They tore down the track in a thunder of hooves. Drivers whipped their teams to greater speed. Their short capes snapped in the wind. They'd wrapped long reins completely around their waists, crouched over the tiny platforms like jockeys on skateboards. Green tunics, red tunics, blue and white ones ... The four racing factions of the Circus stampeded for the best position as they swept toward the first turn. Margo held her breath.
The leader, a green driver, swept around the turn. The second chariot sped around in his wake. The third chariot brushed its wheels against a stone curb. The chariot lurched. The pole snapped. Margo screamed. The delicate chariot, little more than a wooden shell with a lattice-work floor, disintegrated into splinters. Galloping horses dragged their driver out of the wreckage. He fought to draw a knife at his belt. Other chariots swung wide to miss the wreckage.
The driver sliced through the reins and rolled heavily across the track. The other chariots left him lying on the sand. Slaves raced out to pull the driver and the wreckage off the track. Others caught the runaway team and led the horses out of the arena. The remaining chariots swept back toward the first turn for their second lap. Men on ladders had taken down one egg and one dolphin from the crossbeams.
Margo drank in details, determined to think like a scout for a change. The horses wore collars around their necks instead of harness like she'd seen in London. How can they breathe, pulling against their windpipes lake that? The horses' manes had been tied up so they couldn't stream in the wind. Their tails had been bobbed short, like a Manx cat's. Wickerwork on the lightweight racing chariots bore the teams' colors. The drivers wore slaves' collars.
Malcolm had said the men who raced and fought here were either slaves, prisoners, or criminals. She wondered if the driver who'd been dragged down the track would live. She shivered. Already the chariots were pounding down the straightaway for the next lap. They skidded around the turn, bouncing across ruts left from previous laps, and rounded the turn in a cloud of glittering dust.
Three laps. Four. Five. How many laps in all? She checked the lap counters: two eggs and dolphins each remained on the crossbeams. The chariots fought one another for the lead as they swept into the turn for the sixth lap. Margo held her breath, but they all made it through the jolting one-hundred-eighty-degree turn. The sixth markers came down. Brassy trumpets sang out again. Final lap.
A driver in blue was battling it out with a red driver for the lead Margo waved her red handkerchief with one hand and bit knuckles on the other. Red drivers back in the pack swung wide, blocking blue chariots from coming up to assist their team member. Two of the chariots collided. The crowd roared Margo hid her eyes. When she dared look, she saw one broken chariot cartwheel into the wide moat with a tremendous splash. A driver in blue was being dragged wide in the turn. His body slammed into the little shrine. She screamed and hid her eyes again.
Another roar shook the stadium. She risked a peek The surviving chariots had rounded the turning post nearest the start and were thundering toward the finish line. The red chariot shot into the lead as the driver lashed his horses. The blue chariot caught up, passed, then faltered again. The blue driver was whipping his horses mercilessly. Then the red driver swept ahead by a nose just as they flashed past the white chalk line.
The emperor's favorite had won!
Margo found herself shouting right along with the rest of the crowd. Quintus Flaminius exchanged a few coins with the man seated next to him, grinning as he deposited them in his money pouch. Margo noticed other private bets being settled, as well. Achilles' eyes glowed as he watched the driver sweep around the turning post in a wide circle and pass the emperor's platform. The driver completed the victory lap back to the finish line while the other chariots drove disconsolately off the track. The victor pulled his team to a halt. A ramp had been lowered across the moat, allowing him to ascend steps to the judging platform. Margo wondered who was handing out the prizes. She'd expected the victor to receive his reward from the emperor, but he'd stopped on the opposite side of the arena from the emperor's box. It was another man who placed a leafy crown on the driver's head, handed him a palm branch, and placed a bulging leather pouch in his hand. The crowd cheered as he descended the steps triumphantly, resumed his chariot, and drove past the emperor's box once again. Claudius saluted him to thunderous approval from the crowd.
Then he left the track. Slaves carrying baskets began climbing through the stands, tossing out handfuls of little wooden markers. Spectators dove for them, cheering if they caught one, groaning if they missed. When a handful was flung toward Margo's seats, she caught one by reflex, then wondered what it was. She couldn't read what it said. Quintus Flaminius grinned and babbled something incomprehensible. At a signal from the Emperor's box, those who had caught markers descended toward the track. Margo gulped. Surely the "winners" wouldn't be sacrificed in the arena?
Those who had caught the wooden disks grinned like sweepstakes winners. Quintus snapped his fingers at Achilles. The boy bowed and took Margo's wooden disc, then hastily followed in the wake of other winners. When he and the other winners returned, Margo discovered there was a reason those who'd caught the disks grinned like sweepstakes winners: they were. Each person who had presented a "ticket" had received a prize. Achilles presented hers formally: a small leather pouch.
She opened it and shook out a blood-red gemstone carved with a racing chariot and the obelisk from the Circus' barrier wall. Margo gasped. "Ohh ..."
Quintus Flaminius whistled softly and examined the stone. Then smiled and returned it to her. Other lucky winners nearby displayed bags of coins to their friends, or parchments that seemed important. She heard the word terra and concluded they'd won deeds to land parcels. Margo tucked her prize back into its leather pouch and secreted that in her money pouch as the second event began, a race where jockeys rode horses in something approaching the modern style of horse racing. They ran from the turning post near Margo's seat to the far end of the barrier where the starting stalls were located, racing past the emperor's platform in a cloud of dust
Then another chariot race began, followed by a wrestling exhibition, followed by a third chariot race. They sat through a total of ten chariot races, alternating with other events. Most chariot races were run with four-horse teams, some with two-horse teams. Some of the ridden races ended with the jockeys sliding off and pelting toward the finish line on foot.
Achilles broke out wine and cups, pouring for them, then handed over parcels of what looked astonishingly like fried peas. Margo tried them. Not bad....
While they ate lunch, yet another chariot race began, but this time when the lightweight chariots swept down the track, Margo burst out laughing. There were no drivers. No human ones, anyway. Trained monkeys steered the horses around the turning posts in a ridiculous parody of the earlier races. Laughter rippled through the stands. When the leading monkey's team swept across the finish line for the final lap, slaves ran onto the track and caught the horses. Margo dissolved into helpless laughter when one of the slaves carried the victorious "charioteer" up the ramp and steps to collect his reward: a piece of fruit and a monkey-sized victory crown.
The little victor actually drove a victory lap, grinning in a simian fashion that brought roars of laughter from the crowd.
Once the final chariot had been escorted from the track, a hush fell over the vast stands. Margo wondered what was up. Slaves appeared from street-level entrances, carrying potted trees and bushes. They turned the Circus into a miniature forest, with screens of shrubbery, groves of potted trees, even tubs of flowers. When the preparations were complete, the slaves beat a hasty retreat to the other side of the podium wall. Margo noticed that all ramps across the moat had been withdrawn.