The chariots thundered in a straight line towards the right-hand side of the spina. There, 170 paces away, was a white line that ran from the turning post at the end of the spina to the outer wall; once across this they were free to take whatever line they wanted. The staggered nature of the starting boxes ensured that all twelve chariots crossed it almost simultaneously as they reached speeds of over forty miles an hour.
Euprepes’ gamble had not paid off; he was still level with Gentius as they skimmed past the edge of the barrier, clearing it by no more than a hand’s breadth. Instead of turning left immediately and heading up the track, Gentius pursued a straight line forcing Euprepes further away from the centre of the track and closer to the Green outside him who was now trying to cut across his path. Being in imminent danger of being crushed between the two, Euprepes leant back on the reins about his waist and, with all his might, pulled hard to the left; his team slowed dramatically. As Gentius shot past Euprepes veered left, just clearing the rear of the White chariot and headed up the track hugging the spina. The Blues in the crowd went wild at this audacious manoeuvre, punching the air and screaming themselves hoarse.
Gentius, not to be distracted from his tactics, stuck to his straight line, forcing the Green to his right to abandon his attempt to cut across and pushing him towards the next team outside who, in turn, swerved to the right causing a chain reaction down the line. On the far outside the Red second driver saw the danger that was dominoing towards him and quickly checked his speed as the White first team next to him was forced across his path, its driver desperately trying to force a passage back to the left, but prevented from so doing by the weight of the teams inside him. His outside horse hit the wall, ripping a huge chunk of flesh from its shoulder. It stumbled heavily, its head hitting the floor; the momentum of the beast’s team-mates pulled the chariot forward on to its hocks and lifted its rump into the air. The terrified whinny the animal emitted as it somersaulted was cut short as the weight of its hindquarters snapped its neck. It dropped stone dead. The White chariot bumped over the body and spun on to its side, dislodging its driver, who was dragged along the arena floor by the three remaining petrified horses. He frantically reached for his knife as the traces that attached the upturned chariot to the dead weight of the lifeless horse reached straining point and, with a sharp crack, tore the flimsy vehicle in two. An instant later the hapless driver was dragged forward by three of the sets of reins tied around his waist; the fourth set, anchored by the dead animal behind him, suddenly tautened and he was jerked up into the air as the two opposite forces shattered his ribcage and yanked his pelvis from his backbone. The three stampeding horses were briefly checked but their momentum snapped the trailing rein and they sped off, hauling behind them the wreckage of the chariot and the broken, unconscious driver.
‘I love the first corner,’ Gaius shouted above the roar to his companions. ‘Your Gentius made a smart move, Vespasia; I thought we would lose our money before the race had barely begun.’
‘Yes, but he put one of his own faction out and your Blues are now two lengths ahead of the rest,’ Vespasia replied as the favourite Blue team followed its hortator into the first 180-degree turn.
Euprepes slowed his team down to take the bend as close to the turning post as possible; he leant back on the reins and out to his left to prevent the chariot from tipping over. He swung the team round, cracked his whip over their withers and accelerated them down the narrower side of the spina with the ten remaining chariots in hot pursuit.
‘He mustn’t tire his team too soon, Gaius, there’s over three miles to go,’ Titus shouted.
‘No, but Vespasia’s Whites and the Red second team are pushing him hard and the lead Green is also picking up speed,’ Gaius puffed, his flabby face red with excitement.
The Blue second and third teams came screaming out of the narrow bend just behind the Green. They cracked their whips over their horses’ ears and yelled them on; the extra turn of speed pulled them almost level. Determined not to be caught between the spina and two rival teams the Green driver pulled the reins to the right, causing his team to shoulder barge the Blues next to him. Unable to pull over because of his colleague outside him, the Blue driver decided to risk himself rather than back off and, pulling his knife out ready to cut the reins, hauled his team to the left, pushing the Green chariot into the spina. Its delicate wheel shattered on impact and tipped the chariot against the wall. The driver drew his knife, cut through the reins in an instant and, without looking back, bailed out into the path of the following White team, disappearing under their hooves in a flurry of dust and blood. Deprived of his weight his chariot flew up into the air and twisted round, pulling down its team in a frenzy of thrashing legs and arching backs, before hitting the Blue driver, knocking the knife from his hand and him clean out of his vehicle. The following White team ploughed straight into the wreckage, smashing the legs of the two inner horses as they tried, but failed, to jump the stricken chariot’s pole barring their way. The last four chariots managed to swerve around the crash. A gang of slaves rushed out to clear the debris before the teams came round again.
Euprepes was approaching the second 180-degree turn that would complete the first lap; he could see his hortator ahead of him signalling that there was no wreckage around the blind corner as he slowed to take it. Both Gentius and the Red team closest to him sped past, choosing to take the longer route at more speed.
‘They’re going to try and pass him on the outside,’ Vespasia shouted, forgetting, for a moment, her decorum as the first of the seven bronze dolphins set in a row high above one end of the spina was tilted down to mark the completion of the first lap.
Despite the frenetic excitement Vespasian’s gaze kept straying to the imperial box in the hope of the chance of one more glimpse of those beautiful eyes, but they were kept firmly fixed on the race; though he sensed that she was restraining herself from looking round.
He turned back to the race. The eight remaining teams had rounded the narrower corner at the far end of the arena and were now racing back down towards the senators’ enclosure. Their hortatores were desperately signalling the position of the Green and White crash and the party working frantically in the dust trying to carry away a freed chariot. The slaves looked with terror at the fast-approaching chariots and sprinted for their lives to the safety of the sides, abandoning the wreck ten paces away from the spina. Two of the hortatores jumped the obstacle, earning a loud roar of approval from the crowd. Euprepes, realising that there was only room for one chariot to pass between it and the central barrier, steered straight down the middle of the gap. Half a length back to his right the Red, a brazen-haired Celt, looked nervously at Gentius just outside him, but as the wreck approached Gentius refused to give way, leaving the Celt no choice but to slow and follow Euprepes through the gap. His loss of momentum not only enabled Euprepes and Gentius to pull away but also helped the chasing Blue who had taken the outside route behind Gentius to draw level with him as they rounded the turning post at the end of the second lap.
The second dolphin was lowered and Vespasian ventured another look towards the imperial box. She had gone. Vespasian looked closer; there was Tiberius passing some remark to Asinius on his right; beyond them sat Antonia. The only other people in the box were Sejanus and four of his Praetorians, all standing towards the back.
Gaius noticed his nephew’s distraction. ‘Stop looking for her, dear boy, she’s probably gone on an errand for her mistress. Come on, you’re missing the race. It’s nearly halfway through.’
A roar from the crowd as the second Green team came to grief brought Vespasian’s attention back to the track as the third dolphin was lowered. The Blue chariot of Euprepes was just holding off the White of Gentius, with the Red Celt boxed in behind by Euprepes’ Blue team-mate as they raced up the far straight. Only seven chariots were still going as Euprepes rounded the bend, narrowly missing four slaves carrying the unconscious Green driver out.
&nb
sp; With Gentius, the Red Celt and his Blue colleague in close pursuit, Euprepes cracked his whip and mercilessly exhorted his sweating team on to an even greater pace. The fourth dolphin was lowered and Vespasian glanced back across to the imperial box; the slender figure of Caenis had returned. She handed a wooden box to Antonia, glancing, as she did so, in Vespasian’s direction before sitting back down behind a small table next to her mistress. He felt his heart leap again; she knew he was watching her.
‘I don’t think Euprepes is going to be able to hold off the challenge much longer,’ Gaius bawled at Titus, barely audible over the rising wave of noise that was engulfing the circus. ‘He’s taken his team to their limit already, there can’t be much left in them.’
Down on the track the racers rounded the narrow turn for the fifth time. Gentius, almost level with Euprepes, was keeping the pressure on. Behind him the other Blue chariot, happy that the Red was stuck safely behind the two leaders, had pulled out and was trying to draw level with Gentius in order to squeeze him out on the next corner. Seeing the threat Gentius pulled to the right, clipping the Blue’s nearest horse’s front leg with his wheel. The creature reared up in agony, racing along on its hind legs trying to beat away the pain, causing the rest of the team to skew around the incapacitated animal. They tumbled over each other, sending up clouds of dust and overturning their chariot, which broke free from the pole. The driver had just enough time to cut the reins before the maddened team scrambled to their feet and pelted off, hell for leather, in the opposite direction down the track straight towards the last three oncoming chariots. The crowd leapt to its feet roaring their approval at this novel turn of events. The runaway team’s hortator had no chance of catching them as they surged on, driverless, to impending catastrophe.
Recognising the danger rushing towards them at a fearsome pace the three chasing drivers split formation in the hopes that the directionless tearaways would pass between them, but the loose team shied and veered to the left, straight into the path of the middle one. Eight horses met head on with a crunch of breaking bones and shattering timber. The driver catapulted over the whinnying mass of horseflesh as it floundered in a twisted heap and landed with a heavy thud on the churned-up arena sand. He lay still. Howls of appreciation rose from the transfixed spectators.
Vespasian looked over to the imperial enclosure as the fifth dolphin dipped to see Tiberius patting Asinius on the back, congratulating him on an excellent spectacle. Beyond him Antonia was dictating a letter to Caenis; how she could concentrate through such excitement amazed him but, he supposed, the affairs of state could never wait.
‘That was fantastic,’ Sabinus cried as yet another gang of slaves armed with knives rushed on to disentangle any of the horses worth saving and put the rest out of their misery.
‘My Gentius is going to win this, you’ll see.’ Vespasia was looking triumphant as the two leaders rounded the narrow turn for the second to last time.
The two lead drivers, covered in dust and sweat, battled with each other down the near track. Both were tiring now and each knew it. The grim determination on their sand-spattered faces hardened into grimaces as they approached the wide bend for the last time and heaved their teams around; a mistake now and all that they had fought for in the last six circuits would be lost; there were no prizes for coming second.
The roars of the spectators echoed around the Seven Hills of Rome as the sixth dolphin tilted and the final lap began. Caenis was no longer next to her mistress and Vespasian strained to see what had become of her over the heads of the senators around him. Failing to get a clear view of the goings-on in the box he turned back to the race.
Euprepes, driving his team on with the fury of a man desperate to win, just held the lead a hundred paces from the last corner. Gentius, realising that he had no chance to overtake him on the outside and then outpace him to the finish, looked over his left shoulder. The Red Celt was almost a length directly behind the leader; it was enough of a gap to aim for. Checking his speed slightly he pulled his team to the left into the space between the two chariots, forcing the Celt to slow. The corner was fast approaching and Gentius urged his team on so that their front legs were almost on the lead chariot. Euprepes, fearful that if he braked too hard Gentius would crash into him and take them both out, was forced to take the turn faster than was prudent. His team scrambled around the bend losing cohesion as they fought to keep their footing, sending his chariot skidding out to the right. Gentius pushed his team inside the Blues, hugged the curve and accelerated away into one final dash.
Any in the crowd who had sat down were now back on their feet again yelling their teams on. With a half-length advantage Gentius rode his team for all that they were worth whilst Euprepes whipped his exhausted animals mercilessly – but to no avail. Gentius shot straight past the last turning post and the seventh dolphin fell. He punched the air in triumph and headed off for the lap of honour. The Whites had won the first race and their supporters screamed their support for the hero of the moment.
Vespasia was ecstatic. ‘Thirty denarii to me, that’s as much as you three men lost between you,’ she gloated. Gaius and Titus took it well but Sabinus, who could never bear losing, was furious.
‘That Euprepes should be strung up by his balls for losing like that, he had the race won.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Gaius said. ‘He went too fast from the start; his team were finished.’
Gentius stopped his chariot by the steps that led up to the front of the imperial box. To the rapturous ovation of the crowd he climbed up and received his palm of victory and a large purse from a very pleased Asinius; it had been a good start to the day.
The crowd settled back down to watch the jugglers and gymnasts who would fill in the time whilst the track was cleared of dead horses and broken chariots ready for the next race. Vespasian looked back over at the box but Caenis was nowhere to be seen.
‘If you’re looking for that girl,’ Gaius whispered in his ear, ‘you’re looking in the wrong direction, dear boy, she’s over there.’
Vespasian jerked his head around and sure enough there, coming through the same entranceway that they had used, was Caenis. She reached the bottom of the steps and Vespasian held his breath as she turned right and headed along the gangway towards where they were sitting. Unable to believe his eyes she stopped in front of his uncle and, keeping her gaze on the floor, handed him a parchment note. Gaius took it and quickly read its contents before handing it back to the girl.
‘Tell the Lady Antonia we would be delighted.’
Caenis bowed and, without raising her eyes, turned and left. All eyes were on Gaius, who had a bemused look on his face.
‘Well?’ Vespasia asked.
‘Most extraordinary,’ Gaius said. ‘It would seem that the good lady has seen fit to invite myself and the boys to dinner.’
‘When?’ Vespasian blurted.
‘Tomorrow, dear boy. A great honour; but what can she possibly want with you two?’
CHAPTER IX
Vespasian was woken by the movement and murmuring of the house slaves as they lit lamps, kindled the fire and set a table ready for breakfast. The smell of freshly baked bread and the anticipation of seeing Caenis easily persuaded him out of bed.
In the atrium he found Gaius seated next to the lararium eating his breakfast whilst having his sandals put on.
‘Good morning, dear boy,’ Gaius boomed, rubbing a clove of garlic on to a hunk of bread. ‘I trust that you slept well.’ He dunked his bread into a bowl of olive oil on the table beside him and took a large bite.
‘Thank you, Uncle, I did,’ Vespasian replied, noticing gratefully that the young lad at Gaius’ feet was wearing a loincloth. ‘I hope that you did too.’
‘Very well indeed, dear boy, very well,’ his uncle replied, ruffling the hair of the slave boy kneeling at his feet, who, having finished with the sandals, smiled coyly at his master, bowed and left. ‘Sit with me and have some breakfast, there’s bread,
olives, water, oil and some cheese. Would you like wine in your water?’
‘No, thank you, Uncle, this will be fine,’ Vespasian said sitting down.
‘As you wish, as you wish.’ Gaius took another bite of his bread and looked at Vespasian thoughtfully as he chewed on it. ‘Tell me, Vespasian, which path would you wish to follow?’ he asked. ‘The Emperor has as much use for good administrators as he does for good generals.’
‘But I thought that to climb the cursus honorum one served in both military and civilian positions in order to understand how the two are linked,’ Vespasian replied, slightly confused by the question.
‘Indeed you do and, as you rightly imply, they are interchangeable. However, there are various degrees of civilian and military. Look at it this way: if you were Caesar, would you send a man to be governor of a restless frontier province like Moesia when his only experience with the legions was four years as a military tribune with the Seventh Macedonica supervising road-building and latrine-digging in Dalmatia, and two years as legate of the Fourth Gallica sampling the heady joys of Antioch where, because of a recent peace treaty with the Parthians, the most martial obligation was to inspect the legion once a month on pay day? Of course you wouldn’t, not unless you particularly disliked the man and were prepared to lose a province and two legions getting rid of him. Much easier just to order him to commit suicide at home in his bath, don’t you think?’
‘Of course, Uncle,’ Vespasian replied.
‘This man might however make a suitable governor of somewhere like Aquitania where road-building is all the rage and there is no legion to inspect.
‘Now, a man who served as a military tribune with the First Germanica in lower Germania fighting the Chatti or some other equally bloodthirsty tribe and then served as legate of the Fourth Scythica, curbing the raiding of the Getae and securing the northern border, is the man who gets to be Governor of Moesia and with it the chance of military glory and all the financial rewards that go with it. So, Vespasian, you see the difference. Which path do you want to follow?’ Gaius asked again.
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