by Carl E. Mullin ©2020
Olympia. Elis. Greece.
Noumenia. The New Moon. July. Dusk.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
The leather-skin of a great drum thundered as the big oak sticks struck it at an easy pace. The drum was mammoth and set horizontal on its marble stands carved in bull-likeness. It was called odaiko and made in nagado style with two sides of skin seven feet in diameter and weighed three tons. Sited at the top of the hill overlooking the ancient Olympic site, it was a gift from the Emperor of Imperial Nippon to Zeus Allfather.
Two men, young and in full muscular glory, stood on either end with nothing but their sticks. They performed their ritual by calling all men to attend the drawing of the sacred lots for the location of the new Games.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
Tap. Tap. Tap, her walking stick sounded out her steps. The bent oracle of Dodona leaned on her two priest attendants who helped her scale the marble steps to the twilighting summit of this large hill. For seventy years she had climbed those steps, every four years.
Once, she was a girl of fifteen in the springtime of her life, her eyes bright with an eager devotion to her lord who had made her his oracle, his holy Dove. After her lots were drawn, she assumed her position in his great oak tree. When she first saw the holy oak, she thought it a great hand thrusting out of the earth, its five fingers branching out into a mass of shivering leaves decorated with musical chimes. She sat on the open palm of this sacred hand-like oak and closed her eyes and bent her ears to hear her Master’s wind-swept messages in the soft rustling of leaves and to the tinning of the chimes made by the breeze and the doves. To sit in the palm of his mighty hand she felt a great peace and security and importance. She felt her lord’s fatherly affection. He was her father, her lord, her master, and her lover and she rejoiced in being able to comfort and to guide her people for her lover penetrated her in the gentle breezes amid the gentle tones of the chimes. She was her lord’s Dove.
Now she had grown old and weak. She peeked over her shoulder. Her three assistant oracles followed in her footsteps. One was a middle-aged matron. The other was just late in her fertile years. In the middle, a girl with a springfresh face was barely into her fifteen of age, her eyes afire with a desire to serve Zeus. The Dove looked straight ahead and smiled. So eager, so much like herself once. The training was a task she had and will continue to enjoy.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
Closer to the top, the Dove nodded to the various dignities who came to witness the drawing, the ambassadors of different powers the world over. The representatives of the Guardian Council of Great States; Athens, Sparta, Corinth, Thebes, Dion and Rhodes. They had effective control over Olympia though Elis was supposed to be in charge of the sacred games. Then the priests and priestesses from the Sacred College.
The two priests from the College stood apart, having been selected by the lots to verify the integrity of the lots to be drawn tonight. One was a druid of Tours while the other was a priest of Hera-Frigg in Stockholm. They bowed a slight bow to the Dove since she occupied one of the greatest oracles in the world and in charge of the tonight’s event. She nodded in return.
She continued to climb, past the great altar and up to the summit where a throne awaited her. A flat iron cauldron, five feet in diameter, sat behind it on a stark simple pillar. Its gas-fired flame burnt in silence, lightening up the odaiko behind it. She looked up higher. A half-circle of twelve Doric columns stood around the drum, bearing up a plain cornice atop architrave capitals as if to hold up the darkening sky.
She reached her throne and faced the decent of the great hill.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
Far off, the sunset behind the towering clouds, outlining their bellowing shapes in pale red light. Blue shadows crept across the river plains running west between the two hilly ranges. Watering the plains were the westbound Alphus and the southbound Kadeos. They met and flowed together, draining the mountains and hills of central Peloponnese into the wine-dark Mediterranean Sea, leaving behind a narrow land, rich and fertile. She looked to the south. A complex of temples rose between the rivers, resplendent in their fluted marble columns and reddish terracotta titled roofs. The sanctuary of Olympia stretched eastward from Kadeas to the vast athletic grounds. The long hill she now stood on was hard on the temples’ north. It was called Mount Kronos.
Long ago when the world was young, the Titans strode earth. One of these behemoths was Kronos of the stone sickle and he was their leader. Their king. Before he went mad. When he explored the world, he often came here to enjoy the sight of peaceful greenery full of giant plants and great lizards. Over centuries this hill came to be called Kronos’s Hill and there was peace. Then the war came. Zeus rose up against the Mad Titan. He left and was never seen again. Yet the name stood and it remained his hill after millions of years.
She lifted her eyes. The new moon was rising high. The sky was clear and warm. It was a good sign. Movement caught her eyes. A group of men were crowding up these long steps to the altar. A garlanded black bull was in the middle, following with meekness as he shook his head in a lazy motion. Her eyes still on the bull, she asked a priest, “The bull?”
“Impeachable, ma’am.”
“Have you inspected him?”
“Yes,” he nodded at the bull. “Perfect.”
“Has he come…willingly?”
“We have waited three hours in the herd with patience. Then he alone stepped forward to us. Yes, Dove, he is willing.”
She nodded with a grave understanding at the gentle bull below. “Is he prepared?”
Another man bent down, a doctor. “I gave him enough shot. He won’t feel a thing.”
“Thank you. He was kind and we shall be kind to him.” She looked at the bull, black and beautiful. Fate.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
She stood up with some struggle and looked out west at the horizon where the clouds gathered. She began the ritual with a prayer to Zeus.
“Kharis! Zeus, Father of Gods and Men, the mighty rebel-born scion of Kronos, and keeper of the natural order, hear our prayers. The Thunderer who drew lots with brothers Poseidon and Hades to divide the world, hear our prayers. Zeus, the father of lionskin-wearing Herakles who founded these sacred games here at Olympia in your honor, hear our prayers and attend to us your devotees. We gathered here tonight under the new moon to inaugurate the new year, the Olympiad year 631. Let this be the year of peace throughout the world, a year of joy and celebration to be culminated in the great games in your honor. Bless us, Father Zeus, and bless these games and bless this year aborning with peace and success. Come, mighty King of the Gods, and select for us the site where we may hold the sacred games through the lots we shall draw tonight. If this pleases you, then accept this bull, full of power and grace, as the seal between us this covenant. Show us thy sign!”
The drummers picked up the pace on their drum as the men gathered around the bull. They guided the meek beast to lie down on his side on the altar. A knife flashed in the fading pink light and the priest kissed the blade. With a prayer and a blessing a maid dipped her oak leaf into a bowl of sacred water and sprinkled it onto the beast’s head. The knife did its effective work. The bowl filled up with a great red volume. Her hand rested on the beast’s head and she sang a soft song to him. His ear twitched and he closed his eyes for a final sleep.
The Dove watched the act and closed her eyes. “Fate,” she whispered. He has done his part well and died a good death. His meat will be shared with the poor and children of Elis as has been for centuries. Even with the increased plenty over the last two hundred years since the first steam machine, there will always be the poor and the meat will serve to enable a new generation to be born. Blood will continue to flow from one generation into next and into the Ages yet to come.
The maid looked on the victim and whispered, “Kharis.” Then she climbed the stairs to the Dove who dipped her fingers to anoint her forehead with a red mark. The others did likewise in silent reverence.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
Dun…dun…dun…DUM…dun.
She looked up. The night shrouded the land. She nodded.
The drummers started their furious music, pounding the skins with manic energy.
A lightning flashed far off. Then darkness.
The drumming continued as their backs flowed with sweat in the midsummer night’s heat.
Another flash. Their massive arms wielded their sticks like warriors beating back a formidable foe, their hearts filled with a masculine disdain for the world. Many souls stirred as they watched the far-off clouds. Then a low and deep rumble shook the earth. It terminated in a sudden ear-shattering crash.
The Dove closed her eyes in rapture. Their sacrifice was accepted.
Below the altar was another terrace where a large wired ball with a crank was set up. They spun the ball and it rattled with thousands of chips inside. After a few minutes the ball stopped and a hatch was unlatched. A maiden stepped forth with a large gold-trimmed bowl decked with rubies and emeralds and topaz. She thrust the bowl inside the wire-ball and scooped up a hundred chips. She then brought the full bowl to a smaller wire-ball and emptied them inside.
Another spinning. The crowd watched with interest. The process had been set up centuries ago after it was discovered that the priests of Delphi took bribes from the Athenian patriots to create a false prophecy commanding Sparta to help overthrow the Athenian tyrant, Hippias. Zeus’s will must not be fogged by possible fraud, hence the various steps now taken.
The spinning ended and another maid stepped forward. With a short prayer, she closed her eyes and reached through the opened hatch. Her fingers dug in and pulled out a chip. She opened her eyes and gave a priest her selection. The priest then gave the chip to one of the two witnesses from the College, the druid. He examined it with a keen eye and then authenticated it. The priest reclaimed the chip and walked a few steps to the priest from Stockholm who authenticated it as well.
The priest then climbed the stairs to the Dove who took it and snapped the plastic shell apart. After this event all chips would be destroyed by fire. She pulled out a slip of paper and read it out loud.
“London! The Games shall be held in London!”
The word went forth from Olympia to proclaim a year of Zeus’s peace and of the new games to be held in London. They spread the good news, on foot, in a horseless carriage, by the train, by radio, and by electronic letter.
Throughout the states of Greece the ribbons flew.
In the Second Roman Republic, the Greek Egypt, and in the Iberian Empire, the wine poured with abandon.
In West Frankia, the German Confederation, and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, the temples were garlanded with fresh flowers.
In England, Sweden, the Republic of Novgorod and the Grand Duchy of Moscow, the bonfires burnt bright.
In the three kingdoms of China, Imperial Nippon, the various powers of India, the incense burnt by thousands at the shrines of ancestors and heroes.
In New Vinland and the multiple nations of Vinlionars peopling the Westlands and the New Nippon Eastlands, sacrifices of thanksgiving were made.
In the sea cities and among the sky tribes crossing the vast realms of air and seas, the fathers set forth to claim their sons’ bones.
In the sparkling gold domed cities of Luna and the spinning colonies and mined asteroids necklancing Earth, the lovers kissed.
In the marshlands of Venus and the forests of Mars and New Troy of the asteroid belt, the children raced home for a fresh holiday with their families.
On the windships and in the flow-cities of Jupiter, the best cigars were exchanged.
Everywhere the guns fell silent, the generals invited each other for sake, and the diplomats met for fresh talks. Everywhere, the new Olympiad year of 631 looked promising. Perchance, this Peace of the Gods will bring a more lasting peace and ease for years to come.
Or so they hoped.