And now we Greeks got ready for the sacrifice we had vowed. Enough cattle had come in for us to offer thank offerings to Zeus the Saviour for keeping us safe, and to Heracles for guiding us, and to the other gods, according to our vows. We also held an athletic contest on the mountain side to celebrate, just where we were camped. We elected Dracontius as president of the games. He was a Spartan who had been banished from home when he was a boy for accidentally killing another boy with his dagger. He refereed the race course.

As soon as the sacrifices were over, we handed the animal hides over to Dracontius, and told him to lead the way to his racecourse. He just waved his hand and pointed right where we were standing, and said, "Here, this ridge is just the place for running, anywhere, everywhere."

We asked: "But how can we manage to wrestle on this hard scrubby ground?"

"Oh! All the worse for anyone who gets thrown down," the president replied.

There was a mile race for boys; most of them were captive boys. For the long race more than sixty Cretans competed. There was wrestling, boxing, and the free for all ultimate fighting championship. It was all a beautiful spectacle. There was a large number of entries. And the competition, with all their boyfriends, and girlfriends, standing there as spectators, it was immense. There was horse racing, too. The riders had to gallop down a steep hill to the sea, and then turn around and come back up to the altar. On the way down more than half of them rolled head over heels. And then back they came toiling up the tremendous steep, scarcely out of a walking pace. You should have heard all the shouting and laughing and cheering.