‘We could see if any of your other horses react to the sound of a shrill flute,’ explained Flavia, ‘before they get out on the course,’
‘Don’t you even want to know?’ said Jonathan. ‘It can’t hurt and it might help. It might even save a charioteer’s life.’
Urbanus narrowed his eyes at them. ‘I don’t see how you can be right.’ He stood back and gestured towards the stalls. ‘But go ahead and try. Most of the horses running in the next few races are already here.’
Nubia pulled her flute out from beneath the neck of her tunic and blew the highest sound she could. Instantly there was a thunderous crashing beside them, as a stallion went wild in his stall. They all turned and stared in amazement.
‘Master of the Universe,’ breathed Urbanus, ‘he was going to run in the first race after lunch.’
The horse kicking his stall and screaming in fear was Sagitta.
‘I knew it!’ cried Jonathan. ‘Finding Sagitta was too easy. Someone meant for us to find him. And right before the race, so there’d be no time to discover his new fear.’
Urbanus had sent a rider to the Campus Martius to bring Scopas. Meanwhile, he and Nubia were trying to calm Sagitta, who had knocked his groom unconscious and broken the arm of a stable boy.
‘I think you’re right, Jonathan,’ murmured Flavia as she watched Urbanus and Nubia try to sooth the frenzied horse.
‘Sagitta was like a Trojan horse,’ added Jonathan, ‘only filled with fear, not Greek soldiers.’
Flavia nodded. ‘I’ve never seen a horse so terrified. Oh, Jonathan!’ she gasped.
‘What?’
‘We’ve been so stupid. They don’t beat the horse while they play the flute. They burn him!’
‘The heartless scum!’ muttered Jonathan.
Lupus nodded his agreement and angrily smacked his fist into his hand.
By the time Scopas galloped into the pavilion on a small bay stallion, Sagitta stood quietly, but his coat was drenched with sweat and his whole body still trembled.
‘What is it?’ asked Scopas, jumping off the horse.
‘Sagitta went berserk,’ said Urbanus, mopping his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic, ‘just like Merula. They’ve both been trained to fear a flute.’ He glanced at Flavia and nodded. ‘Probably by association with fire, as you said. Luckily this African girl managed to calm him.’ They all looked at Nubia, who was still speaking quietly to Sagitta and stroking his neck.
‘We can’t run Sagitta in the race,’ continued Urbanus. ‘If someone blows a flute or a whistle or even utters a high-pitched scream, he’ll go berserk.’
‘Couldn’t you plug his ears with wax, like Odysseus and the sirens?’ said Flavia.
‘No,’ said Urbanus. ‘A horse would never run if you plugged his ears with wax. Besides, the poor creature is utterly exhausted from that outburst. Master of the Universe, I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Scopas looked up at Urbanus. ‘Pegasus can take Sagitta’s place in the alpha team.’
‘He hasn’t had enough training.’
‘Glaucus gives Pegasus courage. They go well together. Let me drive,’ said Scopas. ‘Scopas does not understand people but Scopas understands horses. I will lead the alpha team to victory.’
‘You’ve never won a race before,’ said Urbanus.
‘I won yesterday.’
‘That was a slow practice run.’
‘I won at Delphi. I won two palms.’
‘This is Rome, boy, not the provinces,’ said Urbanus with a scowl, but Flavia could tell his resolve was wavering.
‘Three charioteers are now yellow,’ said Scopas. ‘I am very light. I will go fast. Please, sir.’
‘What have you got to lose?’ asked Flavia.
‘Plenty,’ muttered Urbanus. ‘If the Greens lose many more races the dominus factionis will appoint another head trainer. I’ll probably end up shovelling manure.’ He turned to Scopas. ‘All right, boy. But don’t tell anyone what we plan to do. You’d better ride back to the Campus Martius and fetch Pegasus. The African girl can tie up his mane and tail while we’re finding you a suit. The rest of you: Out!’
Flavia pulled Jonathan and Lupus out the wide doorway of the Greens’ pavilion into the brilliant noonday sun. ‘It’s time for action,’ she said. ‘We can’t just sit around waiting for the next disaster. We’ve got to try to anticipate what they’ll do next.’
‘What who will do next?’ said Jonathan.
‘Whoever’s been sabotaging the horses, of course!’ said Flavia. ‘Whether they’re in the Greens or not. Here’s my plan. There’s one more race, then lunch, then Pegasus runs with the alpha team. But the culprit still thinks Sagitta will be running.’
‘Unless the culprit is Urbanus.’
‘I don’t think it’s Urbanus any more,’ said Flavia. ‘He said Scopas could drive. That proves he’s nice.’
‘What? Letting a boy our age drive the fastest team in the most terrifying races ever invented?’ Jonathan grinned. ‘That definitely proves he’s evil.’
‘Assuming the culprit is not Urbanus, but someone else,’ said Flavia, ‘they’ll be waiting to blow their flute when the alpha team runs after lunch because they think Sagitta will be running. Nubia thought the trill came from the euripus. That would make sense, because if someone blew a flute down there, the noise wouldn’t be drowned out by the crowd and the horses would be sure to hear. Lupus, can you find a way to get out to the euripus and see if there’s anyone out there? Pretend to be a sparsor or something? This is a method they’ve used twice. They might even try it again before lunch. Also, they might have another plan, in case the flute doesn’t work.’
‘Like what?’ said Jonathan.
‘They might sling stones at the horses or toss something in the chariot’s path,’ said Flavia.
Jonathan nodded. ‘Or fire a tiny poisoned arrow,’ he said.
Flavia looked at him. ‘Jonathan, could you go to the curved end of the hippodrome and make sure there are no people with flutes lurking about? In case Nubia was mistaken and the sound came from the stands and not the euripus?’
‘Of course.’
‘Excellent.’ Flavia looked around at them. ‘Let’s all meet back here after lunch, before the first race. By Pegasus’s stall. We can compare notes and wish Scopas good fortune.’
‘What about you?’ said Jonathan. ‘What are you going to investigate?’
‘I’m going to spy on the Patron of Gambling. Gaius Antonius Acutus.’
Each faction had several sparsores standing at the outer edge of the track with ceramic jugs of water in wicker casings. Lupus shuddered as he remembered the fate of the brave red sparsor who had tried to stop Castor’s runaway team.
The Pavilion of the Greens was full of jade light and noisy chaos. Some horses were arriving from the stables in the Campus Martius, while those who had already run were being led back. Cartwrights were checking wheels, medics were examining charioteers and veterinarians were inspecting the horses due to run. Lupus followed two Green sparsores out of the tent. They went to fill their water jugs at the long fountain beneath a bronze statue of a bull. He waited until they had finished, then began to fill his own leather water-skin. He hoped nobody would notice that he was using a water-skin rather than a jug; he didn’t have time to look for one now.
‘Give me a drink?’ said a voice. Lupus was surprised to see One-Leg swinging forward on his wooden crutches. ‘I use my right hand for this crutch and without all my fingers it’s hard to hold the cup with my left,’ he explained.
Lupus grinned and mimed opening his mouth. When the beggar obliged Lupus directed a stream of water into the man’s gap-toothed mouth.
‘Thank you, young sir,’ said the beggar at last, a dribble of water trickling down his thick black beard. ‘Most kind.’
Lupus nodded. He had been a beggar for two years and he knew how humiliating it was to be ignored and despised. He gave One-Leg a wave and, as the trumpet blared and th
e starting gates flew open, he ran to the right hand arch of the hippodrome. The guard let him through and he emerged onto the vast space by the starting gates at the beginning of the track. Over to his left, a slave was going along the carceres and closing the double wooden gates. Up ahead the dust was settling to show a line of twelve bigae approaching the linea alba. Lupus gripped his water-skin and ran towards the euripus. He could feel the heat of the sandy track through the leather soles of his sandals, for it was only a little past noon, and hot.
By the time he reached the central barrier, the lead chariots were already pounding back towards him, so he darted into the narrow space between the base of the near meta and the euripus. The sand trickling between his toes was cool here, because it was in the shade. He waited until all the chariots had safely completed their turn, then he cautiously emerged back onto the bright track.
Presently he found a niche in the marble veneer of the barrier wall and stairs leading to the top. He was up them in an instant and found himself on the wide smooth lip of a long rectangular basin filled with about four feet of water. The euripus of the Circus Maximus was made of five of these basins, built end to end. Some of the monuments were set between the basins and others rose directly from the water in them: the dolphin lap-counter for example. He tipped his head back to study it.
Seven gilded dolphins were set side by side on a lofty oak crossbar which rested on two columns of green marble. All but one of the dolphins had their noses in the air. Against the crossbar leaned a ladder, and a slave stood poised on the third rung from the top, ready to tip the second dolphin’s nose down as soon as the lead chariot rounded the meta secunda. Lupus could see the slave’s surprised face looking down at him.
He quickly knelt and pretended to fill his already-full water-skin. Then he stood and continued carefully along the top of the barrier wall. The lip of the basin was about a yard wide, big enough for him to edge past the painted marble statue of a discus thrower. Rising from the water ahead was a spiral pillar with a bronze statue of a woman on top. The wings sprouting from her back and the wreath in her hand showed that she was Victory. Beyond her, set between the second and third basin, was a two-storey hexagonal pavilion with a conical roof. Lupus guessed that the two men inside were judges or stewards of some kind. He didn’t want to attract their attention, so he descended another set of narrow stairs to the track.
Back down here, on the right hand side of the track, he saw the foreshortened shadows of the barrier monuments sharp against the hot yellow sand. He was just passing through the coolness of the obelisk’s stubby shadow when he felt the rumble of the chariots making their third circuit, so he pressed himself against the barrier wall. The roar of the spectators rose in volume as the field thundered towards him and Lupus saw why: a Blue biga and a Green were in the lead, and Blue on the outside was forcing Green closer and closer to the barrier wall.
If he didn’t move, he would be trampled.
Lupus saw sparks fly as Green’s metal wheel hub grazed the smooth marble veneer of the barrier. Along some parts of the euripus were niches for stairs. But not here. The chariots were almost upon him, and there was no escape.
Offering up a quick prayer, Lupus pointed the nozzle of his water-skin at the inside stallion of the Greens and squeezed. The horse was used to sprinkled drops of water, not a steady jet in his eye. He veered slightly away, passing inches from Lupus, who felt the blast of his hot breath and smelled his pungent horsey aroma.
The movement of the stallion had caused the Green chariot to veer into the Blue, which swerved to the right.
Lupus’s tunic fluttered as ten more bigae rumbled past. No wonder most of the sparsores stood on the outside of the track: it was suicide to stand here.
But he was committed now, so when the rest of the field had passed – strung out now – he dropped his water-skin and sprinted along the base of the barrier. He ran across the freshly-marked white finish line and beneath more barrier monuments: a leaping lion, an altar and the egg lap-counter. Already he could feel the ground shaking as the lead horses came up behind him again. At last he reached the gap between the euripus and the base of the far meta and he dived to safety just as the chariots thundered past for the fourth time.
Gasping for breath, he sank to the cool sand and closed his eyes and offered up a prayer of thanks.
The strong smell of blood made him open his eyes again.
Where was it coming from? His heart thumping, Lupus stood and took a shaky step forward. The three cones of the meta stood on a stone base shaped like a crescent moon. Hidden in the shade of the base’s inner curve – visible only to someone this close – was an open trap-door.
Making the sign against evil, Lupus took a deep breath and started down the steps.
It was easy for Flavia to find Gaius Antonius Acutus. But it was difficult to get close to him. He was surrounded by at least thirty of his clients. They were muscular, dark-haired youths, like the clients of another powerful patron she knew who often called his men ‘soldiers’.
Breathing a prayer of thanks that she had left her green palla back at her seat and that she was wearing a neutral dove-grey tunic, Flavia slipped off her green wristband and put it in her belt-pouch. She was deep in the territory of the Reds here.
‘May I sit here for a moment, domina?’ she asked a round-faced matron under a crimson parasol. ‘Just until I catch my breath?’
The woman smiled and nodded. Flavia perched on the end of the marble bench and pretended to watch the race. From here she was close enough to see Acutus out of the corner of her eye, and hear the raucous shouts coming from his entourage.
Acutus didn’t seem to be doing anything suspicious, but from time to time she noticed that people would arrive at the perimeter of his territory and one of Acutus’s men would take them off towards an arch. One thug in particular caught Flavia’s attention. He was big and muscular, with greasy black hair and a belligerent face. He looked just like the statue of Mars in Ostia’s forum. He must be the one Lupus had seen talking to Urbanus.
When a nervous-looking man with a heavy belt-pouch approached Acutus’s group, Flavia saw the Patron of Gambling give Mars a nod, then turn back to watch the race. Mars took Belt-pouch by the elbow and guided him along the aisle. As the two of them began to mount the stairs towards one of the dark arches leading towards the shops, Flavia took a deep breath, rose from her seat and followed them.
Seven steps took Lupus down into a dim space reeking of blood. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw an altar with the remains of an animal on it, perhaps a goat. Flies buzzed and he realised this was an underground shrine. The meat smelled fresh and he guessed the goat had been sacrificed early that morning. That explained the blood.
There was no cult statue here, but on the wall behind the altar was a fresco of Neptune flanked by rearing horses. The god of the sea held a trident in one hand and what appeared to be sheaves of wheat in the other. Lupus took a step forward to have a closer look, then froze.
Someone – or something – was hiding on the other side of the altar; he could hear breathing.
Without stopping to think, Lupus leaped forward.
A curly-haired boy darted out from behind the altar and Lupus saw that he was dressed as a sparsor of the Blues, with a blue tunic and headband.
And around his neck was a bone whistle.
Flavia followed Mars and Belt-pouch through the arch to a tunnel-like corridor where there were no shops or snack bars. Now she wished she had not left her palla on her seat beside Sisyphus; it was chilly here. From the arena came the sudden muffled roar of the crowd. The vaulted corridor was dimly lit by the diffused light of day filtering in. In the dank wall were shallow niches that smelt of urine. Flavia stepped into one of these as Mars turned to Belt-pouch.
She heard a deep voice: ‘Have you got it?’
‘Yes,’ came the stammering reply.
The sound of coins chinking softly. ‘That’s not enough.’
&
nbsp; ‘It’s all I’ve got,’ the second voice whimpered. It must be Belt-pouch. ‘I’ve sold everything.’
‘The Patron wants ten thousand. There’s not half that here.’
‘I’ll get the rest to him by next week.’
‘Not good enough,’ said Mars. There was a pause and then Flavia heard a curious thumping sound, like Alma beating a carpet.
At first she wondered what it was. Then, when Belt-pouch began to gasp and beg for mercy, she knew. Her heart pounded and she pressed herself further into the shallow niche. Should she run or stay? If she ran, Mars might see her. If she waited until he came back this way, he would definitely see her.
Flavia stepped out of the niche, turned and ran.
Right into the arms of Gaius Antonius Acutus, the Patron of Gambling.
With a guttural cry, Lupus launched himself at the curly-haired boy. But the boy was already disappearing up the stairs. Lupus pursued up the steps into the arena. For a moment he was blinded by the dazzling afternoon light, but he could hear horses thundering around the meta, so he didn’t risk moving out onto the track.
Then he saw a flash of something at the top of narrow steps.
There was a bronze ladder here: the boy had gone up onto the barrier wall.
Lupus scrambled after him, aware of the roaring of the crowd. Above him, a single egg of marble sat high on its pole. There was only one lap to go. Below him, the boy was wading neck deep through the water of the basin.
Lupus grinned and plunged into the water. Now he was in his element. He didn’t need to walk. He knew how to swim.
The water was clear enough for him to see the boy’s blue tunic and his brown legs pushing through the water. Lupus frog-kicked forward and his fingertips were just about to touch the boy’s calf, when the boy’s legs rose up out of the water: he had heaved himself onto the marble lip on the Palatine side of the euripus.
Lupus crouched down, then burst out of the water like a leaping dolphin and tackled the boy round his ankles.
‘Oof!’ cried the boy. The air was knocked out of him as he fell onto the wide lip of the basin.
The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection Page 176