father. Closest to the gymnasium stood the Prytaneion, a building where fabulous feasting occurred to celebrate victories. Near to this was the gaily painted Temple of Hera, the oldest temple on site. It had three long aisles, each full of astounding statuary, including a fabulous Hermes with the young Dionysus. Glaucus gazed reverently at the gold and ivory table, which during the Games would be carried out to the judges' enclosure; on it would be placed simple wreaths of wild olive, the only prizes awarded here. Of course Olympic winners would be received back home with mass adulation, a pension in vast: vats of olive oil, seaside villas, and lifetime permission to bore the populace with sporting stories. Glaucus was already dreaming.
In outside spaces stood many altars, some with smoke from that morning's sacrifices wreathing up into the air. One was phenomenal, the Great Altar of Zeus. Upon an ancient stone base reared a curious rectangular mound, maybe twenty feet tall when we saw it. During every set of Games a hundred oxen were slaughtered for Zeus, a gift from the people of Elis who ran the festival. Over the centuries, the ash of past sacrifices had been mixed with water from the River Alphaios: it set in a hard paste that was added to the mound. Steps had been carved out, leading to the top of the altar, where the god's choice cuts were burned.
As we approached the stadium, we saw a line of forbidding statues of Zeus, called the Zanes, erected to damn forever athletes who had cheated: their names and crimes were inscribed on the bases. Beyond them lay a long colonnade, used for the contests for heralds; it had a sevenfold echo which Albia and the lads tested to the full. At this corner of the enclosure an arch marked the competitors' tunnel to the running track. The bronze trellis gates were closed, but we found a way to clamber into the stadium after a steep climb up and over the spectators' stand.
Young Glaucus inspected the curious starting blocks. 'You curl the toes of your front foot in these grooves and wait for the signal. There's a trip-rope system to deter false starts. If a runner takes off too soon, before the judges loosen it, he'll knock the rope down. He is made to withdraw, and the judges flog him like a slave. There are not,' stated Glaucus, 'many false starts.'
The hippodrome lay alongside the stadium. There Glaucus explained the starting gates, where up to forty chariots could be held in wedge formation that gave the outer pairs an equal chance with those at the centre. We imagined them bursting forth to the roar of forty thousand spectators, who stood on carefully designed elliptical banks. Everyone had a good view down the course - though we noticed with smirks that it was much smaller than the Circus Maximus.
Coming out, we wasted time trying in vain to get into an enormous villa Nero had built for himself by the hippodrome gates, the authorities had locked it up and hoped it would fall down. Glaucus went back to the gymnasium to practise. The rest of us sauntered through the main sanctuary, reaching the famous Temple of Zeus. This did contain one of the Seven Wonders of the World, so it was no surprise that although we had barely seen ten people so far, at this point we came face to face with an official guide.
'You speak Greek - oh you speak Latin?' He changed swiftly to Latin, though we had not said a word. 'Where are you folks from? Croton? Rome? My brother lives at Tarentum,' Oh no. 'Xenophon's fish bar, do you know his place?'
Our guide was named Barzanes. Should you go to Olympia, try to be snaffled by a different one.
'First I will show you the workshop of Phidias '
We had seen it for ourselves already. That did not stop him.
As we stood for the second time in the enormous workshop being regaled with facts, Helena was the only one of us prepared to be civil to the guide. He was tall, with a small head set on lop-sided shoulders, one wider than the other. He wore a long belted
In outside spaces stood many altars, some with smoke from that morning's sacrifices wreathing up into the air. One was phenomenal, the Great Altar of Zeus. Upon an ancient stone base reared a curious rectangular mound, maybe twenty feet tall when we saw it. During every set of Games a hundred oxen were slaughtered for Zeus, a gift from the people of Elis who ran the festival. Over the centuries, the ash of past sacrifices had been mixed with water from the River Alphaios: it set in a hard paste that was added to the mound. Steps had been carved out, leading to the top of the altar, where the god's choice cuts were burned.
As we approached the stadium, we saw a line of forbidding statues of Zeus, called the Zanes, erected to damn forever athletes who had cheated: their names and crimes were inscribed on the bases. Beyond them lay a long colonnade, used for the contests for heralds; it had a sevenfold echo which Albia and the lads tested to the full. At this corner of the enclosure an arch marked the competitors' tunnel to the running track. The bronze trellis gates were closed, but we found a way to clamber into the stadium after a steep climb up and over the spectators' stand.
Young Glaucus inspected the curious starting blocks. 'You curl the toes of your front foot in these grooves and wait for the signal. There's a trip-rope system to deter false starts. If a runner takes off too soon, before the judges loosen it, he'll knock the rope down. He is made to withdraw, and the judges flog him like a slave. There are not,' stated Glaucus, 'many false starts.'
The hippodrome lay alongside the stadium. There Glaucus explained the starting gates, where up to forty chariots could be held in wedge formation that gave the outer pairs an equal chance with those at the centre. We imagined them bursting forth to the roar of forty thousand spectators, who stood on carefully designed elliptical banks. Everyone had a good view down the course - though we noticed with smirks that it was much smaller than the Circus Maximus.
Coming out, we wasted time trying in vain to get into an enormous villa Nero had built for himself by the hippodrome gates, the authorities had locked it up and hoped it would fall down. Glaucus went back to the gymnasium to practise. The rest of us sauntered through the main sanctuary, reaching the famous Temple of Zeus. This did contain one of the Seven Wonders of the World, so it was no surprise that although we had barely seen ten people so far, at this point we came face to face with an official guide.
'You speak Greek - oh you speak Latin?' He changed swiftly to Latin, though we had not said a word. 'Where are you folks from? Croton? Rome? My brother lives at Tarentum,' Oh no. 'Xenophon's fish bar, do you know his place?'
Our guide was named Barzanes. Should you go to Olympia, try to be snaffled by a different one.
'First I will show you the workshop of Phidias '
We had seen it for ourselves already. That did not stop him.
As we stood for the second time in the enormous workshop being regaled with facts, Helena was the only one of us prepared to be civil to the guide. He was tall, with a small head set on lop-sided shoulders, one wider than the other. He wore a long belted
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