He had just begun to wrap the thin linen straps around his right knee when a man entered the tent. The man was tall and thin and his face pale and pink, an unusual look in this village, which had been peopled for the last week by athletes from all over Greece, sturdy men, nut-brown from working in the sun.

"Worried about your knees, Miros?" the thin man said. He was in his sixties, and he showed his years, and as Miros looked up at him, he realized sadly that Plinates was old. Plinates had been the head of the Council of Elders ever since Miros had been a boy, and now the thin man had grown old in the service of the village. Miros was glad he did not have to work with his head, but labored instead with his arms and legs and back. Plinates looked as if he were going to die soon.

Miros grunted no reply at all.

Then he realized that was rude and he said, "I am dedicated to the service of Zeus, but when he created men, he could have given a little more thought to their knees."

Miros spoke slowly and continued wrapping his right knee with the linen bandage. "No matter how big a man may grow, he has exactly the same knees as a little man. It does not seem to me to make much sense." He added quickly, "But of course, Zeus does not confide his plans to me."

Plinates grunted and sat on a cushion across from Miros as the dark-haired giant continued to wrap. First seven strips of linen from left to right. Then four strips of linen, vertically, along the length of the leg. Then four more strips from right to left. Finally, thin linen laces to hold the bandage in place. Then the left knee.

"I have seen your opponent," Plinates said. "He looks very strong."

"He is very strong," Miros said. "Ottonius is very strong. But he is a boy and I am a man."

"You were not much more than a boy when first you were victorious here," Plinates said. "One must beware of boys. They call this one The Knife."