'What was it? The doorman's sister's oregano hotpot?' I asked.

'Ugh. Worse. Tantalus had killed and cooked up his own son, Pelops! The G.o.ds did notice - but not before Demeter the Harvest Queen had eaten her way all through a shoulder bone.'

'She was grieving for her daughter, and rather absent-minded.' A faraway look came over Helena, and I knew she was thinking of Julia and Favonia. 'Then?'

'Then Rhea chucked all the bones back in the pot, gave it a big stir, and rea.s.sembled little Pelops, giving him a new shoulder made of ivory.'

'Which you have seen? Don't you believe it!' I scoffed. They glowered at me, wanting to believe the myth.

'Tantalus was horribly punished!' Cornelius had become keen on divine retribution. 'He must stay in Hades for ever, staring at a plate of food and a cup of drink, which he can never reach.'

'That wouldn't suit you, Cornelius.'

'No, but Pelops was better than ever after he was mended, and went out into the world to be a hero.'

'So that was when he came to Olympia and cheated in the chariot race?'

'No choice, Marcus.' Helena was smiling. 'Oenomaus was challenging his daughter's suitors using a set of magic, unbeatable steeds.'

'Unfair! But Pelops had his own magic horses, didn't he? Given to him by Poseidon?'

'Perhaps. In a different version, Hippodameia was as keen on Pelops as he was on her. She was desperate not to see his handsome head skewered above the lintel. So she went to her father's charioteer, Myrtilos, and persuaded him to sabotage Oenomaus' chariot by putting in a wax cotter-pin, making a wheel fall off. Now Myrtilos, rightly or wrongly, thought he had agreed to spike the chariot in order to sleep with Hippodameia himself. After the race he tried to claim his reward. Pelops and Myrtilos fought; Pelops drowned Myrtilos in the sea, but as he finally went under, Myrtilos called down a curse on all the descendants of Pelops and Hippodameia. They had, of course, two bonny sons, Atreus and Thyestes.'

I wagged a finger. 'I sense a bout of Homer coming on!'

'There is more to your Uncle Marcus than a tough nature and a cheeky grin,' Helena told the boys. 'He comes scowling along, fresh from haranguing witnesses, then suddenly he demonstrates how much he reads. So your turn, Marcus.'

'I'm grown up. I don't have to recite lessons.' The boys looked impressed by my rebellion.

Helena sighed. 'Spoilsport. It's a second helping of human stew, I'm afraid. Atreus and Thyestes quarrelled incessantly over their inheritance. Finally Atreus cut up all of his brother's children - except one - and served them at a feast where Thyestes was the guest of honour. Thyestes failed to spot the family's signature dish and he ate up heartily. The only survivor was called Aegisthus.'

Helena was flagging so I relented. 'The famous son of Atreus is King Agamemnon. His nagging wife is Clytemnestra. In his absence at the Trojan War, she becomes the lover of moody cousin Aegisthus. Aegisthus is getting revenge for the new stew incident; Clytemnestra is getting her l.u.s.t satisfied. On his return from the Trojan War, these lovers murder Agamemnon, whose son and daughter then murder them, providing material for many tragedians.'

'The moral is: only eat salad. If a travel group are going on to see Troy,' said Helena, 'Olympia makes an appropriate starting point.'

'Yes, the Seven Sights group don't just get sport; they are on a drama-rich route. After a detour to Sparta, their next stop is Mycenae, Agamemnon's palace. Then Aulis, whence the Greek ships departed, and on to Troy - Troy is rubbish nowadays, I have heard, just touts and tacky souvenir stalls. So tell me, Helena, is that why you were fascinated with Pelops?' I asked.

'Well, he represents heroic mortal man. He seems to have had a bad conscience; there are a host of memorials he set up - Myrtilos, Oenomaus, the previous suitors.'

'Big of him. I'm d.a.m.ned if I'd honour your old lovers!'

'Didius Falco, you are an informer; you don't have a conscience.' Untrue. Helena knew that very well.

'The whole Peloponnese is named after Pelops!' chirped Cornelius. He had taken to showing off.

Gaius stretched out full length on his back. 'This place is stuffed with relics. As well as his shoulder bone we saw his ceremonial dagger with a gold pommel, in the Treasury of Sikyon.'

'And Hippodameia's couch,' said Albia. 'And her shrine.'

'Girls' stuff!' I mocked. 'Now look. I am glad you are all having a good time as sightseers, but we came to Greece on a case.'

'I am pursuing the case,' Helena growled. 'Imagine it. The men on the tour had become obsessed with all the b.l.o.o.d.y sports - boxing, wrestling, and ghastly pankration. The women were sick of the men coming home, prattling about violence and blood. They fixed up a Pelops tour as a distraction. Later that evening, Valeria went to her death - so I am trying to deduce what was in her mind that day.'

'Get anywhere with this theory?'

'I am wondering,' she carried on regardless, 'did the courtship of Hippodameia hold a special resonance for Valeria? If she had found she was unhappy with her own new husband, was she affected by the story of a spirited young woman who gained herself a man who really wanted her? Perhaps it made Valeria restless.'

I gazed at my girl thoughtfully. Helena herself had had an arranged marriage, to a weak man who failed her. She stuck it out miserably for a few years, then divorced him. I knew Helena remembered how depressed she had been, both in her marriage and after it fell through.

'Sweetheart, are you suggesting that Valeria Ventidia was afraid she had committed herself to second-best for ever, so became reckless of her own safety? She wanted to ditch Statia.n.u.s and find herself an old-style hero?'

'No, I just suspect that while the women were trailing around the Altis hearing about Pelops, poor little Valeria accidentally caught her killer's eye.'

'So this brute offered her a ride in his racing chariot?' I suggested with a leer. Then more seriously, 'No, because whoever he was, I'm certain he drew her to the palaestra with sportsman's gossip about long jumps.'

'Couldn't afford a chariot,' Gaius intoned, with envy. 'Uncle Marcus, you have to own millions to race chariots. So much, it is the owners and not the drivers who receive the crowns for winning.'

'Right. Not a charioteer then.'

Helena pressed on. 'Another question: who took the women on the tour? None of the guides will own up.'

'Still, you managed to find the various relics by yourself.'

Gaius rolled on to his stomach as he and Cornelius chorused, 'Helena is clever!'

'Well, why are the guides so sneery? Pelops is the founder of the Games.'

'Or it's Hercules!' Helena told me. 'Anyway, the cult adherents want to keep this site as primarily dedicated to Zeus. Pelops is relegated, a mere symbol of human endeavour. The G.o.ds rule this grove.'

'And Zeus is top G.o.d... Well, I'd say the women's Pelops excursion has no bearing on what happened to Valeria.'

Cornelius was looking anxious. 'At least she wasn't chopped up and eaten in a stew!' It was a shock to discover that I had a nephew who was sensitive. 'Uncle Marcus, is it safe here? I won't end up in a pot being eaten, will I?'

'You take care. Even Zeus himself had a narrow escape,' Helena teased him. 'Cronus, his father, who used to be king of the heavens, had been warned that a son of his would depose him. Every time a child was born, he ate it. After she bore Zeus, his mother had to hide the baby, disguised as a stone, hung between heaven and earth where Cronus would not find him and gobble him up.'

Cornelius covered his ears and ran off, squealing.

That grisly tale brought my attention back to the Hill of Cronus, where Marcella Caesia had died, with her body laid out under the stars, until her stubborn father came at last and found her. A Roman parent, more caring of his daughter than the average mythical Greek.

Gloomily I wondered what was happening to Julia Junilla and Sosia Favonia back in Rome. My mother-in-law kept a quiet house. I was fairly sure the n.o.ble Julia would not issue any challenge to the G.o.ds at a pot-luck picnic. Her cook would be spoiling my daughters with treats - our worst problem would be bringing them back to normality when we returned home.

XV.

We were running out of options. We were low on food too. Helena had told the doorman we would skip having meals from his sister. She had put together a scratch supper with purchases from site vendors. There was bread, and some vine leaf parcels, with the remains of our Roman sausage.

'I need to have meat!' Young Glaucus complained, ranting that Milo of Croton, the most famous Olympic athlete of all time, had eaten twenty pounds of meat and twenty pounds of bread a day, washed down with eighteen pints of wine. 'Milo trained by carrying a calf on his shoulders. As it grew day by day and week by week into a full-size ox, the effect was like c.u.mulative weight training. In the end, he ate the whole ox in a single sitting.'

'We are not lugging a bull calf around with us, Glaucus, even if you volunteer to carry him. Anyway, Milo of Croton was a wrestler. Anyone can tell from your pretty face that you are not.'

'Pentathlon,' Glaucus disabused me. 'Discus, javelin, long jump, foot race - and wrestling.'

'So how come your beautiful physiognomy has never been ruined?'

'It's three out of five. First athlete to win three events, wins overall. Remaining trials are cancelled. I try to come through in the early bouts, so I won't have to wrestle.' He gave a slow grin. 'Or when the opponent looks like a crusher or a gouger, I always concede.'

'But secretly,' demanded Gaius, 'are you a crack crusher yourself?'

'Not really,' said Glaucus.

Then he went out to hang around the many shrines in the Altis, hoping for a sacrifice in process. Even when the hundred oxen were slaughtered at the Games, only the legs, tails and guts were carried up the steps on the Altar of Zeus. The body steaks were used to feed the crowd.

Before he left, Glaucus said, 'Falco, the killer of Valeria is probably an athlete, yes? a.s.sume he chose a sport he knew. only a pentathlete would use the jumping weights. Long-jumping only happens in the pentathlon.'

'Thanks, Glaucus. I agree he is most likely an athlete - is now, or has been in the past. A pentathlete would fit neatly, but life isn't like that. I think he could be anyone familiar with the palaestra - boxer, wrestler, even a pankration fighter. It's depressing. I don't fancy trying to interrogate every hardened Olympic champion, in case one of them kills girls.'

'All the current champions will have gone on the circuit,' Glaucus reminded me.

'How many Games on the circuit, Glaucus?'

He grinned. 'Well, the big four are the Pan-h.e.l.lenics. Olympia, Delphi, Nemea and the Isthmus, which don't happen every year. The Panathenaic in Athens is annual. Add in all the other cities - well, you are looking at about fifty, Falco.'

Oh, easy then!

Helena Justina slept peacefully that night. I remembered how last night, when she kept creeping out to be ill after the oregano hotpot, I had woken once to an unexpectedly empty bed. I sat up in alarm, my heart pounding. At that moment I knew all too well how Tullius Statia.n.u.s must have felt - a.s.suming he did have some feelings for Valeria - alone in his campbed, when she never came home.

The vine leaf parcels went through me like a rat down a drain. It was my turn to be groaning and drenched in sweat all night. My turn too, as I lay tossing and waiting for the next agonising onslaught, to wonder why anybody ever wanted to travel.

I was not the only one awake. The sound of crying drew me to the boys' room. By moonlight through an open shutter, I saw a piteous spectacle. Cornelius was sobbing his heart out, overwhelmed by homesickness. He had never even left Rome before, and had had no real concept of how long we would be travelling. I sat on the bed to console him, and next thing I was trapped there by the hefty, tear-stained eleven-year-old, who had fallen fast asleep.

I dragged my arm from under him and straightened him out so he wouldn't fall off the narrow mattress if he flailed around. I covered him up with a thin blanket for comfort, then tortured myself again with sentimental thoughts of Julia and Favonia back in Rome. Who was tending my little ones, if they cried in the night?

Settle down, Falco. They were safe. They had four old slave nursemaids who had looked after their mother once, their n.o.ble grandma, their doting grandpa, and if all else failed each of my materially spoiled darlings would be tucked up in bed with a whole row of dolls and miniature animals.

Somewhere in the Altis an owl hooted. My stomach emitted a lugubrious glug. I sat still, using the time before my next bout of suffering to think. Diarrhoea can be the informer's friend.

I could see the dim shapes of Gaius (snoring) and Glaucus (breathing the slow measure of the fit) in two other narrow beds. Had the Leonidaion been more crowded, perhaps all of us would have had to share a room. We had made our resources stretch to two rooms. Seeking economy, Helena and I had Albia in with us, which rather inhibited marital affection. We put up with that - or found ways around it. All our accommodation was on an upper storey, or I might have closed the shutter even in the boys' room to keep out thieves and amorous G.o.ds disguised as silver moonbeams.

Now I started wondering about sleeping arrangements among the Seven Sights Travel group, at least when they were not camping. According to the list Aulus left us, the group contained a family of four; well, they might bunk up together. Then there were three couples, of whom one was the newly-weds and another seemed to be eloping adulterers; both of those pairs would presumably be anxious for privacy. Completing the group were four - no, five - single people. one female and four male, including Volcasius, the weird one, with whom n.o.body would ever want to share. Some would have brought slaves, whom the sn.o.bbish Aulus had not bothered to list. It could mean that when they stayed at an inn, Phineus had to find them nine rooms, not to mention whatever he wanted for himself, their drivers, and any run-arounds (who must exist, though Aulus had not listed them either.

That meant, either Phineus routed them on main roads, where there might be good, Roman-style mansios - official or semi-official travel lodges with high standards of accommodation and stabling - or else this misfit party of wealthy innocents would find themselves lumped together in all sorts of combinations. On the boat over, they would have been lucky to find even one cabin. Arriving at Olympia, to be faced with just a couple of large tents for the whole group, must have been their first big, bad experience on this trip. For some of them, a serious shock. And they had then been forced to stay camped out on the riverbank for weeks, while Valeria's death was investigated.

By the time they returned to their itinerary these people, who had been strangers to start with, would have known each other very well indeed.

I needed to find them and study them myself. But, as dawn broke and my guts settled down at last, I went out to do one more piece of sleuthing at Olympia. Cornelius stirred, so I woke him and took him with me, as a treat. It turned out to be a bigger adventure than either of us expected.

XVI.

It was barely light. All over the Empire slaves were rousing themselves, or being roused by short-tempered overseers. The most unlucky were stumbling grey-faced to hard labour in the mines, to do appalling, filthy work that would slowly kill them. The fortunate merely had to lay out a clean toga or tidy fine scrolls in a beautiful library. By far the majority would be gathering brooms, buckets, and sponges, ready to clean houses, workshops, temples, baths - and gymnasia.

n.o.body barred our entry. Cornelius and I went through the palaestra porch into the colonnade. Anyone watching - as somebody must have been - would have seen my nephew b.u.mbling after me, still with his eyes half-closed and clutching the back of my tunic like one of Augustus' anxious little grandchildren in that parade on Rome's Altar of Peace. Not that Cornelius would ever have been taken on an educational outing to see the Altar of Peace. All my sister Allia had ever taught her children was how to borrow from relatives. Verontius thought being a good father meant bringing home a fruit pie once a week; when he wanted to be a very good father, he bought two.

Cornelius needed wise adult attention or he would grow up like his parents. An onlooker would have seen me turn back to encourage the sleepy-head, tousling his hair affectionately. Someone may well have worked out that they could get to me through him.

A small band of workers in drab tunics was lazily raking down the dampened sand of the skamma. Wherever these slaves originated, they all had the same short build and swarthy features. A couple of torches flared in iron holders. Moths clung to the stonework nearby. Above the great courtyard, the sky was bleached but visible. It grew marginally brighter, as a hot Greek day began. People instinctively spoke in hushed voices, because the day was still too young for socialising.

At my signal, the slaves sauntered over and surrounded us.

I stretched, speaking slowly and hoa.r.s.ely. 'Don't you just hate this time of the morning? It's all whispers and croaks, and finding out who died in the night.. I need some help, please. Will you tell me about when you discovered the murdered Roman girl?'

As I had hoped, they were open to enquiry. Most slaves love a chance to stop and talk. No one in authority had thought it important to order them to keep quiet on the subject. If he had known I was coming, the superintendent would have done, if only to annoy me.

They had found Valeria in a corner, with the sand in chaos around her as though she had tried desperately to escape on hands and knees. She was curled up defensively, blood everywhere. Blood and sand were clogged together on her clothing; she was fully clad which, the slaves agreed, suggested things had gone wrong quite early in her encounter with the killer. They had noticed that there was also dust on her dress, the kind of dust athletes used to cover their oiled bodies. I had seen it being applied the other day, flicked on with the palm of the hand and open fingers, so it hung in the air of the application room in clouds. On Valeria the sand was yellow, always admired for giving the body a subtle golden glow; not that that helped me much. Yellow was the most popular colour.

When informed, the superintendent had ordered the slaves to throw out the body. They had lifted her up and taken her to the porch, where they placed her in a sitting position (so she looked more lifelike and took up less room. They were still standing around there when Tullius Statia.n.u.s turned up.

He started screaming. He squatted on his heels, weeping and staring. The superintendent heard the racket and came out from his office. He ordered Statia.n.u.s to remove the corpse. After pleading for help, Statia.n.u.s yelled abuse at the superintendent. Then he gathered up his battered young wife, and staggered off towards the campsite, with her in his arms.

'From what you say, Statia.n.u.s was genuine. Not behaving like a man who had killed her?'

'No chance. He couldn't believe what had happened.'

That was interesting, though the unforced evidence of slaves would not count in a law court. I tried to elicit names of any palaestra members who might have been suspect, but the slaves abruptly lost interest and started drifting back to their work.

We should have left. You never do. You always hope one last cunning question will produce a breakthrough. You never learn.

Then I heard a gasp. I turned around, and my heart lurched. An enormous man had arrived without me noticing and grabbed Cornelius. Now he was squeezing all the breath out of the boy.

XVII.

The huge wrestler was waiting for me to turn and see it happening. Now the muscle-bound child-crusher lifted my nephew above his shaved head, intending to hurl him to the ground. On hard, damp sand, it could be fatal.