Another result of the change was a vast increase in the betting, of which the various races were the subject. Things were very much as they are now. There was a multitude of people who speculated on these events in very various ways. Some did so simply to get a little excitement. They were ready to make wagers on races and on almost anything else. They had no particular knowledge of them or even interest in them. It was an opportunity of gambling; the gambling was what they really cared about. Others had some kind of interest in them. They had been competitors themselves, had won prizes, or tried to win prizes, in former years, or they knew one or other of the candidates, or they affected a knowledge which they did not really possess. [181] There was no great harm about these two classes. They risked money, it was true, which they could ill spare, and sometimes made wives and children go short of food and clothing; their worst misdeed was to risk what did not in any way belong to them, the property, for instance, of employers. But the most mischievous class was that of the professional betters. Even of these some were honest up to their lights. They took advantage, it is true, of the ignorant and unwary, tempting them, for instance, to take as risks what were really certainties against them. Still they did not descend to downright fraud. If they lost a wager they did not attempt to escape payment; and they did not seek to tamper with competitors or judges. But these men, honest or comparatively honest, were the exception. The great majority of the professional class had no scruples as to the methods by which they made their gain. They bribed or “hocussed” competitors; they corrupted judges, they tampered with implements; they organized demonstrations which might terrify or perplex a candidate whose victory did not suit their operations. There was nothing, in short, in the way of fraud, and even of force, to which, if occasion served, they were not ready to have recourse.
To this highly objectionable class belonged [182] the three men whom I am now about to bring under the notice of my readers. These fellows, Cleon, Democles, and Ariston by name, had been accomplices in sundry nefarious practices for some years. They had made, first and last, no small amount of money by their villainies, but their gains, as happens almost invariably with men of this stamp, seemed to have done them but very little good. They had been lightly come by and had gone lightly, and now they were about as “hard up” as men could well be. It is needless to describe how they stood in regard to other contests in the forthcoming games; it will suffice to say that their prospects were neither particularly good nor particularly bad. They did not stand to lose or to win any great sum. With the long race the case was different. They had begun by giving long odds against Eubulus. This was reasonable enough. The young man when he had begun his training had not shown any special promise, and then there were the adverse family circumstancesthey made it their business to make themselves acquainted with everything that was likely to tell upon the resultto be taken into account. He might have to be withdrawn from the competition, as we know he would have been withdrawn but for the quite unforeseen intervention of a [183] friend. These and other reasons made them feel tolerably safe in laying heavy wagers against him. Then the situation changed. The young man developed wonderfully under the trainer’s hands; from being almost or wholly unknown, “a dark horse,” to use the phraseology of the racecourse, he became the first favourite. This, of course, was nothing less than a disaster to the confederates. There needs no great familiarity with the methods of betting to see that men who had been laying, say twenty to one, against him, would stand to lose considerably when the odds come to be two to one upon him. To secure themselves in the case of his winning they would have to risk a sum which they would be absolutely unable to pay; while in the event of his being beaten they would be losing a considerable sum. To making a default in payment they had no objection in conscience, but they had the objection that it would put an end to their career, as far at least as Corinth was concerned. (Footnote: For the benefit of readers to whom these things seem obscure, I may explain the situation. The confederates had wagered twenty talents (say ?4,218) to one talent (say ?211) against Eubulus winning the long race: i.e. if he won they would have to pay ?4,218; if he lost they would receive ?211. To secure themselves against loss in the event of his winning, which they now perceived to be probable, they would have to wager ?8,436 against ?4,218. The result would be that if he won, they would receive on the second wager the same sum that they would have to pay on the first. If he was beaten, which of course was quite possible, for accidents might happen, they would have to pay ?8,436 and receive ?211.)
[184] The three rogues were busy discussing the situation in a tavern near the harbour of Lechaeum, a favourite haunt of these men because it was much frequented by sailors, anxious, as has been the way of the sailor from the days of the first ship, to get rid of their money.
“Well, Cleon,” said Ariston, “have you had any success with the young man?”
“None at all,” answered Cleon. “But I never thought that I should. He is not of that sort.”
“Would it be of any good, think you, to raise the price? I have heard wise men say that there is nothing that you cannot persuade a man to do if you only offer him enough.”
“Your wise man, I take it, did not know what he was talking about. Anyhow money won’t buy him. He may have his price, but it is something, you may depend upon it, that we can’t pay him. Now if we could promise him the fair Cleonice,” the rascal had made it his business to find out all that he could about the young man, “it might be to the point; but I don’t see how that is to be done. No: he is [185] not to be bought. We must think of some other way of setting to work.”
“How about the trainer?” asked Ariston after a pause. “He is not so incorruptible, I suppose. At least I never knew one of the craft that was.”
“Well,” replied Cleon, “I don’t see much of a chance in that direction either. You see, Eurylochus”this was the trainer’s name“has a very good business, and he has got it together by keeping a good name. Whether he is honest by choice is more than I can say; but he is certainly honest by necessity. It would not be worth his while to do anything shady, or that was in the least suspicious. No: he would certainly want as much as he would ask if he were to sell his business, not to say anything at all of the bother and risk. If he were willing, and I am not at all sure of that, he would want more than we could manage. No: as far as I can see there is nothing to be got out of Eurylochus.”
The third conspirator, Democles, who had hitherto been listening in silence, now broke in:
“I have another idea which might be worth trying. Could we find some one else in the training school to help us? There are some thirty fellows there, and some of them must [186] have begun by this time to find out that they haven’t much of a chance of getting a prizethat they have, in fact, been spending time and money to no purpose. Might not one of them be glad to get something back, and be not very particular about the way of doing it? The particular way of doing it will be matter for consideration later on. Eubulus might be hocussedI know a fellow who is very clever in this kind of thingor some accident might be contrived; or there is the old way of the dagger, not a bad way either, for dead men can tell no tales and ask no questions. How does this strike you, Cleon?”
“I think there is something in it,” answered the man appealed to. “It would be very strange if all Eurylochus’ thirty pupils were men of such incorruptible virtue as our friend Eubulus seems to be.”
The thirty were discussed one by one. The three rogues showed between them an amazing knowledge of the circumstances of every one of them. The choice was soon narrowed down to a few. No decent man with anything like a future before him could be induced to meddle with such a business, and it would be only dangerous to approach them. It was not long before a final selection was made. A certain [187] Dromeus (Footnote: Dromeus means “the runner.”) was fixed upon as the most likely to serve the conspirators’ purpose. He was a degenerate descendant of a famous race of athletes. The founder of that race had distinguished himself several centuries before by winning a quite unprecedented number of victories in the long race. He had been proclaimed victor twice at Olympia, as often at the Pythian Games, thrice at the Isthmian and five times at the Nemean. It is quite possible that the revolution that he made in the athletic diethe changed its staple from cheese to fleshmay have had something to do with these unusual successes, but he must have had a great personal aptitude. Athletic distinction of this kind became hereditary in his family; the name, the significance of which was regarded as a matter of no small importance, was handed down from father to son. If there happened to be a break in the succession, it was taken up by the nearest relative.