“Do we?”
“Not yet, but we will, if I have anything to do about it.”
I said, “Remember when we first met, Pericles? I was walking up to the Acropolis, to think about a new temple, and you were coming down-”
“Having considered exactly the same thing. And in between us was a dead body.”
“Can we do it again, do you think?” I asked him.
“You mean find a dead body?”
“No, think about building a new temple to Athena atop the Acropolis.”
Pericles looked at me curiously. “Why do you care so much, Nicolaos?”
It was a good question. There’d been a time when I wondered if Athens deserved my support. I’d even considered abandoning my city, not that I would admit that to Pericles. “Athens is my home,” I told him. “It’s my future. If I’m to have a position of any importance in the world, it’s in Athens, Pericles, and I’d rather my city were one of power. Who wants to be a powerful man in a weak city? Best to be powerful in a place of power.”
“You’re ambitious.”
“Yes.” I’d committed myself to Athens. Now I wanted Athens to commit to me.
We were not the only ones in awe of the new building. A constant trickle of men wandered in from the direction of the stadion and stopped in the Sanctuary where we stood. Every man did the same as us: stared up at the tall columns of stone and the massive roof.
The roof was tiled in marble. It must have cost a small fortune every time a tile slipped, but it was worth it. The play of light across the thin, polished marble gave the roof the sheen of a still, deep pond.
“I like the roof tiles,” I said. “Can we have tiles like that?”
“I’ll see what I can arrange,” Pericles said.
“You know we’re wasting our time even talking about it, don’t you?” I said. “Athens can’t afford anything like this.”
“We’ll have to see. Certainly the state coffers are low. But Nicolaos, a decent-quality Temple to Athena should not be beyond the Athenians.”
“Who paid for this one?” I asked.
“The Eleans, using booty they pillaged long ago during their war against the Pisans.”
“Then all we need to do is pillage someone,” I said lightly.
“Yes, I’d come to the same conclusion,” Pericles said in all seriousness. “I must think about that.”
Dear Gods, I would have to think about that. Was Pericles serious?
“I must leave you,” I said. “I have an appointment.”
The entrance to the Temple of Zeus faced east, as most temples do, so that Apollo’s first rays of the day can shine within. I avoided the ramp and instead climbed the three large steps.
A man stood inside. I didn’t notice him at first because it was much darker within and it took my eyes time to adjust. When they did, I saw he was a shifty-looking fellow with a black beard who wore the exomis of a tradesman. I wondered if he was the one I’d come to meet. I stood in the center to give him a chance to approach me, but he didn’t move, merely watched me from the side.
Looking around the inside, I could see spots where the builders hadn’t finished, areas not yet painted, decorations not carved, in the corners and out-of-the-way places. Torches hung in wall brackets, and braziers stood in the corners and along the sides, but none of them were lit.
“What do you think?” the man with the black beard asked.
“It’s amazing.” I rubbed my hand along the walls. “It looks like marble.”
“It’s not. It only looks that way. You touch stucco which has been craftily applied to have the look of marble. Beneath, it’s limestone.”
“You seem to know something about it,” I observed.
“So I should, young man. My name is Libon. I’m the architect.”
I realized I had just made a fool of myself.
“If it isn’t a rude question, Libon, what are you doing lurking in the shadows?”
“You stand in my life’s work, young man. I will do nothing greater. The reaction of the Hellenes to my temple over the next three days will decide whether my life has been worthwhile. If you faced that sort of judgment, what would you do?”
“I would lurk in the shadows and watch everyone’s reaction,” I said.
“Exactly.”
To talk to Libon would be the perfect cover while I waited for my meeting. I had no idea what the man looked like, but he obviously knew me. With Libon I could stand in the middle of the temple in perfect innocence, yet make it easy for the informer to spot me.
Libon was as eager as I was. “Let me show you my temple.” He dragged me across to the entrance through which I’d come.
“Main entrance,” he said, when we were outside on the steps. “Look up.” He pointed to the pediment, the triangular area that closed off the end of the roof. In a temple these are always filled with a sculpture in relief.
Though it was dusk, and the entrance faced east, there was still sufficient light by which to see, because it was the middle of summer and the moon was already rising bright. The relief sculpture showed two men and their attendants, each man before his chariot. Zeus stood in the center of the scene, from which position he took oaths from the two men, who were obviously about to race.
“Is this an Olympic chariot race?” I asked.
“Older than the Olympics,” Libon said. “Or perhaps the first Olympic race, depending on how you look at it. Do you know the story? Do you know who the drivers are?”
“No.”
Libon pointed to a very ancient ruined building to the north, halfway between the Temple of Zeus, where we stood, and the Temple of Hera.
“Do you see the ruined house over there, with only the shattered walls still standing? That is, or was, the megaron-the great house-of King Oinomaos. He ruled this land long ago, before even the time of Homer.” Then Libon pointed to the relief, at the figure beside the second chariot. “That is King Oinomaos there.”
“I see.”
Libon turned me slightly to the left. “Now see that mound beside the megaron?”
It was a large burial mound, of the kind used by the ancients, enclosed within a wall of five sides.
“That is the burial mound of the hero Pelops. The hero-king for whom this land is named, the Peloponnesian Peninsula.”