Wayward Son (28 page)

“According to the Egyptology experts, the mark probably predates the original inscriptions. They believe it was chiseled right after the stone was quarried. You know the history of the obelisk, of course? It was originally erected by Ramesses II around 1200 BC. Then it was brought to Rome by Augustus in 10 BC and was placed in the
Circus Maximus
. It’s been in Piazza del Popolo since 1589.”

Notombo considered for a few moments before commenting, “With the tremendous disparities in time and place among these artifacts, I can understand your astonishment over this mark.”

“Indeed, my friend. This mystery that began over four decades ago, and still remains to be solved, has become a personal quest for me. The artifacts all bear the same mark, yet they cannot possibly be the work of a single artist. My working hypothesis is that they are the products of a society of skilled artisans and engineers, a secret guild that is still unbeknownst to modern archaeology and that must have endured for centuries.”

“I know of no historical precedent for such a group, Eminenza.”

“Nor do I. Certainly not in the particular time period in question. For lack of a better name, I have dubbed this artisan ‘society’ the Incogniti. It’s scarcely an original name,” Ravatti chuckled. “There was a group of intellectuals called
Accademia degli Incogniti
, the Academy of the Unknowns, in Venice in the mid-1600s. But if my Incogniti are shown to be historical, the discovery will be a major revelation. Think of multiple incarnations of Leonardo da Vinci, extending over more than a millennium!”

“And what is the relevance of this last item?” asked Notombo, as he picked up the color photograph from Silvio Sforza’s e-mail.

“This digital photograph came in this morning from Silvio,” clarified Ravatti. “It is a picture of the large bronze doors leading to the central chamber at the new dig in Ercolano. I think you know where to look, Gabriel.”

There, in the lower right-hand corner of the photograph, Notombo recognized the same artist’s mark. Even though he had expected its presence, it still caused him to shiver slightly.

“What Silvio has discovered could hold the key to the entire mystery. I surmise that behind these doors may lurk many more artifacts of the Incogniti. And that, my friend, is why we are flying this morning to Ercolano,” declared the cardinal as he rose and looked at his watch.

“Let’s get underway. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive to the Vatican on a Sunday. Come, we’ll stop on the way at the Piazza del Popolo so you can see the mark on the obelisk for yourself!”

CHAPTER 34

Greece, 520 BC

“YOU ARE AWARE, SIR, that the games started with a single footrace?” the man walking alongside Cain asked him. While strolling through the sanctuary of Zeus on his way to the opening ceremonies of the Olympic Games, Cain chatted idly with a spectator.

“You don’t say!” Cain affected astonishment. Of course he knew about the footrace.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” the man rattled on. “A footrace of two hundred yards. Exactly two centuries ago. Hercules won that race. He was accustomed to victory. Then he ordered that games be held every four years. No one dared to disobey him.”

“I expect not,” Cain replied. “But I thought there was a different story about how the games began. Something about Zeus and his father Cronus wrestling for control of the world?”

“You can believe that one if you want to, sir,” the man sniffed haughtily. “The story about Hercules is historical
fact
.”

Cain chuckled to himself at the man’s comment. For many centuries he had felt a satisfying sense of purpose in recording and sharing human history and tales from the past. In addition, the blurring of mythology with reality so common to the era had earned him a comfortable living. Yet, soon after collaborating with the master poet Homer, he began to experience a decline in his passion for, and eventually outright boredom with, the vocation he and Tanith had jointly discovered.

With the onward march of technology and the development of city-states, life as a wandering bard had now become obsolete, he thought. Largely due to Cain, the Homeric epics had been committed to writing. Although most Greeks still regarded Homer as their encyclopedia, new forms of literary expression were emerging. These ranged from lyric poetry to philosophy and natural history.

Simply put, there were so many entertainment options on the menu that few people ordered what Cain was serving any more. Yet, even as the literary scene exploded in Greece, interest in athletics had never been stronger. Greeks could now travel to sporting events of the finest quality every summer. There was a vigorous energy in all this, and Cain realized that the adulation of a stadium crowd of thousands was of a higher order of magnitude than late-night listeners’ praise of a storyteller in a small taverna. And so he had committed himself to finding a new vocation, a search that had brought him to Olympia.

His first efforts to qualify for the games had begun six years ago. He focused on the footraces, especially the two-
stade
race wherein competitors ran the double length of the stadium, approximately four hundred meters. After a grueling eighteen months in solo training, he had succeeded in qualifying for the Olympics of 524 BC as a representative of Athens. But he underestimated the competition and lost to a competitor from Croton, a colony the Greeks had established recently in southern Italy. The evening of his loss, his mind circled back to a footrace improvised long ago.

“Anyone can run a single length of the field, Abel. You need a bigger challenge. Try racing for two lengths, then three. Let’s start today. I know you can do it. I’ll be your trainer.”

“Would you teach me racing, Cain?” Abel asked. “You are so swift-footed… I don’t know if I could ever compete with you.”

“You can if you have the desire, brother. We will turn your superior strength and size to your advantage. You will make me proud.”

This second return to Olympia for the games of 520 BC marked a turning point in Cain’s aspirations. Although he narrowly won his event this time, his victory was overshadowed by the exploits of a man whose name was now on everyone’s lips:
Milo of Croton
. At the age of eighteen, long before Cain’s first Olympic competition, this youth had emerged as the victor in the boys’ wrestling. Most seasoned spectators agreed that he had not only won, but also displayed the confidence and technique of a prodigy. Milo, it was said, would mature into the greatest wrestler in Olympic history.

This prediction had turned out to be accurate. Over the next twenty years in the men’s wrestling, Milo triumphed five times. Tracking his career, Cain had to admit that he had fallen into the category of a fan as Milo captured larger-than-life celebrity status.

And so, at these Olympics of 520, when Milo was in his late thirties, a fascinated Cain finally sought out the legend. For a sports celebrity, he found the great champion to be surprisingly accessible. The two men chatted at the final champions’ banquet, with Milo cheerfully volunteering news from Croton and Cain countering with the talk of Athens, where citizens were experimenting with a novel form of government called democracy.

“So when will you visit Croton?” the wrestler asked Cain. “It would be a pleasure to have you stay with me and my family. You have heard of
Pythagoras
?”

“The man from Samos, the founder of the
mathematikoi
?” Cain asked. After his self-imposed exile from his native island, word of the storied philosopher’s secret society in southern Italy had spread throughout the Mediterranean world.

“Indeed,” Milo replied. “I am married to his daughter Myia. A strange alliance, is it not? A wrestler and a mathematician. Yet in a curious way we do the same thing. The opponents with whom Pythagoras struggles are formidable, but since they are numbers, they are also invisible.”

Cain was mildly intrigued, but the chance to meet yet another luminary was hardly his motivation for accepting Milo’s invitation.

“I will come to Croton soon. You have my word.”

CHAPTER 35

South Italy and Greece, 520–516 BC

SHORTLY INTO HIS STAY with Milo, Cain decided to make Croton his home. The colony was burgeoning, and the Mediterranean climate, long favored by Cain, was even better on the Gulf of Taranto than it was in Greece. Milo was as good as his word, welcoming his Athenian guest, introducing him to friends and family, and eventually locating a small homestead near the harbor where Cain could live.

“I know my wrestling days are numbered,” Milo confided to Cain one day. “This body is reluctant to yield up its secrets, but wrestling remains a young man’s game.”

“You will always be the ultimate champion,” Cain replied, sensing the opportunity he had hoped for. “But if you can no longer compete, why not become a trainer? Who has more valuable insights and skills than you? It would be a way to remain involved in the sport that you love more than anything in the world.”

The taller man looked distantly above Cain’s head. “And whom would I teach? I can scarcely imagine anyone worthy.”

“You are looking at your first pupil,” Cain replied with a smile.

Milo looked at Cain incredulously. “Oh, is that so? Take off your cloak so that I may see if you are a fit enough young Athenian to serve under my tutelage.”

Cain untied the knot under his chin and threw his tunic to the ground, revealing a perfectly proportioned body sculpted of solid muscle. His torso and back resembled chiseled stone, and his sectioned abdomen quivered with every breath he took while awaiting Milo’s verdict.

“I have tried to keep myself in shape over the years,” quipped Cain.

Milo’s eyebrows arched upward in complete surprise as he appraised the physique of his younger apprentice.

“In the name of Zeus! For a runner, you have more brawn than any Spartan soldier I have ever seen! You indeed have the physical frame of a potential champion. Now we will see if you also have the heart to compete.”

So the two of them embarked on a brutal regimen. Day after day, week after week, they haunted the palaestra in Croton. Anointing their bodies with oil and then sprinkling them with dust, they began each day with stretches, weight lifting, and rope climbing before progressing to an exhausting roster of wrestling moves that persisted well into each evening. Milo was a stern taskmaster, but Cain was more than up to the challenge.

***

After Cain performed outstandingly at a tryout in Delphi at the Pythian Games of 518 BC, Milo pronounced him ready for training at the Olympic level. The two redoubled their efforts, right up to the day before the Olympic Games of 516 BC. Even for Cain, the pace was grueling.

Milo was especially aggressive in their last practice match before the games began. Catching Cain by surprise, Milo lifted his young apprentice over his head and brutally slammed him to the ground, landing on top of him. The sound of ribs snapping was unmistakable. Cain could hardly breathe, the pain was so intense. He waved off Milo’s hand, outstretched to pull him to his feet.

“What was
that
?” Cain snapped. “You could have killed me with that illegal throw.” He tried to speak softly to mitigate the sharp stabs racking his wounded torso.

“Sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” his trainer replied, but in a tone Cain did not like.

And then Milo dropped a bombshell. “And by the way, I will be competing one last time tomorrow—a farewell appearance for my legions of fans!”

“What? Are you sure? Perhaps it’s time to get out while you’re still undefeated,” Cain sputtered, now realizing the depths of his master’s competitive nature.

“Nonsense!” Milo thundered. “You are wise to be afraid of me, student. Just so you know, I had made up my mind to retire, but Croton won’t hear of it. They are so used to boasting of champions that I would feel like a traitor if I refused. Why, even King Darius of Persia has sent a message urging me to compete. When the greatest king in the world bids you perform an action, it’s dangerous to deny him.”

Cain sat stunned. Milo was indeed a calculating man, and not just at mathematics.

Milo added, “I have wrestled with far worse injuries. Now we shall truly see if you have the makings of a champion, or are simply a goat.”

Callously walking away from his breathless student, Milo glanced back. “In case you do wrestle tomorrow, don’t think for a minute I’ve taught you everything I know. No master wants to be bested by a
former
pupil.”

Recognizing psychological warfare when he heard it, Cain remained silent and sat stone-faced. Thoughts of revenge swirled in his mind.

That evening, his dreams brought a disturbing vision from a time long past.

***

“Come with me to the wheat field, my brother. I have something to show you.”