But our purpose was grave. And since I had chosen to drag us down the toe of Italy to take ship at Rhegium, opposite Sicily, we were exhausted, tetchy, and much poorer before we even left the land. Most of the others recovered on the voyage. I get seasick. Helena had brought ginger root. It never works on me.
By the time we sailed, both Helena and I had realised that leaving the children was a huge mistake. She buried her head in a scroll, looking persecuted. When I was not throwing up, I put it out of my mind by exercising on the deck with Young Glaucus. That made me seem even more of a heartless bastard.
Adventures began immediately. The weather was already uncertain. Our ship's captain was having some private breakdown so had locked himself in the only cabin, where he remained out of sight; the bos"n kept schmoozing Helena, and the helmsman was half-blind. Halfway across, we hit a lightning storm that threatened to sink us – or force us off course, which was worse. Being dragged to some rocky Greek island peopled by goats, fishermen, abandoned maidens, love poets, and sponge-divers would have made our journey a complete waste of time. Traders take the risk because they have to; I was starting to feel tense. We had far too much luggage – yet nothing good enough to buy off any islanders who made their living "salvaging" shipwrecks.
We reached land eventually, at a port called Kyllene up in the Gulf of Corinth, which would serve our purpose. Instead of being on the west coast, a mere ten or fifteen miles from Olympia, we now had more than ten miles to travel south to Elis, at which point we could take the Processional Way over the uplands – another fifteen miles. (That's fifteen miles according to the locals, so we knew in advance it would be twenty or more.) By the time we tumbled off the boat to search for lodgings, travel had lost any glamour and I just
wanted to go home again. An aspect the tour guides always forget to mention.
It gave us some idea how unsettled each of the Seven Sights Travel groups might be when they landed at their first new province.
PART TWO OLYMPIA
There are lots of truly wonderful things you can see and hear about in Greece, but there is a unique divinity of disposition about the games at Olympia…
Pausanius, Guide to Greece
VI
First stop Olympia. Wrong. First stop Tarentum. Second Kyllene. Third Elis. Fourth Letnnoi Fifth stop Olympia.
From Rhegium we had sailed around the foot of Italy and north again. the wrong direction, though apparently this was the way Greek settlers in Southern Italy always sailed to the Games. Then, after an unbudgeted-for stay in Tarentum, we endured another long haul down towards Greece, and met the storm.
The winds dumped us at Kyllene, a typical tiny seaport, where because of the weather they had run out of fish and run out of patience, though they still knew how to double-charge for rooms. I was calm. I take my duties as the lead male in a party seriously. these duties are, to rebuff lechers, to outmanoeuvre purse thieves, to wander off at unexpected moments, and when everyone else is at breaking point to exclaim very brightly, "Well, isn't this fun?"
Luckily we had brought maps, the locals seemed to know nothing about their district They all pretended they never went to Olympia themselves We travelled inland to Elis, an ancient town which had grabbed the right to host and organise the Games From Elis (which acquired this right by fighting for it, heralds with olive wreaths to signal universal peace are dispatched throughout the Greek world, to proclaim a truce in any current wars and to invite everyone to attend the festival. Competing athletes are made to spend a month in training at Elis (spending money, I thought cynically) before processing to Olympia.
We knew Aulus had landed further down the coast of the Peloponnesus and gone up to Olympia by river. The Alphaios is navigable, after all, this was the mighty river Hercules diverted to wash out the Augean stables. Helena had looked at the map, and for us she chose the traditional road route. It was centuries old and apparently had not been visited by a maintenance team since it was hacked from the rock. Taking the Processional Way also brought us into close
contact with Greek donkeys, a subject on which our diaries would elaborate at full-scroll length – had we any energy left to write them.
It took us two days from Elis. We had to stop a night in Letnnoi. Spectators and competitors at the Games do this, but they bring tents We were stuck with cramped accommodation in the village We went to bed late and we started out early.
At Letrmoi the Processional Way picked up the spur from the coast at Pheia, another visitors" route, though its condition did not improve. In some places the Greek road-makers had dug out double ruts to guide chariot wheels. One way We were several times forced off the road by carts whose wheels were stuck in these ruts. The few passing-places were occupied either by pilgrims heading back to Elis and Pheia, who had seized them as picnic spots, or by boot-faced locals grazing mangy goats.
Once or twice, it was our turn to grab the picnic spots. We spread out a simple woollen rug and squashed on it together, turning our rapt gaze to the sunny, pine-clad hills over which we were slowly climbing. Then we all stood up, and tried moving the rug in the hope of a sandier base with fewer pointed stones. As the water gourd went round, we dropped rancid sheep's cheese down our tunics, and argued over the olives. As usual, Helena had been charged with topographical research, so she kept up a commentary to instil us with awe for the revered religious site we were about to invade.
"Olympia is the main sanctuary of Zeus, whom we call Jupiter. It is holy and remote -" I let out a guffaw. This area was remote all right. "And was old even before the great temple was built This is a sanctuary of Gaia, the Earth Mother, who gave birth to Zeus – I don't want any of you trying any fertility rites, incidentally – and we shall see the Hill of Cronus, who was the father of Zeus Hercules came here on his Twelfth Labour. The statue of Zeus in his Temple was created by Pheidias, whom we call Phidias, and is one of the Seven Wonders of the World. As you all know. " She tailed off, having lost her audience. I, for one, was nodding in the sunlight.
Gaius and Cornelius were wrestling each other. It struck me that Cornelius was one of those large chubby lads who is constantly taken for older than his real age; he might be only about eleven, which meant I must look out for him. Gaius must be sixteen now, tattooed and rat-like in appearance, though he had a sweet streak, buried beneath his desire to look like a barbarian mercenary. Both these rascals had a wild black mass of Didius curls; my fear was that strangers would think they were my sons.
"Is Young Glaucus going to compete in the Games?" Cornelius asked me He did not ask Young Glaucus, because Young Glaucus never said much At the moment he was carrying out an exercise where he crouched on all fours, slowly raising and holding his opposite arms and legs, it would have been straightforward, had he not been supporting one of our larger baggage packs on his huge shoulders at the time As his sinews flexed and trembled, I felt myself wince
"Yes, Cornelius. He is sizing up the situation, ready for next year. Mind you, I promised his father I'll bring him safely home again, with no fancy notions "
"Isn't that what you told my father?"
"No. Verontius said I could swap you for a nice little Athenian handmaiden." Verontius had indeed told me that. Thinking I might do it, Cornelius looked worried.
"You have to be a Greek," put in Gaius. "To compete at the Games."
"Not any more!" scoffed Cornelius. "Romans rule the world!"
"We rule with a benign sceptre, tolerating local customs." As their uncle, it was my duty to teach them politics. The Greeks no longer held a monopoly on democratic thought and I kept my ears peeled at the baths, I had heard the modern theories. The lads stared at me, thinking I had gone soft.