The Mer- Lion (62 page)

As the contestants milled about at one end of the arena, six men in long purple robes, followed by three times as many burly seminude slaves, appeared at the far end. Whether it was the dignified mien of the judges or hie cruel scourges carried by the
mastigophorae,
their whip-bearing assistants—something silenced the contestants. The voice of the white-turbaned judge, speaking Sabir, rolled and echoed throughout the arena.

"Welcome to the Great Games of the Moulay Hassan—with whom may Allah be pleased—and his daughter, the Amira Aisha Kahina—with whom may Allah be content. We six wearing the purple serve as judges; the Moulay Hassan—with whom may Allah be pleased"—the judge pointed up to the royal box, its central seat conspicuously empty—"has graciously consented to be the chief judge of us all. Our decisisions will be final. Permit me to introduce my colleagues. From Greece, a direct descendant of contestants in the early Olympiads,
al jalala
Artemidorus of Tralles. From Rome
al jalala
Pietro Strabo. From our own city of Gafsa,
al jalala
Hamad Attia. From Marrakesh, in the land of Morocco,
al jalala al wazier
Yahib. From Aired, in Arabia,
al jalala
Sheykh Beteyen ibn Kader. Myself, I have the honor to serve as
wazier
to the Moulay Hassan— with whom may Allah be pleased—Ibn al-Hudaij."'

So impressive, so dignified, so formal seemed the judges that the contestants discounted the purpose of the whip-bearers, as ceremonial. When Ibn al-Hudaij spoke up again, saying, "If any man wishes to withdraw his name from the scroll, let him speak now before the games begin and the scroll is sealed!" no one stepped forward. Not even the slaves who were forestalled by threatening movements among the silent ones looking down from the first tier just above them.

"Seal the Scroll, close the gates, let the games begin!" the judge ordered.

"And now," the white-turbaned one continued, "let the rules of today's competition be announced. The blessings of Allah be on him who competes."

Artemidorus of Tralles, wearing a wreath of leaves upon his brow, stepped forward to outline in detail that which had been kept secret until now.

"Today, you recreate the Pentathlon, exactly as it was performed centuries ago in the stadium at Olympia. First, the discus throw, then, in this order, jumping, the javelin throw, running, and wrestling. Five events in all. One winner of each event. The five winners will be excused from tomorrow's contest, but no others. You will each compete in the three events of your choice, no more, no less." Two assistants stepped forward holding sandglasses. "While the sand in this glass runs, you may ask questions of the judges about the events, so that you can choose. When this runs dry, the other will be overturned; while the sand in it runs its course, you must sign and obtain three tokens from the five scribes behind me."

The questions would have begun then, but the judge held up his hand. Not his hand but the forward motion of the whip-bearers quelled their voices. "Let me warn you, the events are limited. If you have not signed up and received tokens for three events, you will be assigned arbitrarily to whichever event is still open. One hour from now, the games begin. Now you may ask questions."

The floodgate was opened. Was the jumping over hurdles? Would the javelin throw be judged on accuracy? Was the jumping standing or running? How far was the run? No holds barred in the wrestling? And so forth.

The slaves instinctively gathered together looking to their leaders for decision. De Wynter's classical education had its advantages. "The Greeks arranged their contests logically—remember?—alternating the use of arms and legs with the last event requiring the whole body."

"Yes, but," Drummond reminded him, "no athlete in ancient times competed in more than one event, especially not on the same day."

"No time for that type of talk," Carlby interrupted. "Our immediate problem is signing the ten of us up for thirty events—"

"Suppose," de Wynter suggested, "one need not sign up individually for each event, but could sign others up? That would give us a numerical advantage."

"Might work," Carlby admitted.

Drammond volunteered to check with the white-turbaned one. He was back shortly. "The rules do not prohibit it. But only three names at a time."

De Wynter clapped him approvingly on the back. "Good. Now, while you were gone, we all agreed the most popular events are likely to be those closest to modern warfare: javelin throwing and wrestling. The least popular and last to be filled would be the first event, the discus throw; let's not even bother to sign for that. So who is our fastest runner?"

All were momentarily disconcerted by that non sequitur. Then, Carlby saw his point. "Right, we send our fastest man to try to be first in line for wrestling. Our next fastest to javelin, and so forth."

All eyes turned to Cameron. "I'll do my best. Whose names do I give?"

"Mine," said Carlby. "I've wrestled my way round the Mediterranean. I may not be massive, but I'm tricky."

"Bet we English could show you a trick or two," John the Rob chimed in. "I may be small, but I'm slippery. There isn't a hold I can't wiggle my way out of. Sign me up, too."

"And I," said Drummond.

"Aye, add my name to your list," Fionn said.

"But that makes four," Gilliver pointed out, "and Cameron can only sign up three."

"Let me get in line to sign up for the wrestling also," Fkmn volunteered. "What I lack in speed, I make up in size. Judging from the size of some of those contestants, a little muscle backing him up might be of value to Cameron as well."

Then Angus spoke up. "As long as you are going to be there, sign me and Ogilvy up."

"Now, Drummond, you or I—which of us will be able to secure a place in the javelin line?" de Wynter asked, smiling on his friend. "We have not run, against each other in a long time. Who today do you think would win?"

Carlby settled that question. "You both better go. There will be at least six or more of you, not including me. I am no marksman with thrown weapons."

De Wynter agreed. He could, from their youth, name at least six such marksmen: "Myself, Drummond, Ogilvy, Angus, Cameron, and Gilliver."

"If there's room, add my name to the list, too," Fionn spoke up.

"Why not? But we'll need another runner."

"Let that be me," John the Rob spoke up. "I be good at running, having run from the king's guards all my life."

"Menzies, you and Gilliver sign-up those who would run," de Wynter directed.

Carlby, Gilliver, John the Rob, Menzies, Cameron, und de Wynter himself opted for running. The same for jumping, with the exception of de Wynter, who said, "No, strangely enough, I dunk I'll go for the discus, better preparation for the javelin throw."

Fionn nodded consideringly. "Good point. I, too, should prefer the discus."

"Jamie, let me sign you up for it," Gilliver pleaded. De Wynter, studying that solemn, determined face turned so lovingly toward him, had to agree.

As did Carlby, who immediately spoke up. "You do that. I shall measure my own lungs by running to be first in line for the running."

Dourly Angus observed, "That leaves me and Ogilvy to handle the jumping, which we can handle nicely."

As the last handful of grains of sand poured down the funnel-shaped tube, they reviewed their entries:

Wrestling: (Cameron to make the entry) Carlby, Drummond, and John the Rob

(Fionn to make the entry) Himself, Ogilvy, and Angus

Javelin throw: (De Wynter to make the entry) Himself, Ogilvy and Angus

(Drummond to make the entry) Himself, Gilliver and Fionn (John the Rob to make the entry) Cameron

Jumping: (Angus to make the entry) Gilliver, Carlby and John the Rob
(Ogilvy to make the entry) Cameron and Menzies Discus: (Gilliver to make the entry) De Wynter, Fionn and Drummond.

If their calculations were correct, Menzies, Ogilvy, and Angus would compete in the discus throw by default.

Ramlah and Aisha fidgeted nervously. Would the Moulay never appear? As far as they were concerned, if he made just one single appearance to bless the games with his presence, he could then happily disappear forever so far as they were concerned. Ramlah finally sent a messenger to ask his pleasure.

Even as the royal women awaited husband and father, down below in the arena, contestants rushed, pushed, shoved, elbowed, and tripped to be first in their respective lines.

While officials scurried back and forth across the arena, slaves dug up and raked over one section of the arena floor, creating a pit as landing area for the jumping event. For the two throwing events, in another area of the vast arena, measurements were taken and precisely marked with pegs driven deep into the clay beneath the sand. At both ends of the arena, preparations for the stade run were underway, with starting blocks being sunk into the dirt at one end and a finishing line marked at the other, with boxes supplied upon which the judges would stand so that they might better see the winner as he breasted the tape.

Elsewhere, and quite close to the lines of contestants, a mound of dirt, a balbis, was raised, centered between two boards set in the earth, these to indicate rear and front boundary lines for the contestants.

Once these preparations were finished, the slaves withdrew, leaving holes, hills, and boxes marring the smooth sand of the arena. Those contestants who chose to enter but one event and let fate decide the others were limbering up within the open spaces.

The lines of contestants had been long, especially those for wrestling and javelin throwing as the slaves had accurately predicted. However, the scribes were well organized and had evidently memorized the contestants' names, thus speeding things up. So when Cameron, third in line since he'd been tripped on his way, named Carlby, the scribe supplied "England." For Drurnmond, "Scotland," and for John the Rob, a blank. Then Cameron remembered. "Oh, my God, he used another name, what the hell was it?"

Fionn, fifteenth behind him, saw Cameron's problem and called out, "Who?"

"John the Rob, his full---"

"John, Richard's son!"

Cameron breathed a sigh. "John, Richard's son," evoked a reassuring response, "England."

Delays like this were common throughout the registration period, and as a result, the sun had risen much higher than the royals had expected before the games began. However, that gave the Moulay time to arrive. A blast of many ram's horns signaled his tardy arrival, his current favorite mincing at his side, but there was no seat in the royal box for the her/him. Then one must be procured, otherwise the Moulay threatened to go home to Tunis.

As Ramlah and the Moulay argued about how high the stool should be compared to the queen's and the Amira's, the latter nudged Ali, who signaled the
kuddam
to sound the twisted horns again. The contestants, watching the doings in the royal box, actually outnumbered those seated within the amphitheater, not including the silent ones and slaves, of course.

Ion al-Hudaij needed no audience but his master, the Moulay. For him, the
wazier
cupped his hands to his mourn and announced in his most stentorian tones:

"Let the games begin!
Jalala al-malik,
I have the honor to present to you today the reenactment of games which first honored a god and then emperors. First in Greece, later in Rome, and then 2000 years ago in this very glorious amphitheater in the heart of Tunisia. Give us, O Moulay—the blessings of Allah be on you—your permission to begin these games!"

While Ibn al-Hudaij waited breathlessly for his master's answer, the Moulay and Ramlah continued wrangling over which stool the favorite should sit on at the Moulay's feet.

A wazier doesn't tell a Moulay to stop bickering and pay attention
to the matter at hand. Not if he values his head. All Hudaij could do was repeat even louder, "O Moulay, give us your blessings to begin these games."

The Moulay, annoyed, waved his
wazier
to be quiet. The latter seized upon this as his permission to commence.

"Let the games begin! And may Allah look with favor on those who compete, the judges, the assistants, and the spectators themselves, upon whom may Allah be pleased.'
¹

The Moulay reluctantly responded to the cheers of the sparsely filled arena
...
and the more enthusiastic ones of the contestants.
"I
welcome you to this grand occasion. May Allah look with favor on all who are involved."

He sat dpwn. As did Ramlah, half a head lower, and Aisha, one quarter head lower than that, and the favorite, a token lower than that. A
muezzin,
chosen out of hundreds for the carrying quality of -his voice, cried out, "The first event, the discus throw, ninety-four contestants. Each to make three throws—one with the light, one with the medium, one with the heavy. The winner to be he who throws any of the three the greatest distance, so long as it remains within the boundaries, and so long as he commits no foul in the act of throwing. The order of throwing has been determined by a drawing overseen by the judges.
Al jalala
Artemidonis of Tralles, the game is yours. May Allah bless him who competes."