Chapter 192

Leaving the market, Theos saw that rows of stables had been erected by the roadside, a world away from the crude shelters and manure-strewn grounds he had seen on his first visit. He had taken a liking to the old carriage driver and, hoping to ride with him again, he called out, “Sorikos! Sorikos!”

“The old man’s struck it rich! He doesn’t drive his own carriage anymore. Ride with me!” someone shouted.

“Don’t talk nonsense, or I’ll give you a thrashing!” Sorikos called back, emerging with a grin.

Theos climbed into his carriage and gave his destination.

“Ah, so you’re also going to see the land for lease,” Sorikos said at once. “There have been quite a few visitors lately.”

Theos nodded. “I hear you’ve made a fortune.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Sorikos said, though he couldn’t hide his pride. “I’ve only just paid off the loan and interest for this carriage. I took out another loan for a second one, which I’ve leased to a freeman. I’m confident I’ll pay that one off soon enough. Then, I’ll buy another…” His voice was filled with a buoyant self-assurance.

“Congratulations,” Theos said sincerely. “I imagine that in another year, you’ll be a carriage merchant.”

Sorikos let out a hearty laugh.

“I remember you are a citizen of Theonia,” Theos continued, his curiosity piqued. “The League must have allotted you a plot of land. If you are out driving a carriage to earn money, what becomes of your land? I’ve heard your League has agricultural officers who supervise the citizens’ use of their plots.”

“I’ve leased it to a freeman to farm. There won’t be any problems,” Sorikos replied.

He drove the carriage onto the Thurii-Amendolara road, and they sped across the Sybarite plain. On either side of the road, a patchwork of crisscrossing fields stretched to the horizon, dotted with newly constructed farmhouses.

Soon, villages will spring up here, Theos thought. The new Thurii is developing at an astonishing rate. It is beginning to recover its former glory, yet it is entirely different. It may even one day surpass that great power of old Magna Graecia.

After crossing a wooden bridge over the Sybaris River, they passed by rows of vineyards and wineries. This was a region famed for its wine.

Once they crossed the Saraceno River, they entered the territory of Amendolara. The land for lease was right by the roadside, already divided into plots marked by wooden stakes. It was an ideal location: close to the road for easy transport, near the river for a steady supply of water, and adjacent to a forest for timber (though, of course, the Theonian League had strict regulations on logging). A merchant who built a workshop here could also build a house for himself and his workers, a place to rest during his time in Theonia. With the sea before it, the forest behind, the river beside it, and the great road for travel, it was a perfect place to live. Theos was certain that every merchant who leased a plot here intended to build both a workshop and a home. Twenty years was more than enough time to double their investment, provided, of course, that the Theonian League endured.

After identifying several promising plots, Theos decided to find an inn, as the “auction” was not until the next day.

It was then that Sorikos made a suggestion. “You’ve come at a perfect time. The arena in Thurii was just completed yesterday. To celebrate, Lord Archon Davos has declared a two-day Four-City Football Tournament. You have the afternoon free; you should go and see it. I hear it’s a magnificent spectacle, even more exciting than the Olympic Games.”

“A football tournament?” Theos was intrigued.

“It is a game invented by Lord Davos himself,” Sorikos said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They say he received a divine revelation from the God of the Underworld.” He then struggled to explain. “It’s… well… two teams fight over a leather ball shaped like an olive… and they score points… Ah, I can’t describe it properly. But everyone who has seen it says it is thrilling to watch. You will see for yourself.”

“Very well, I shall go and see it,” Theos said, his interest piqued by Sorikos’s enthusiastic recommendation.

“Go early,” Sorikos advised. “The crowds are huge. If you’re late, you won’t get in.”

***

The arena was located in the eastern part of the northern district of Thurii, close to the city docks but far from the main residential area, a location chosen so as not to disrupt the daily life of the populace.

The city guards, usually so strict, were more lenient today. As long as one was unarmed, they were generally allowed to enter after a quick headcount. But once the capacity was reached, the gates were closed. Theos, having arrived early, was fortunate enough to get in. While waiting in line, he struck up a conversation with a Cretan olive oil merchant named Dicporis, who had also come to watch the games. Dicporis had already seen a match that morning and had become completely captivated. “It is the greatest gift the God of the Underworld has given to the Greeks,” he declared. “No other game can compare.”

This only fueled Theos’s curiosity further.

At the entrance to the arena, a long queue had already formed. Though the crowd was massive, it was orderly, supervised by squads of soldiers. Dicporis asked Theos to hold his place while he slipped off to a nearby stall with a “BEER” sign. He returned with two tankards of beer and two bags of dried fruit, handing half to Theos.

Theos, embarrassed, thanked him profusely and asked, “How much do I owe you?”

“To meet you here and watch the games together is the will of the Fates,” Dicporis said with a grand gesture. “If you offer me money, it means you do not wish to be friends with a Cretan.”

Theos had no choice but to accept. He found himself warming to the Cretan’s boisterous, open-hearted nature. He also noticed that many others were buying beer, fruit juices, and snacks.

“The games are long,” Dicporis explained. “Watching under the sun, one gets thirsty and hungry. And besides, with so many people in the stands, if you need to relieve yourself, you won’t find a place. But this…” he held up his tankard with a sly grin, “once it’s empty, it can serve as a chamber pot.”

The guards at the entrance let people in in batches. When it was their turn, the arena was not yet full. A guard directed them to a tunnel on the right. The tunnel on the left, he made clear, was off-limits. It led to the dignitaries’ seating, a design common to nearly all arenas.

The arena in Thurii was not enormous. The stone benches ringing the field could seat, at most, about four thousand people. But today, more than four thousand five hundred had already packed the stands, half of whom were freemen and foreigners. Like other arenas, its central field was surrounded by a running track, but inside the track was a flat, rectangular expanse of sand, marked with dozens of white lines that divided it into various zones.

Dicporis patiently explained the rules to Theos and told him why it was called the Four-City Football Tournament. “The four cities are Amendolara, Thurii, Nerulum, and Laos. My Theonian friends tell me that the game was first introduced by Archon Davos as a form of military training for the mercenaries who became citizens of Amendolara. Later, when Thurii and Amendolara formed the League, the game was taught to the citizens and preparatory citizens of Thurii during their military drills. Then, when they captured Nerulum, the first Lucanian soldiers taught it to their countrymen. As for Laos, they sent a large number of laborers to build the roads. The Theonian overseers taught them the game during their rest periods to keep them from slacking off from exhaustion.”

“The men of Laos are new to the game, so their teamwork is not yet polished. That’s why they were so easily defeated by Thurii this morning. This afternoon’s match is between Amendolara and Nerulum. I hear their strengths are evenly matched. It should be a much better game.”

“You know a great deal about it,” Theos said, impressed.

“When something interests me, I make it my business to learn about it,” Dicporis said proudly. “I have been here for some time and have made a few friends among the citizens of the Theonian League. One of them is a captain in their so-called legion. He is the one who told me all this.”

“Why is Castellum not participating?” a voice from nearby asked. Dicporis and Theos turned to find that a small crowd had gathered around them.

“Perhaps because they have had less contact with the citizens of the League and have not yet had the chance to learn,” Dicporis said with a shrug. “But I saw some men from Castellum watching the games this morning. I am sure that after this tournament, the next one will be a Five-City Tournament.”

“You are right, Cretan! Next year, Castellum will surely participate!” someone in the crowd shouted.

“Yes! We will propose it to our council when we return!” another added.

Dicporis shot Theos a wink. “You see? What did I tell you?”

Just then, a long blast from a bronze horn sounded. The athletes were entering the field. They were no longer the sparsely equipped players of the early days in the military camps. They wore soft leather helmets that covered their entire heads and necks, and padded tunics of thick, woven wool and linen, dyed red and blue to distinguish the teams. On their backs were strange symbols—Arabic numerals, used instead of the cumbersome Greek ones, to help the referees identify the players.

As the two teams entered the field, a powerful, rhythmic drumbeat began. The red team immediately formed a tight phalanx and, in time with the beat, began to perform a powerful, synchronized war dance in praise of Ares, the kind they would perform after a victory in battle. The entire stadium erupted in thunderous cheers.