The third team was that of Gelon of Syracusa — black as his heart, I might add. They were the most beautiful team, and men roared for them again. Their charioteer wore a pure white chiton and looked like the god Apollo.
The fourth team from the pole was the white team of Aegina. The horses were beautifully matched, and their coats had been brushed and brushed so that their bodies appeared to be some sort of flowing metal. Their charioteer wore a dark blue chiton.
The fifth team was the Athenians. Their horses were all beautiful, but unmatched. It was rather like a drama about Athenian democracy — the unmatched team. The Athenian charioteer wore a white chiton with blue borders and full-length sleeves, an older style the Athenians always favoured. I can tell you from experience that in a fall, those full sleeves can protect you from a great many abrasions.
And last — the worst position — came the Spartans. Every head in the hippodrome went to the Spartans, all sitting together.
They didn’t react at all, and they all cheered the Spartan chariot. As did many others — all my men, and many of the Athenians, too. That brought some stares.
The six teams lined up carefully, and the judges examined every team. This went on long enough to make every man in the hippodrome anxious for his particular team and for the animals. I was hungry and thirsty myself before the judges cleared away from the teams, and the censor mounted the rostrum with a wand in his hand and raised it, and the tension in the hippodrome rose until it was like the tension between two phalanxes getting ready to close in mortal combat.
And then the wand dropped, and they were off.
The opening of the race held a layer of surprises like an Athenian wedding cake. The team from Ceos was off the line in perfect form — and they went from the stand to a dead gallop in six or seven strides, a superb performance.
The Corinthian driver had clearly expected to beat the Ceosian team off the line — to seize the inside lane and hold the pole for the turn for the beginning. And his team came off the line in beautiful style. But they could not beat the piebald horses down the stretch. It was amazing to see the four small horses run — they seemed to flow along the ground with something of the dancing grace of the Pharsalian athletes. They couldn’t beat the bigger Corinthian team, but the Corinthians couldn’t gain even a head and a neck on the Ionian team, and as the two began to come up on the first turn, if became clear that the Corinthian was not going to gain the inside lane.
He allowed himself to drop back half a chariot length, to cut inside and take the turn second. After all — I could read his thoughts — he had fifty-three more opportunities to pass.
The teams of Aegina and Syracusa duplicated the entire performance. The Aeginians probably had the inferior team, but they were on their mettle, and the Syracusans could not cut in to gain the inside lane — you must imagine every chariot cutting hard to the left from the moment the wand was dropped.
The Spartans and Athenians were very slow off the line. Indeed, they seemed to merely trot while all four other teams galloped.
As a charioteer, I knew what that meant. It meant that they expected trouble — collisions — and they wanted to be able to make big turns on the first lap, even if it lost time. In outside lanes, you need the help of the gods. I heard men hiss at them, but I felt the tactic was sound.
Especially when the Syracusan chariot refused to give way for the Corinthian. The whole pack of four was thundering into the first turn with two chariots trapped outside the pole. It is hard enough to turn with the pole — it can be harder to turn outside.
By the time all four had made the turn, both outside chariots had lost speed. The Syracusan’s horses almost tangled with the Corinthian car, and there was a gasp, but the Corinthian flicked his whip back and struck the Syracusan off-lead, and the horse faltered, lost a pace, and the Syracusan fell back.
The Athenians were already in the inside lane.
The Spartans were comfortably behind them.
So the Syracusans had to fall all the way back to sixth. They were all around the first turn, and they thundered down the back stretch in line — Ceos, Corinth, Aegina, Athens, Sparta and Syracusa well behind, trying to get his horses back into their pace. They held this formation through the second turn, and they were one lap down.
To me, it appeared that the Ceosians and the Corinthians were running too fast. They set a terrible pace, and the Aeginians matched it. But the Athenian charioteer wasn’t interested, and kept his horses in hand — fast, but not at the pace. He wasn’t going to give a full lap, but he was saving speed.
The Spartan, Polypeithes, looked magnificent, his knees well flexed, his shoulders level, his hands steady, and he stuck to the Athenian. I thought he was wise.
Ahead of them, the Corinthian took aim at the Ionian as they entered the fourth lap. As he came out of the turn, he cracked his whip and let his horses go to their full stride, and they stretched out for him. We could hear him urging them, and they responded.
The Ceosian charioteer raised his hands slightly, and his smaller horses gave another spurt — and held their position. Just before the turn, the Corinthian had to fall back — again.
He thundered around the turn on the outside, his turn beautifully judged. But he lost ground with every stride, and now the Aeginians were in second place.
The Corinthians didn’t go for the third place on the inside. They stayed outside, and ran. Down the back stretch, the Corinthians passed two teams, and on the turn into the fifth lap, they tried to close to the pole. The Corinthian was fully committed — he was leaning as far as a man can lean in a car, and his horse could not have had any more speed to offer. Nor will most horses give a magnificent effort more than once in a race — even horses have morale.
The African Corinthian went for all the knuckle bones.
He cut right across the Ceosians, and later it was said he flicked his whip at them. Perhaps. But the smaller Ceosian team baulked, and the Corinthians swept by. The Ceosians lost their pace and their tempo, and swerved — struck the turning post a glancing blow and slowed still further, and the Athenians pulled well out to pass. The team from Aegina was jammed in behind the Ionian team, unable to manoeuvre and forced to slow almost to a stop as the Athenians and then the Spartans and finally the Syracusans thundered by on the outside. By a miracle, no one was injured — no horse fell, no cart broke up. But by the time the Ceosian was moving again, the Ionian and the Aeginian were a full length — half the hippodrome — behind.
This sudden reversal of fortune — not uncommon in the hippodrome — left the Corinthians in the front by a whole chariot length, with the Athenians second and the Spartans third. The Syracusans were a distant fourth, and the Aeginians and Ceosians were well back. But with only five laps run, the race was barely a fifth done.
They ran four laps in that formation, and the Corinthian, now in front where he’d wanted to be, forced a terrible pace. He didn’t plan to slow from a gallop, and he ran off the laps so fast that his opponents began to lose heart. The Athenians wanted to run a slower race with a fast finish, but the expert Corinthian charioteer wasn’t having it.
Through the tenth lap, the Athenians, Spartans and Syracusans held the pace. But in the back stretch of ten, the Athenians — in second place and on the rail — began to slow from a hard gallop to a slower pace.
The Corinthian shot ahead.
The Spartans stayed with the Athenians, and the Syracusan made two attempts in the next two laps to pass them but could not, and the Ionoians and Aeginians were now too far behind to regain the distance unless a miracle occurred — the Ceosian team, in particular, looked very tired.