The guard’s eyes narrowed and his fists clenched, tensing the sculpted muscles all down his arms. However, he remained motionless, weighing up his options for a few moments until he turned, abruptly, and disappeared through the tent’s flaps.
Magnus smiled to himself and waited, watching a Green rider bring his lathered horse into the camp surrounded by cheering supporters. ‘A Green victory, very auspicious,’ he muttered.
‘And what makes you think that I would possibly do this, Magnus?’ Euprepes asked, stroking his grey-flecked, Greek-style beard and holding Magnus’ gaze with surprisingly blue, penetrating eyes.
‘Odds of forty or fifty to one?’
‘But I’m not allowed to bet on other teams, especially on a Red one-two-three.’
‘I quite understand that, Euprepes, and I’m sure that you never break that rule – personally. However, I’m informed that you had a very good day at the last races, when, I believe, the Greens only won once in the whole half-day. I would guess that you had a good friend place the odd, illicit wager on the opposition.’
Euprepes gave a thin smile. ‘A man in my position would be foolish not to take advantage of the information that I possess.’
‘I quite agree; that would be stretching loyalty too far.’
‘Indeed – although, obviously, there is no questioning my loyalty to the Green faction.’
‘Obviously.’
‘What’s your motivation for doing this?’
‘I’m a lifelong loyal Green, so what does it matter?’
Euprepes conceded the point with a nod and a wave of his hand. ‘Which race?’
‘Either the second-to-last or the last in the first race-day after the calends of March.’
‘So if I was to give our charioteers orders to let the Reds win how can you guarantee that the Whites and the Blues will also do the same? Have you spoken to their faction masters too?’
‘Now that would be letting a few too many into our little circle, I would say. If there were to be numerous people betting on a Red one-two-three in the one race that it actually happens the bookmakers might get a little suspicious.’
Euprepes inclined his head in appreciation of the fact.
‘The Whites I can deal with; it’s the Blues that are still a problem, but I’m sure that with your help we can guarantee that all three teams will fail to finish.’
‘Have my three teams bring them down?’
‘Too risky; one might get through and, also, it would look a little strange if the Greens spent the entire race having a go at the Blues whilst the Reds just storm ahead.’
Euprepes considered this for a few moments. ‘You’re right; we’ll just do one.’
‘And the other two?’
‘A malfunction and a hail of curses?’ the faction master suggested.
‘Perfect.’ Magnus stood and proffered his forearm. ‘I knew that a man of your experience would have the answers.’
‘So it’ll be just you and me who know about this?’
‘No, Servius my second knows, as well as a very helpful centurion in one of the Urban Cohorts and also a couple of others who will be betting in the senators’ enclosure.’
‘So they won’t be making our bookmakers suspicious.’
‘Exactly; if we spread small bets over quite a few of them we’ll clean up without anyone being any the wiser.’
‘Thank you for coming to me with this, my friend; let me as a show of gratitude give you a tip for the races the day after tomorrow.’
‘A Green one-two in the second race?’
Euprepes’ eyes opened wide in surprise; he laughed and slapped Magnus on the shoulder. ‘I can see you are very well informed; however, you’re not as well informed as I am. I’ll give the orders for our first and second teams to cross the line in reverse order so it will be a Green one-two, second team first, first team second.’
‘Euprepes, you are a very kind and understanding man.’
‘As are you, Magnus.’
Magnus waited on the steps of the Temple of Mars, in Augustus’ statue-lined forum, watching the arrival of twelve patrician youths singing and waving long swords in unison in a slow, rhythmic dance. Watched by a solemn crowd, they moved forward with regular leaps in time to the slow beat of the almost unintelligible song. Clad in ancient embroidered tunics of many colours and plain, oblong breastplates under short red cloaks and spiked, tight-fitting leather headdresses, the leaping, armed priesthood of the Salii paraded their sacred bronze shields around the city in celebration of the god of war’s birthday. Eleven of the shields, shaped as if two round hoplons had been fused together one on top of the other, were replicas of the twelfth, the original shield said to have fallen from the heavens back in the time of King Numa, Romulus’ successor.
‘They say that whoever is in possession of the original shield will dominate all the peoples of earth.’
Magnus turned, surprised by the voice so close behind him; he saw Pallas.
‘Which is why they made eleven copies; a potential thief wouldn’t know which one to steal.’
Magnus tutted. ‘In which case, I’d steal all twelve.’
‘Yes, I don’t think the ancients really thought that one through. However, my friend, my mistress has thought your request through and is willing to deliver your tip in today’s racing to her nephew.’
Magnus grinned in relief. ‘That is most considerate of her, Pallas.’
Magnus and his Crossroads Brethren joined in with the rest of the Greens in their corner of the Circus Maximus, screaming themselves hoarse, as the Green second team followed by the Green first team began their last lap with an unassailable lead. Way behind them their nearest rivals, a Red and a Blue, cracked their four-lash whips over the withers of their teams in a vain attempt to squeeze a little more speed from them. Although there was only a prize for the winner, both trailing drivers were well aware that many of their faction’s supporters would have the minimum bet of one of their colour coming in the first three at odds of evens or less; neither wanted to upset their supporters by appearing not to be trying.
The two leading Greens, however, did not have that worry; they cut through the dust of the track at a speed that would guarantee a first and second place but would not blow the horses. As their hortatores guided them around the wreckage of their third team, Magnus, for the first time ever, found himself concerned for a horse; he hoped that Spendusa would be cut from the wreck without too much harm done. The ruse had worked very successfully – too successfully as far as the mares were concerned. Two teams of stallions from the White Faction directly behind them in the pre-race procession had bolted in their urgency to get to the mares. The two teams in the starting boxes to either side had smashed their chariots as they reared and bucked in the narrow confines, maddened by nature’s compulsive scent oozing in from so close. As the boxes slammed open with high-torsion violence the two teams of Green geldings leapt forward, oblivious to the urgent need to spread seed. The remaining five teams of stallions, however, were not so relaxed; their urge to breed was evident to all in their behaviour and appearance throughout the race until, in a rare breakout of cross-faction harmony, a Red and a Blue charioteer had combined to bring the Green mares crashing down, albeit far too late.
Magnus gave a nervous glance over at the imperial box on the Palatine side of the circus; he could just make out the distant figure of Antonia and he prayed that she had passed on the tip that Pallas had given her, as she had promised she would, to Ahenobarbus. His gaze wandered up to the top of the enclosure; somewhere up there was Ignatius. Magnus smiled inwardly as he cheered his faction on, feeling the thrill of vengeance soon to be had on the man who had publicly cheated him.
The Greens worked themselves up into a frenzy as their geldings crossed the line, which was equalled by the sense of outrage felt by the other three factions at the use of such a ruse.