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“Of course I could,” I protested. “If that’s the Gulf of Corinth, to the north … and this winding road will eventually take us down to the Isthmus of Corinth, over that way … then…” I looked up at the craggy peak to our left. “Do you mean to say that’s Acrocorinth, the fortified mountain above the ancient city?” I squinted. “Now that I look, I do see the ruins of what might have been a line of walls up there. But that means the city must have been right over there, at the foot of that sheer cliff.”
I finally saw what had been in plain sight but invisible to my inattentive gaze—a distant jumble of stones and mounds of earth that were all that remained of the once proud city of Corinth. I felt a stirring of curiosity, but the ruins were a considerable distance from the road, and the late summer day was drawing to a close. The cart and the mules cast long shadows on the tall, dry grass. Antipater leaned forward to speak to the driver.
“Is there a place nearby where we can spend the night?”
The driver turned his head and looked at Antipater as if he were a madman. “Here, so near the ruins? Of course not! The Romans won’t allow so much as a vegetable stand to be built within a mile of the ancient walls, much less an i
“Yes?” said Antipater. “Go on.”
“Haunted!” The man lowered his voice to a gruff whisper. “This is as close as I care to come to it. I dread passing by here, every time I make this trip.”
“Nevertheless, it’s my intention to have a closer look at the ruins,” said Antipater.
The driver snapped the reins and urged the mules to go faster. “You’ll be doing so without me, then. I tell you what—up ahead there’s a road that branches off to the left. That will take us down to the waterfront, to the old port of Lechaeum. There’s a Roman garrison there. The soldiers maintain a few of the docks and warehouses, strictly for military use. There’s not much of a town, just a few shops and a brothel that caters to the soldiers, but there’s a small i
“Where will you sleep?” I said.
“A pile of straw in the stable will be good enough for me,” said the driver.
“After a visit to the brothel, no doubt,” whispered Antipater.
“And tomorrow morning,” the driver went on, “if you’re still bent on visiting the ruins, I’ll drop you off. You can have a look at the place in broad daylight, and then I’ll come back and fetch you before nightfall.”
As the road tilted downward we saw the Gulf of Corinth before us, a broad sheet of gold lit by the westering sun. Eventually, the old port appeared as a silhouette of jumbled roofs against the shimmering water. As we drew nearer, the silhouette resolved into ramshackle structures. The i
I looked around, but there was not much to see. The place had a melancholy, deserted air. All the nearby buildings had fallen into disrepair. Walls had given way. Roofs had fallen in.
“To think, Lechaeum was once one of the busiest ports in all Greece!” Antipater sighed. “The sister port on the other side of the isthmus is probably just as dilapidated.”
“But if the location is so ideal, why do the Romans not rebuild the ports, and reap the profits?”
“Ask the Roman Senate! It’s because they’re all so jealous of each other, I suspect. None of them is willing to give the authority to rebuild the port to another senator—they can’t stand to see a rival become rich off such a lucrative commission. So nothing is done.”
“But the driver says there’s a Roman garrison.”
“Yes, stationed here not to maintain the port but rather to keep anyone from using it! Because it dared to defy Rome, one of the world’s most beautiful cities was destroyed, and because the conquerors squabble among themselves, the ports of ancient Corinth are left to rot.”
I had never heard Antipater express such vehement disdain for Rome. While I was growing up, he had done his best to teach me Greek and to instill in me an appreciation of Greek culture, but regarding recent history, particularly Rome’s conquest of Greece, he had always been circumspect.
The driver returned with bad news: there was no room at the i
“What! But this won’t do,” declared Antipater. “I shall talk to the i
The i
“Every room? Who are these people?” said Antipater, speaking Latin in preference to the i
“A group of Roman travelers, just come from Olympia. They say they want to stay here for a while and have a look at the old ruins up the hill. That’s them in the tavern, having some wine and a bite to eat.” The i
Antipater glared. “‘A look at the old ruins,’ you say? The city had a name, you know: Corinth. Now why don’t you go ask your other guests to double-up, and free a room for us?”
The i
“What did you say?” asked Antipater.
“Yes, repeat what you just said,” I demanded.
The i
“You’re a Roman?” he said.
“Indeed I am.”
“Hardly look old enough for that citizen’s ring.”
“I’m eighteen.”
He nodded. “Well, that’s different. What are you doing, traveling with this old Greek?”
“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 i
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 i
“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 Pelopo