“This one is exceptionally good at vaulting while running full speed,” Hermes put in.
“That narrows it.” He scratched in his grizzled beard. “A couple of years back a man trained here for a while. Ran like the wind and loved cross-country racing. That calls for lots of vaulting, of course. He answered your description, too. A Roman. What was his name, now? Domitius, that was it, Caius Domitius.”
The man had been using the praenomen Caius, not that it meant much, but it was a possibility. “Do you have any information on him?” I asked. “Any records?”
He shook his head. “If he’d been a member who paid by the year or the month we’d have some record of him, but he just came in and paid by the day for use of the facility. Half the men who come through here are day users.”
Hermes had been scanning the athletes in the yard. “Did he work with a particular trainer?”
“He mostly worked out alone, like most cross-country runners, but I know he worked with at least one for technique drill. Let me see.” He whistled loudly and all activity stopped. Everyone looked puzzled as he crossed the yard, calling the trainers to him. When they were gathered he talked to them in a low voice.
“He doesn’t seem very curious about these questions,” Hermes noted.
“He’s a foreigner,” I said. “Ionic Greek, by his accent. Aliens are usually reluctant to delve too deeply into what looks like Roman trouble.”
The head trainer returned with another man, this one small and thin, the classic build of the long-distance runner. He was sandy-haired and had blue eyes, his skin deeply tanned.
“This is Aulus Paullus. He worked with the man you are asking after.”
The euphoniously named man nodded. “What do you need to know, Senator? I’m afraid I can’t tell you a lot. He wasn’t here long.” His accent was pure Latium: from the district around Rome. I took this as a good sign.
“First off, was the man a real Roman?”
“Talked like he was born within the pomerium, which is unusual for a long-distance runner. They’re usually from the rural areas or work as messengers for the big estates. City boys more often train for the dashes. You have to be able to endure a lot of pain to be a distance runner.”
“Yes, we urban people are soft and degenerate,” I agreed. “Do you have any idea of his status? Was he born free or a freedman?”
He thought about that for a while. “He spoke well, when he spoke at all. I think if he was born a slave, he must’ve been schooled with the master’s children.”
“But he didn’t speak much?” I asked.
“Mostly he was saving his wind for running.”
“Do you know if he competed in any of the major games?” Hermes asked. I should have thought of that.
“If you mean the Olympics or the Isthmian or any of the great ones in Greece, I don’t think so. Everyone who competes in those brags about it for the rest of his life, and Domitius never mentioned it.”
“There was a time,” the head trainer said sourly, “when only full-blooded Hellenes could compete in the great games. Now Romans can compete.”
“There was a time,” Hermes said, “when foreigners couldn’t be Roman citizens, too. Times change.”
“Let’s stick to the subject at hand,” I admonished.
“Sorry, Senator,” the head trainer said.
“Did he mention competing in games around here?” I pressed on.
“He said a couple of times a year he went south to run in the Greek games at Cumae. Most of the Greeks in Italy live down south. Didn’t mention taking home any prizes, though.”
“Are there any such games held at or near Rome?” I asked.
“None that feature cross-country running,” the head trainer said. “There’s an informal meet held at the Circus Flaminius on the calends of every month. Nothing official, no prizes or palms or wreaths awarded, but most of the serious athletes attend, to keep in practice for the major games. But the running events are all of the stadium sort. No long-distance races.”
They had no more to offer, and I thanked them. Hermes and I made our way to three other gymnasiums but none had any better prospects.
“So you think this Domitius is our man?” Hermes said as we lounged in the baths just off the Forum.
“It isn’t much,” I said, “but it’s the best lead we’ve got.”
“Domitius is a patrician name, isn’t it?”
“Only the ones surnamed Albinus, and that family is almost extinct, though their plebeian branch is still prominent. The rest are all plebeian. The Domitius Ahenobarbus and the Domitius Calvus families are plebeian. And there are plenty of plebeians named just plain Domitius.”