I had not noticed them before, but beneath the bronze legs of the giant outward-facing horses that reared at each end of the spina were two seven-foot iron posts set five feet apart. The southern set of these were still awash in full sunlight, and to them the officers of the hippodrome had the hapless man chained, one arm to each post. He faced inward, toward the verdigris flanks of the great horse. There was just enough room at the tapered tip of the spina for the bare-chested lorarius to stretch and get his footing for the work ahead. Not once so far in the day’s events had the crowd ever grown as quiet as during those seconds as when the slave prepared to give the criminal twenty of his best. It was critical to their enjoyment of this moment that they strain to hear the whisper of the whip as it descended, the crack as it bit into flesh, the scream of the prisoner as muscle and nerves that were never meant to be disturbed were violently aggrieved.
The distance from us was not so great that Hanno could not both see and hear. He sat now between Livia and myself. At the instant of the first strike, his eyes widened and he put his hand up to my cheek, turning it toward him. “Master, master can you make him stop, can you?” I shook my head. “Then you must look away,” he implored, “look at Livia look at me here I am look at me. It’s all right it will be over soon look at me till it’s over, master.” I needed no more encouragement. Livia, Hanno and I sat with heads bowed until it was over.
But what of the thousands on the opposite side of the hippodrome? Never fear. They were not to be denied. The perpetrator was unchained and assisted to the floor of the track. Feet trailing wavy patterns behind him in the dirt, arms draped over the shoulders of two guards, he was dragged the length of the spina to the unused iron posts waiting for him at the other end of the stadium. On that side, only the grand head of the horse remained in golden sunlight. There, the second half of the punishment was administered.
The man, whose name is irrelevant, had been a citizen. Had he been a slave, he would have been executed. Since before this day he was not a slave, he became one. The auction was postponed until the two injured charioteers were well enough to bid. They were both veterans of the Antioch hippodrome, and therefore were both exceedingly wealthy. I am told that on the day of his sale, the auctioneer noted record attendance, but only two bidders when his lot number was called. It is said that a private, shared accommodation was reached.
The last race was the most grueling. Eight contenders at the reins of quadrigae, chariots drawn by teams of four horses, raced ten laps around the track. From the very beginning, it was a two-man contest between Varro and Galeno. Long before it happened, Varro realized they were going to lap their opponents. He intentionally “lost” the fight with Galeno for the inside, pretending something had gotten into his eye, letting the blue charioteer veer left. With only a little more than one circuit left in the race, Varro’s blacks and Galeno’s snow white teams came upon a wall of impenetrable dust and thunder.
Varro was on the outside, the only way to pass, but he faced another difficulty I had not thought to mention earlier. The pilot horse, the one used to steer the others, is always positioned to the left, since races are run in a circle from the right hand to the left. Varro held the reins for this animal separately in his left hand. The leads for the others, the power horses, were wrapped about his waist. It was a delicate matter to nudge these other three to go against their natural instincts when the slightest misstep at such speed meant instant disaster. But that is what he did, knowing that some chance of breaking through was better than no chance at all.
Leaning over the top of his car, The One Who Sings asked his four blacks to lift them all beyond the dust and noise and take them into the clear air waiting for them before the finish line. He did not see until his team had done what he had asked of them that Galeno, too, had accomplished the impossible. Nearest to the spina had been a blue driver, a green, and then another blue. Galeno, as Varro had known he would be, was bogged down behind them. Sensing what was about to happen, another green dropped back and boxed Galeno in. One could almost hear his curses. The blue charioteer in lane three broke this deadlock by pulling ahead into the second lane as they made the turn into the final run to the finish line. What this clever driver did then was slow his team, forcing both greens back and creating a gap for Galeno to slip through.
Varro was ahead, but he was on the outside. Galeno came up fast. Marcus Antonius had ripped the cushion off a chair and was punching it to the rhythm of his profanity. Petronius, I was somewhat shocked to see, had joined Livia, Hanno and myself and was jumping up and down and cheering for Varro.
•••
“I won’t allow that in my chariot,” Galeno said.
I shrugged. “Your blue fans will be disappointed. I imagine they would like to see you take your victory lap with your governor.”
“And I don’t think they’ll like it if you refuse, seeing as how you’ve already done it twice with Varro.” The bearded wretch smiled at me. So, the sweaty charioteer had beaten the lofty politician. I longed to tell him he could feel proud having bested an impostor, and a slave at that.
Livia stood behind Hanno, both arms around him, not in restraint but pure affection. “I don’t want to go I don’t. I went twice already with Varro.”
“You don’t have to, love.”
“One time with Varro would be better than five, no ten times with Not Varro.”
As before, I congratulated the second place finisher. As I shook his hand, it was as if Varro could read my mind. Before I could say a word he said, “My lord, free or not, I will still race for the greens.”
I wished him good health and good fortune, then turned away to step up into the winner’s chariot. Slipping the ribbon over Galeno’s head, I gave him his purse. I even took his hand and held it aloft. I had to let the charioteer have his way or it would seem I was favoring the greens. However, I did take an inordinate amount of satisfaction from the less than deafening roar as we made our circuit around the stadium.
Chapter XXXI
54 BCE — Spring, Antioch
Year of the consulship of
Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus and Appius Claudius Pulcher
“Is it my imagination, or are you spending every idle hour devising new and unique ways to torment me?” Crassus adjusted the laurel wreath upon its pedestal bust and flicked a bit of stadium dirt from one of its leaves. Dominus had had the governor’s suite emptied of any piece of furniture he considered extraneous, and now the cavernous rooms echoed.
“I was under the impression I had you to thank for my triumph, dominus.”
“You went too far, Alexander. And you go too far now.”
“Forgive me, dominus. I was rash.”
“Have I not been kind? Have I not been generous? Does Livia not now share your bed in the Regia rather than a cot in one of the hovels at the fort town?”
“Yes, dominus.”
“If the crowd had suspected, or had not been so well-pleased…”
“You are a hero of Antioch. Yet, I apologize for creating the precedent.”
“I suppose I shall have to keep you close at hand at least until those two charioteers retire. Who knows when you might need to portray Marcus Crassus again.”
“I shouldn’t worry. The odds are high they will both die an early and horrific death.” May Varro outlive us all. “How was your meeting with Melyaket?”