This caused a new commotion in the crowd. Was a deadly snake loose among us?
“Look there,” I said, “at his finger. A snake bit him. I can see the marks from here.”
Some of the judges stooped down to examine the puncture wounds in Simmius’s forefinger.
“He complained of a terrible thirst,” I said. “My father—” I was about to explain to them that my father back in Rome had taught me everything there was to know about snake venoms and their effects, the handling of snakes, the extraction of their venom—but what did they care about that? “It was probably a dipsas that bit him. The venom of the dipsas causes terrible thirst, then convulsions, and then death, all in a matter of moments.”
“I think this young man may be right,” said one of the judges who had been examining the wounds. “But I’m not sure this absolves Protophanes. It’s awfully convenient that the Cynic should have died just now. How did he come to be bitten by a dipsas just when he was about to testify before the judges? Where is this snake, and how did it come to be here? If Protophanes didn’t do the deed himself, perhaps he arranged for someone else—”
“The snake was brought to Olympia not by any friend of Protophanes,” I said, “but by an agent working for a foreign king—the sort of person who’s used to carrying poisons and other weapons for killing people. This man was plotting to kill Simmius of Sidon at least as early as last night; I know, because I overheard him. He’s standing right there.” I pointed at the man with the blond beard. “How he tricked Simmius into reaching into that sack he carries is anyone’s guess.”
The crowd stepped back from the man, who gave me a venomous look.
“You, there!” cried one of the judges. “What do you carry in that sack?”
The man smiled crookedly. “That’s what the Cynic said, when I told him it contained a gift for him. See for yourself!” he shouted, untying the rope and flinging the sack before him. A serpent as long as my forearm flew through the air and landed on the steps, not far from the body of Simmius. Hissing and writhing furiously, the creature darted first in one direction, then in another.
The crowd panicked. Men shouted and tripped over one another in a mad rush to flee.
I grabbed a rod from the nearest judge, who cried out in protest. Ignoring him, I stepped toward the snake and used the forked end of the rod to scoop it up. I grasped the close-set prongs so that the creature was trapped just below the head and could not escape, no matter how furiously it twisted and writhed.
I held the snake aloft. “Someone, cut the creature in two!” I shouted.
Men looked at each other in helpless confusion. No one carried weapons in Olympia.
Protophanes bounded down the steps. He seized the snake with both hands and tore the creature in two, then threw the wriggling remains on the ground and stamped them into oblivion.
The gaping crowd was silent for a long moment. Then a great cheer went up—for Protophanes, not for me.
In all the excitement, the killer had escaped.
* * *
After swearing the oath, the athletes went to the Altis to make offerings at the altars of various gods in preparation for their events. The crowd drifted toward a lavishly decorated marble structure called the Colonnade of Echoes, where the heralds and trumpeters of the Games competed in their own contests, seeing who could hold a note the longest or send the most echoes up and down the colonnade. This tradition had been going on for hundreds of years, and was more engaging than I expected.
The contest had just ended when I saw a familiar figure striding toward us. It was Protophanes. His broad, handsome face was lit with a grin.
“You’re the one who caught the snake, right?”
“I am. Thank you for noticing.” For my quick thinking that morning, I had expected some sort of acknowledgment—perhaps even a reward—but all I got was a begrudging grunt from one of the judges when I returned his forked rod.
“You’re a Roman?” asked Protophanes, catching my accent.
“Yes. The name is Gordianus.”
He nodded. “They let me take the oath, you know. I’m going to win the pankration for sure!” Seeing him so close, I realized that Protophanes was a head taller than I, and twice as broad. “But I still don’t understand. Why did that fellow with the snake kill the Cynic?”
“Because the man with the snake was an agent of Mithridates,” I said. “He didn’t come here to enjoy the Games, but to pursue his own agenda. And he believed that Simmius was a Roman spy who might expose him.”
“That old windbag?” Protophanes laughed.
“Who better to act a spy than the person least suspected?” said Antipater.
“Maybe,” said Protophanes. “But you’d think a spy would keep his head down and not draw attention to himself.”
“Or do the very opposite,” said Antipater.
“A pity the killer got away. The judges could have got the truth out of him, I’m sure. But what’s all this about spying and agents and such? Everyone comes to Olympia in peace. That’s the whole point.”
“On the contrary, young man, Olympia has always been a hotbed of intrigue,” said Antipater. “This is the largest gathering in the Greek world. When so many meet in one place, including some of the richest and most powerful men in the world, there is always more afoot than meets the eye—including espionage. Many a scheme has been hatched in Olympia that has nothing to do with athletics, I assure you.”
Protophanes shook his head. Politics did not interest him. “Well, I just wanted to say hello, and thank you for catching that snake. If they had a contest for quick reflexes, you’d be a hard one to beat, Gordianus! When I win the pankration, I won’t forget you.”
