See Delphi and Die

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.

Our tolerance of foreigners was soon tested. We were joined by a couple of downhill joggers who looked enviously at our patch of sitting space We edged up and offered four inches of ground In the spirit of Olympic idealism (and hoping to share their flagon, we made friends. They were sports fans from Germama. a couple of big, flabby, fair-haired River Rhenus wine merchants I recognised the pointed hoods they wore, on capes with triangular front flaps We discussed northern places. Then I joked, "So what made you get the date wrong?"

"Ah that Nero! He mixed us up "

The year before he died, the Emperor Nero had visited Greece on a grand tour Wanting to appear at all the traditional Games (and clearly oblivious to the Greeks-only rule, he had made the organisers bring forward the Olympic Games by two years, just so he could compete. He then outraged Greek sensibilities by "winning" first prize in the chariot race even though he fell out and never finished. Since then, the judges Nero bribed had had to pay the money back and the Games had been reassigned to their ancient four-year cycle – but people were now thoroughly confused

As younger men, the Germans had been here in that famous

imperial year of farce; they confirmed what we had heard attending the Games could be a nightmare.

"Thousands of people crammed into a temporary village that simply cannot hold them. The heat was unbearable No water, no public baths, no latrines, no accommodation available – The noise, the crush; the dust; the smoke; the long hours and the queues -"

"We had to sleep under a blanket tied to bushes last time. The permanent lodging houses are always taken by the rich athletics sponsors and the chariot-horse owners, who of course are even richer "

"So what did you do this year?"

"We brought a decent German tent!"

"But found there were no sports?"

"Oh we just enjoyed the magical atmosphere of the sanctuary, and promised ourselves we will come back next year."

"It's quite a trip for you."

"The Games are that special " Their eyes glazed, though that could have been the wine. "The remote sylvan place, the atmosphere of devotion, the spectacle – the victory feasts…"

We asked if they had heard about a Roman girl being murdered this year. They looked intrigued, but said no. Then one of the Germans solemnly pointed out "It is no place for a girl Women are traditionally barred from the site during the Games."

"Except virgins – so that's a rarity!" They both burst out laughing with full-bodied Rhineland humour.

We smiled politely but felt prim. Well, we were Romans talking to foreigners from one of our provinces. They were jolly lads, but it was our duty to civilise them. Not that I could see them submitting to the process.

Our awkwardness could only get worse We were now in the cradle of democracy, which we had seized for ourselves a couple of centuries ago. Nowhere in the Empire did Romans feel so out of place as in Greece. Imposing democracy on a country that in fact already possessed it raised a few questions. Bludgeoning the originators of the world's great ideas (and blatantly stealing the ideas) did not make us proud We were bound to spend a lot of time being lofty, during this trip It was our only defence

I could see that Seven Sights Travel might well bring their tours here in years when no Games were being held, in order to avoid the horrendous conditions we had just heard described. And if women

were still barred from attending the stadium and hippodrome, it would be tedious for female travellers in Olympic years Now Romans were in charge of this province, the men-only rule could have been abolished – but I knew that Rome tended to leave the Greeks to their own devices The Emperors wanted their own great festivals, held in Rome, to enhance their prestige It was not in their interests to modernise the old Hellenic ceremonies. They paid lip-service to history, but they liked to see rival attractions die out.

We could overlook the fact that one of our own rulers had devalued the judging I wondered what the imperial attitude would be if Olympia acquired a violent reputation Would Vespasian, the champion of family values, take it upon himself to have the place cleaned up?

Probably not It would be a Greek problem And if the victims were Romans, they would be seen here as bringing harm upon themselves. We would get the old excuses- outsiders failed to appreciate local customs, they were trouble makers who asked for it; rather than being pitied, the dead women ought to be blamed.