by Tanya Bird
The charioteers wore team colours. Impractical cloaks draped their shoulders, spilling all the way down to the floor of the chariot. Their arrival brought the crowd to their feet, though not the people around Dulcia, who were apparently far too comfortable to bother standing.
Four matching grey horses pulled Manius’s chariot. They were as impressive as Nerva’s so far as breeding, size and condition. Junia cheered when Manius slowed in front of the balcony, bringing disapproving stares from her mother, who clapped modestly.
‘I would prefer to see him in a senator’s toga than a blue cloak,’ Livia remarked.
Claudius raised a cup to his son, though he seemed more interested in watching the slave girl tending his wife.
‘You had better clap,’ Junia said over the noise.
Dulcia found a smile, and her hands came together in what she hoped was convincing applause. Manius nodded once in her direction before moving on, and she was left with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, a reminder that it was all an act. Every smile felt like a betrayal of herself.
Nerva’s horses followed with their new driver. Her brother had been rather unlucky in that regard. The last man had been thrown from his chariot and trampled by horses. By some miracle he had survived, though his right leg had not.
She knew Nero would have jumped at the chance to race, but everyone was rather keen on keeping him alive. When Nerva had tried to bring it up during a meal together, Remus had remarked that he already participated in enough life-threatening activities. It was a well-known fact that Nero was fearless to the point of reckless. Some intervention was necessary.
Music from aulos and lyre players pulled her attention back to the procession. Dancers trailed behind the musicians, wearing purple tunics and carrying spears. They performed war dances, some wearing wings, others helmets with crests. Then came the Sileni in woolly tunics, goatskin loincloths and ridiculous hairstyles. They mocked the dancers, making the audience laugh out loud at their antics.
Junia leaned in close and whispered, ‘Now the part we have all been waiting for.’
Dulcia turned to her, confused, then followed her line of sight to the gladiators. They raised their shields and beat their chests, playing up to the crowd. The cheers were deafening.
Junia raised her cup as they passed. ‘They call that one Romulus. A fitting name for that body. Goodness, did the temperature just rise?’ She flashed a devious smile at Dulcia, who turned to look at the man.
‘He might die today.’ And she would be forced to watch.
Junia took a drink from her cup. ‘But if he lives, he will be invited to the dinner party afterwards, a win for everyone.’
‘You know, we can all hear you,’ Livia said, not looking at her daughter.
‘So?’ Junia turned to Dulcia. ‘She marries me off at age twelve, then complains when I do not play the virgin in my twentieth year.’
Dulcia frowned. ‘I did not know you were married.’
Junia shrugged. ‘Not anymore. Otto died in battle two years ago.’
Dulcia looked down at her drink. ‘I am so sorry.’
‘Do not be,’ Junia replied, sounding upbeat. ‘The man was a pig.’
Livia tutted. ‘He was due to be promoted.’
‘The man once dragged me by the hair from my bed after I miscarried.’ She was speaking to Dulcia but spoke loud enough for her mother to hear. ‘Apparently it was my fault.’
Pity swelled inside Dulcia. ‘Why would he suggest such a thing?’
Junia blinked, her eyes shiny. ‘The slave he was bedding told him my bathwater had been too warm, that I asked for more hot water to be brought in.’
Livia straightened, her mouth pursed. ‘It is a well-known fact—’
‘Mother, please. I cannot hear it again.’
Everyone fell silent for a moment.
‘Your sister used to be a gladiator, did she not?’ Livia asked, changing the subject.
‘A long time ago,’ Dulcia replied. ‘Before women were banned.’
Livia tutted once more. ‘Poor Lady Prisca. What a horrendous way to die. I still feel the grief as though it happened yesterday.’
Junia rolled her eyes. ‘She could not stand the woman,’ she whispered to Dulcia.
‘I heard that,’ Livia snapped.
Junia waved her cup, and a servant rose to fill it. ‘I must say, it is difficult to imagine you as the sister of a gladiator. You are so…’
‘Weak?’ Livia offered.
Junia turned to glare at her mother. ‘I was going to say timid.’
‘Are they not the same?’
Dulcia’s cheeks heated. Perhaps they were the same.
Junia patted her hand. ‘Ignore her.’
Incense burners walked in front of litters carrying statues of gods. They were taken to a wooden platform and displayed. As soon as the procession finished, the spatium was cleared, ready for the first event.
‘I do hope they open with a gladiatorial battle,’ Junia said, looking around. ‘I find the boxing rather comical.’
‘I find it tedious,’ Livia sighed. ‘Hand the men some weapons and be done with it.’
Dulcia closed her eyes against the words, wondering how on earth she was going to survive the day.
A horn sounded, and the crowd cheered.
Chapter 11
The new charioteer’s name was Chares, and Nero liked the way he handled the horses with respect and care.
‘They seem skittish,’ Chares said, stepping up into the chariot and gathering the reins. He slipped them over his head and wrapped them around his middle for better control. His fingers brushed the knife at his side as though checking it was still there. The weapon might save his life if he fell.
‘They’re keen to get going,’ Nero said, holding Amator’s bridle with one hand and rubbing his forelock with the other in an attempt to calm him. A groom stood on the other side doing the same. Every now and then, an impatient hoof clipped the gate.
The sound of more horses arriving made Nero look up. It was Manius, his chest pushed out to twice its normal size. He nodded at Nero, who returned the gesture.
‘Easy,’ Chares called to Vita, one of the middle mares, who was throwing her head up.
Manius looked over at the flighty horse, then at Chares. ‘First time racing with new horses is always hard.’
Chares did not even glance in his direction. He was experienced enough to know the man was simply trying to get in his head, and did not look the least bit nervous. Nerva had chosen well.
‘Grow wings and fly,’ Nero whispered to Amator before stepping back. No one wanted to be in the way of the horses when those gates opened. He went to stand behind the chariots, twelve in total, three from each faction. Drivers made final adjustments to their grip and repositioned their feet, evenly distributing their weight. A horn sounded, and the gates flung open to the roar of one hundred and fifty thousand spectators.
The chariots lurched forwards, forming a clean line as they headed for the spina. The handlers followed them out onto the track. They would wait in the centre, better positioned to capture runaway horses or assist the injured if the need arose. Nero slipped between the stone barrier and wiped his hands on his tunic as the drivers settled into their first positions. The thunder of hooves, combined with the resounding noise from the crowd, made his ears ring.
As the horses approached the metae, Nero changed position to get a clearer view. He watched as Manius pulled on the inside rein and squeezed between two chariots, a move that put him in third position. Chares remained in sixth place coming out of the turn, but with plenty of time to catch up.
The horses spread out on the straight as they galloped back towards the starting gates. Chares reached for his whip and pushed the horses hard down the outside, overtaking the two white faction chariots and putting him in fourth place.
‘That’s it,’ Nero said aloud.
The horses rumbled past him, lost in dust and excitement. A bronze dolph
in lowered at one end, a marble egg at the other, each counting down the laps so spectators could keep track of progress.
Six to go.
The drivers managed two entire laps without incident, but during the third, the lead chariot clipped the spina on the turn and lost a wheel. The driver managed to free himself of the reins before his chariot flipped coming out of the turn. He rolled free of the approaching horses, and the moment the track was clear, two men ran out and helped him to safety. The loose horses continued at full speed, the broken chariot bouncing wildly behind them. Eventually they would tire enough that their handlers could capture and remove them from the track.
The incident put Manius into first position. Nero slapped the pillar with the palm of his hand and cursed under his breath. Another dolphin and egg fell.
Four laps to go.
During the next lap, Chares moved wide on the straight once more, sneaking into second place. Nero paced between the pillars, his heart thudding hard in his chest. He knew Manius would do whatever was necessary to ensure he remained in the lead. The man was as dirty a driver as the next during a race.
Chares took the turn much too fast, trying to compensate for the fact that he was on the outside. By some miracle, the horses remained upright, and both wheels of the chariot stuck thanks to some clever weight management. Nero reminded himself to breathe as they entered the straight. He was certain Chares would take the lead before the next turn, but Manius was no fool. Predicting his opponent’s move, Manius swung his horses wide, blocking Chares, who was forced to pull up in order to avoid a collision.
Nero cursed again, head shaking.
Chares used the opportunity to try and take the inside position, but Manius glanced over his shoulder and pulled his horses left, blocking him once again.
At the far end, another chariot upturned. The driver disappeared beneath horses before being spat out the other end, a pulp of broken flesh and bones. Two men ran out onto the track with a wooden stretcher, but they were immediately forced back by approaching horses that had no choice but to leap over the wreckage. But a chariot cannot jump, and it flew up in the air on impact. The driver held onto the sides, his legs flailing for a moment before landing inside the chariot as it hit the ground. It took him a moment to collect the reins and regain control of the horses. The crowd leapt to their feet, their cheers deafening.
Chares and Manius were still fighting it out on the straight, Manius lashing the backs of his horses, edging them forwards until his chariot was level with his opponent’s. Nero saw him glance at Amator, and a bad feeling rose inside him.
‘Don’t you dare,’ he said, taking a few steps forwards. He froze as Manius swerved right, clipping Amator’s leg.
The crowd howled in protest, the noise suddenly tenfold in Nero’s ears. Then nothing. He could not hear a thing, not even the roar that tore from his throat. Amator ploughed chest first into the dirt, pulling the other horses down with him. Leather snapped, and Chares was thrown from the chariot as it rolled. There was a collective gasp as the horses twisted and crashed against one another before finally tumbling to a stop amid a cloud of red dust.
Nero leaped over the barrier and took off at a run straight for them, his eyes fixed on the horses. High-pitched whinnies rang out across the sand, bringing the few spectators who were still sitting to their feet for a better view. With his stomach in knots, Nero ran faster.
Dulcia’s nerves had gotten the better of her. She looked everywhere but at the race, her damp palms pressing against her thighs the entire time. She drank the wine, picked at the grapes—anything not to watch the two leading chariots gallop at full speed, their wheels occasionally bumping.
There were still four laps to go. She could not bear to see any more horses fall.
Plucking another grape, she ignored Junia’s distracted glances in her direction, but the collective gasp of the people around her made her look up. She immediately wished she had not. Her fingernails dug into the flesh beneath her garments as she watched her brother’s horses slam into the ground, the driver expelled from his chariot, rolling a few times and then going still.
Amator had been the first to fall, the others dragged down with him. She heard the snap of leather or bone—she could not tell which. Dust rose in front of the balcony, staining her vision. Standing, she stepped between the seats and rushed to the edge of the balcony. As she gripped the banister, she spotted Nero sprinting down the track towards the crash site.
The insane thing was that the race just carried on as though nothing had happened. The remaining nine chariots were simply expected to navigate the crash sites, and the men responsible for clearing the wreckage were forced to dodge the chariots. Two such chariots passed either side of the accident, taking up nearly the entire width of the track as they came back together. Nero did not stop, or even slow down for that matter. His gaze was fixed on the horses that he cared for like children.
‘Ah, Dulcia,’ Junia called. ‘What are you doing?’
Dulcia could not reply. She continued to grip the barricade, afraid she would fall down if she let go. Nero disappeared between galloping horses, and Dulcia’s hand went over her mouth to hold in a scream. He reappeared a few moments later, now moving at a jog, waving away the dust. When he reached the horses, he fell to his knees beside Amator, then pulled out a knife and began cutting through the leather straps. By that stage, some other men had arrived and were trying to detach the chariot. Horses approached, and they dragged it out of the way just in time, calling to Nero to move. He remained where he was, cutting through the straps, trying to free the horses.
Move.
He looked up as the horses neared, then continued cutting as though he had not seen them.
‘Nero!’ Dulcia shouted. ‘Get out of the way!’
There was no way he could hear her in a venue that size.
‘What in heaven’s name is she shouting about?’ Livia said behind her. ‘Sit down.’
Dulcia did not even glance back at her. Nero was directly in the path of an oncoming chariot. The driver managed to veer around the wreckage at the last minute, but the chariot behind was not so lucky. The horses had no choice but to leap over the fallen animals. Dulcia’s heart stopped as Nero dropped flush against the ground and they flew overhead. The chariot was propelled up in the air, breaking apart on landing, its driver ejected into the stone wall barrier.
Nero leapt to his feet as more men poured out onto the track to help him. Together they freed one horse. Two horses. Vita was bleeding from the head and nose, struggling against the confines of the harness, while Amator was completely still.
‘Sit down this instant,’ Livia said, her tone growing more abrupt.
There was no way Dulcia could turn her back on the scene playing out in front of her. She watched as Nerva jogged out onto the track to join the effort. Nero was on his knees next to Amator’s head, the knife in his hand moving at an extraordinary speed. Nerva stopped at Vita, and he and another man began rocking the horse, encouraging her to get up. They did not have much time, as more chariots were approaching.
‘They need to stop the race,’ Dulcia whispered, one hand pressing against her stomach.
Nerva glanced in the direction of the advancing horses, then took hold of Vita’s bridle and pulled while the other man pushed. Finally, the mare got up on shaky legs and was led away. Nerva ran over to Nero, who had finally managed to cut Amator free. But still, the stallion did not move.
Another dolphin went down. There was only one lap to go with seven chariots remaining in the race. They would not slow for anything now.
Nerva grabbed Nero’s arm and tried to pull him away, but Nero shrugged out of his grip, took hold of one of Amator’s legs, and tried to drag him. Unsurprisingly, the twelve-hundred-pound stallion did not move. Nerva caught his arm once more, and again Nero pulled himself free. Nerva shouted something at him, then had no choice but to move or be trampled.
Dulcia could barely believe what she was see
ing. ‘Move!’ she screamed, pounding on the banister with her fist.
‘Dulcia,’ Junia said. ‘Come sit down.’
Shut up, she wanted to shout. Instead, she watched the remaining chariots move into a line on the final straight. Whips went back and forth as they each tried to get in front. There was no space between them, no room for error. Without thinking it through, she leapt over the barrier and dropped down onto the track. She landed in a crouch, the air leaving her lungs in an oomph.
‘Dulcia!’ It was Junia above her.
She was already running towards Nero. If anyone could make him move, it was her. But she was barely a quarter of the way there when someone caught her around the waist.
‘What in heaven’s name are you doing?’
It was Nerva.
She pushed at the arm around her, trying to free herself. ‘Nero!’ she screamed, needing him to look at her. He must have heard her that time, because his head snapped up, eyes locking on her. ‘Move!’
He glanced at the approaching horses, then down at Amator before getting to his feet and taking off at a run towards her. Nerva dragged Dulcia farther back, struggling to keep a hold of her. She looked at the chariots storming towards Nero, then back at him, her hands jumping to her mouth as she realised he was not going to make it in time.
He must have realised it too, because he stopped running and turned to face the horses.
‘Nero!’
Nerva backed them up against the wall as Nero disappeared from sight. He was swallowed up by thundering horses and flashes of colour. As quick as they had arrived, they were gone again, leaving only dust in their wake.
‘Let me go,’ she pleaded, pushing at Nerva’s arm once more.
He released her that time, because it was the last lap and they would not be passing again. She took off at a run into the settling cloud of dust, looking for a body on the ground and panicking when she could not find it. ‘Nero!’
A hand caught her wrist and she spun around to see him standing there, his panicked eyes moving over her. He let out a shaky breath.
