“Zoticus was my tutor when I was a boy,” I said. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Exactly who stays under my roof is very much my business, young man,” said the innkeeper, with an edge in his voice that reminded me he had once been a Roman centurion, used to giving orders. “But I like your spirit. I tell you what, I’ll do what your Greek friend suggests, and have a word with the other guests. They seem like reasonable men. Maybe I can supply a room for you, after all.”
He stepped into the tavern and returned a few moments later, accompanied by a big man with curly red hair and a bristling beard. We exchanged introductions. The Roman’s name was Titus Tullius.
“Our host tells me you’re looking for a room,” he said. “And here I thought we were going to have the inn all to ourselves. I’m surprised anyone else even managed to find this place, it’s so out of the way. Just come from Olympia, have you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“First time at the Games? Yes, for me, too. Quite a show, wasn’t it? Did you see the footraces? That fellow Eudamos made the competition eat dust. And the pankration? Protophanes walloped the competition!”
“Will you give up one of the rooms or not?” said Antipater brusquely.
“Steady on,” said Tullius. “It’s too early for bed, anyway. Join us in the tavern for a drink.”
“I’m an old man, and I’m weary, and I need to lie down,” said Antipater.
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Yes, by all means, take one of our rooms. We’ll manage. We were going to split up three to a room, but we can just as easily fit four to a room, I suppose.”
“There are twelve of you?” I said. “Did you all attend the Games together?”
“We certainly did. Now we’re seeing a few more sights here in the Peloponnesus before we sail back to Rome. I’m the one who insisted on visiting the ruins of Corinth. The rest thought that would be a bore, but I assured them it will be well worth it.”
“That’s our intention, as well,” I said. I turned toward Antipater, but he was already heading up the stairs. The innkeeper followed after him with a ring of jangling keys in his fist.
Tullius smiled. “It’ll be just us Romans in the tavern, then. There’s my group, plus a few off-duty soldiers from the garrison. Come, Gordianus, join us.”
I did so gladly, thinking a cup or two of wine would do much to soothe my travel-stiff limbs.
Tullius’s party consisted entirely of men. I was the youngest in the room, though some of the soldiers were not much older. A single serving woman moved among them. She was neither young nor pretty, and by her gruff manner I judged her to be a freeborn local woman, not a slave.
“Ismene!” called Tullius. “Bring a cup for my young friend.”
She gave him a sour look, but fetched a wooden cup and pressed it into my hand, then filled it from her pitcher. “Let’s hope this handsome fellow has better manners than the rest of you louts,” she said. She gave me a warm smile, then glowered at the others.
“I do believe Ismene is smitten with you, Gordianus!” Tullius laughed.
“Finally, a man to tempt Ismene!” said one of the soldiers, flashing a broad grin. He had a neck like a bull’s and the first touches of silver in his brassy blond hair. In every drunken group, there is someone louder than the rest; he fit the role.
“Don’t tease her, Marcus,” said the soldier next to him, who looked frail in comparison. The frown lines around his mouth betrayed an anxious disposition.
“Why not, Lucius? Are you afraid of Ismene? Or perhaps you’re a bit in love with the old battle-axe?” Marcus laughed uproariously.
The conversation settled down, and the chief topic was Olympia. The soldiers envied the travelers for having witnessed the games. Since I had seen some events that others had missed, I found myself joining in the conversation and thoroughly enjoying it. At this point in my journey with Antipater, I was beginning to feel a bit homesick. It felt good to be in a room where everyone was speaking Latin. When the conversation turned from Olympia to Rome—the soldiers were eager for news—I felt quite at home, a Roman among Romans.
“These days, all the talk in Rome is about war,” said Tullius. “War looming in the East with King Mithridates, and war looming in Italy between Rome and her unhappy Italian confederates.”
“But there’s no war yet, in either of those places,” said Lucius, looking fretful.
“No—not yet,” said Tullius darkly. His companions nodded gravely. “You fellows are well out of it here. Must be pretty quiet duty in a posting like this.”
“As quiet as a grave!” said Marcus with a laugh.
Lucius made a sign with his hand to avert the Evil Eye. “You shouldn’t talk that way, Marcus. You know this place is lousy with ghosts, and rife with magic.”
“Magic?” I said.
“Black magic!” Lucius raised his thick black eyebrows. “Curses and spells, sorcery and witchcraft. It’s everywhere you turn in this part of the world.”
“It seems to me this part of the world is practically deserted,” I said. “Except for a few scattered farms, we saw hardly any signs of life along the road. Where would you even find a witch?”
“You wouldn’t have to go far.” Lucius looked sidelong at Ismene. She noticed his gaze and glared back at him.
Marcus laughed. “Lucius, what an old woman you are! Afraid of your own shadow.”
“Am I? Tell me then, why do soldiers die in their sleep here? You remember Aulus, and then Tiberius—both dead, and with no explanation. And why is everyone afraid to go anywhere near the old ruins, especially at night?”
