by Tanya Bird
Staring at the door her sister had disappeared through, she wondered how many years it would be until they saw each other again. She would probably be an entirely different person by then. Her hands went over her face, and a sob escaped her.
Vesta, give me strength.
Chapter 34
Nero had only had a handful of days with the horses. He had worked with them one on one, then all four together, playing with their positions until he found the optimum order. As predicted, Avra thrived on the inside, and Nerva approved the last-minute changes.
Nero had managed to avoid Manius right up until the morning of the race—Dulcia’s wedding day. He had pulled up next to Nero, face hard and eyes narrowed.
‘Nerva must be falling on hard times if he is letting you near his horses again.’
It was tempting to step up to the overdecorated chariot, drag him from it, and lay into his pretty face. Nero’s gaze fell to the protruding whip. So many ideas, but he was not about to do anything that might put Dulcia in danger or jeopardise his chance to race. He turned away.
‘Do not fret,’ Manius said. ‘She is in safe hands now.’
Nero straightened and looked at him. ‘You better go practise. You’re going to need it today.’
Manius’s expression did not change. ‘Why is that?’
‘Because you’re racing me.’
There was no hiding his surprise. ‘I had heard rumours, but dismissed them as such. Do not tell me Nerva is actually letting you race.’
Nero lifted his shoulders in a cocky shrug. ‘Guess you’ll find out later.’ He turned back to the horses.
‘You are going to embarrass Nerva, your team, and yourself.’ Manius flicked the reins and his chariot lurched forwards. ‘This might just be the best wedding gift of the day.’
Nero glanced over his shoulder at the scowling charioteer. ‘See you at the starting gate.’
Dulcia arrived late to the games and was surprised to find her father seated next to Claudius Liberia. She froze at the edge of the balcony, trying to figure out why the sight was so unsettling. Then it came to her. She only ever saw him at the house. It was the only thing that connected them—aside from blood, of course. Outside of those walls they lived separate lives: Rufus as a key player in the senate, with his important friends and fancy dinner parties, and Dulcia with her trips to the market, temples, visits with her sister, and walks along the Tiber.
The Tiber.
‘Are we just going to stand here watching everyone else drink the wine?’ Junia whispered.
Dulcia swallowed, coming out of her trance-like state. She was about to reply when Rufus spotted her. He looked her up and down, then nodded towards the vacant chair beside him. It was an invitation. For the first time in her life, he was inviting her into his world, to sit by his side like the daughter she would have been if Aquila had been her mother instead of a slave who served in their house.
Her entire body warmed. For a moment, she forgot about her fear, her disappointment, her shattered heart. She forgot about her sister leaving, the children who would grow up without her, Remus whom she loved like a brother, and the two men with enormous hearts who shared their house.
The sound of a throat clearing pulled her from her thoughts.
‘Shall we?’ Junia asked.
Dulcia swallowed. ‘Yes.’ Walking over to Rufus, she bowed her head, then greeted Claudius and the surrounding guests, who watched her with interest. She lowered herself onto the seat next to her father, the one he had reserved for her, the one that announced to the world that he had a daughter who no longer lingered in the shadows.
For just a short time, she even forgot about Nero. It was a brief reprieve, a fleeting moment of feeling whole.
Rufus nodded to one of the slaves, a signal to tend to her, feed her, fill her cup, fan her if she felt the slightest bit hot. That was what a simple nod meant to a slave. She knew, because not that long ago, she had been that slave.
Junia spoke briefly with her mother, then walked over to join Dulcia. Before taking her seat, she bowed her head at a man on the next balcony. It was Caracalla. His eyes met Dulcia’s before facing forwards again. Even the emperor’s son saw her that day.
‘Is he looking?’ Junia whispered as she took her seat.
‘Who?’
Junia gave her a look like she should know better. ‘Caracalla, of course.’
Dulcia glanced at him. ‘No, sorry.’
Junia let out a disappointed sigh and settled in to watch the comedic re-enactment below. Dulcia tried to focus, but her mind wandered. What if her mother and Manius had been right? What if she could make peace with her new life, even learn to enjoy it? Time could heal old wounds, open new possibilities.
The crowd applauded, marking the end of the performance. The laughter evaporated, and the people grew restless. A trumpet sounded, signalling a race would soon begin. And just like that, all the fear and anxiety poured back in, returning in a wave so forceful she had to hold the edge of her seat to stop from falling out of it.
‘Something the matter?’ Rufus asked.
She had not realised he was watching her. ‘No.’ She let go of the chair, blinking away the stars dancing in front of her eyes.
Junia leaned forwards until she could see Rufus. ‘Wedding day jitters,’ she offered with a smile.
Rufus nodded and turned back to the track.
‘Breathe,’ Junia whispered. ‘It will all be over soon.’
The next time Nero ran into Manius was at the starting gate at the Circus Maximus. The eager crowd had already watched several gladiator battles; a play inspired by the Gallic war; a two-horse chariot race, where by some miracle no one had died, despite multiple crashes; and a comedic play that had the spectators in fits of laughter.
But it was the four-horse chariot race that drew the crowd. This was reflected in the sizeable prize pool. Four teams, twelve chariots, and only one victor.
Manius cast a sideways glance at him. They were positioned in the middle, one chariot separating them. ‘Should have backed out when you had the chance.’
The driver in the middle looked between them before facing forwards again. Nero just shook his head. His nerves were starting to get the better of him, and the last thing he needed was to be heckled at the starting gate. It did not help that Avra was unsettled. His front hooves left the ground, clipping the gate.
‘Easy,’ Nero said.
It did not go unnoticed by Manius. ‘They can sense fear.’
Nero looked at him. ‘I’ve nothing to lose, so nothing to fear. Can you say the same?’
Manius’s expression darkened. He looped the reins around his body and adjusted his grip. ‘It seems I have much to celebrate today, including your departure from Rome.’ He faced forwards again. ‘Keep out of my way, Rat. I would hate to see you miss the boat.’
The crowd grew more excited, cheering, applauding and whistling. The noise rang around them as they waited for the gates to open.
‘Easy,’ Nero soothed when Avra began pounding the ground with his hoof. The horse swung sideways into Vita, who laid her ears back in warning.
The drivers braced, and finally the gates were flung open to deafening cheers. The noise hit hard, and Nero blinked against it. ‘Ha!’ he shouted, leather slapping rump as he spurred the horses forwards.
The thunder of hooves helped balance the noise that echoed around the open space. Chariots formed a line across the track, but before they had even reached the spina, a wheel flew across Nero’s vision, hitting the driver to his left and knocking him from his chariot. Nero glanced in the direction the wheel had come from and saw an empty chariot being dragged on its side. Already the race was down to ten. In that short time, two chariots had blocked him in. Nero eased the horses back to prevent a collision of his own. He could not afford to get distracted.
The chariots made it safely around the metae, much to the disappointment of the crowd gathered at that end for prime viewing of collisions. He trie
d to block out the noise, tried not to think about Dulcia holding her breath the entire race. There was no room for her with everything else he had to think about for the next six laps. Yet she seeped in. He wished he was there to remind her to breathe.
Bang.
He was thrown sideways when his wheel clipped the stone edge of the spina. One rein fell from his hand as he grabbed the edge of the chariot to steady himself. Pain jolted through his side. The injured ribs had not had enough time to heal. Thankfully the slack of the reins was around his waist, ensuring he did not lose them completely. If he was thrown from his chariot, and survived the fall, he would have only a small window of time to cut himself free and roll to safety. He had seen men dragged and trampled to their deaths enough times to know how small that window was.
He collected the reins and regained control of the horses, just as Manius moved in.
Dulcia did the only thing she could do in that moment—prayed like a lunatic. She remained in her seat, hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles turned white. Her father’s gaze drifted regularly in her direction. She might not have known much about racing, but she knew that being pressed against the inside was not a good thing. Manius was moving closer and closer, his inside horse now in front of Nero’s outside one.
Pull back.
As if he could hear her, Nero checked behind him, then slowed his horses. Dulcia released the breath she had been holding, drawing the attention of those either side of her.
‘Manius is a very experienced driver,’ Junia said for Rufus’s benefit. ‘Do not fret.’
They both knew it was not Manius she was fretting over. ‘I can see that.’ She had watched Nero enough times to know he could make up the lost distance at the turns, but she did not need him to win—she needed him to live.
A second dolphin went down.
Five laps to go.
During the third lap, the pain grew in Nero’s chest. The knock had undone what little healing had taken place, and now he was paying the price of his early mistake. There was nothing to be done but to continue racing.
The air was thick with dust, and he almost did not see the accident ahead where four chestnut horses lay in a twisted mess of leather straps, the chariot nowhere in sight. He leaned right and pulled hard on the rein, narrowly missing both the fallen horses and the ones he had cut off behind. A string of curses chased him.
Nero went wide at the metae, clearing the corner without incident and avoiding the cluster of chariots that fought for prime positions. He searched for Manius among them, then realised he was not there. Across the spina, he saw a flash of blue and realised Manius was far ahead, just a few lengths behind the Spanish favourite.
Four laps to go. Nine chariots still in the race. Five of those in front of him. Soon he would need to make a move to stand a chance.
As he neared the next metae, three chariots swept sideways in a tight cluster. They were too close, and two of them locked wheels. By some miracle, they made it out of the turn, but as the driver behind tried to ease back, his outside horse went down. Nero veered left, knowing it was his only chance at making it past the wreckage that would follow. Before he had a chance to think, the turn was upon him, and he had no option but to take it sharply and pray he did not hit the chariot to his right. His wheel lifted off the ground, and he thrust the weight of his body to that side to prevent it tipping all the way. The chariot returned to the ground with a thud, sending a shot of pain through his chest. He gritted his teeth and waited for it to ease. In a few more strides, he would be clear to make up some of the distance. Through a veil of dust, he could see Manius at the far end, preparing to turn. Two chariots remained between them.
‘Ha! Ha!’ Nero shouted, urging the horses faster.
Three laps to go.
At the metae, Nero took a chance and moved to the inside once more, slipping through a gap barely wide enough for the animals. He thanked the gods when he made it through, the heavy breaths of more horses so close behind him. He focused on the chariot in front, the only one remaining between him and Manius.
Increasing speed once more, he closed the gap between them, then tried the same manoeuvre at the next turn. That time, his chariot slid right, almost hitting a horse. The driver moved out of the way to avoid a collision, and Nero could feel the man’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head as he shouted a string of curses. Muttering a quick prayer, Nero went after Manius.
‘Ha!’
He knew the charioteer would crush him if he tried for the inside, so he went wide, maintaining the same pace. Another dolphin nose-dived.
Two laps to go.
The horses heaved, froth flying from their open mouths and sweat gathering beneath the harnesses. They seemed to be absorbing the charged energy inside the stadium.
Manius glanced over his shoulder and yanked his right rein. His horses swung towards Nero’s. A wheel narrowly missed Avro’s leg and would have ended his race if Nero had not been ready for Manius’s dirty tactics. Sparks flew as his right wheel smashed into the stone wall. There was a collective intake of breath from the spectators.
Nero leaned left, holding the reins steady. When the wheel separated from the stone edge, he lifted his gaze to the enthralled crowd and saw something that made the noise fade and time slow. On the balcony above him was Dulcia, sitting at her father’s side. She was draped in blue with a crown of flowers on her head. Her lips were painted the colour of ripe peaches, her grey eyes burning in his direction. She looked every bit a daughter of Rome.
In that moment she belonged with the elite, at the side of a powerful senator, on a throne of cushions, surrounded by slaves. She glanced sideways at her father, and he felt the loss of her. When her eyes returned to him, there was panic in them.
Noise crashed in on him once more, and time sped up. His head snapped forwards just in time to swerve clear of a bloodied grey horse lying in his path. Its front leg was tangled in the harness, its head restricted. It struggled fiercely as Nero swept past, barely missing it. His relief was short-lived as he noticed the remaining three grey horses galloping in all directions over the track. Men rode out, trying to secure them, but their trauma made them run.
The Spanish favourite was out of the race.
Nero steered left, then right, narrowly missing the panicked horses running at him. Manius was pressed against the outside, somehow making it all the way to the metae without incident. Nero glanced over his shoulder at the remaining chariots, a moving wall behind him. One wrong move and he would be crushed under hoof.
Swinging left, Nero aimed for the narrowing space between Manius and the spina. If he made it through, he would take the lead. But Manius was one step ahead and closed the gap completely. On instinct, Nero shifted right, going wide instead. He would make up the loss on the straight. The crowd cheered as they moved around the bend. But neither of them was prepared for the wreckage on the other side.
Two men were carrying a broken chariot off the track. They had no choice but to drop it and dive for safety. Nero was able to swerve around it, but Manius was on the inside and had nowhere to go but over it. The horses leapt in unison, clearing the broken pile of wicker and leather. But Manius’s chariot could not jump. He was propelled high into the air, with no time to react. His body hit the ground so close to Nero that he heard the air leave the charioteer’s lungs. Behind him were the remaining chariots, gaining, waiting for their opportunity to pass him.
One more lap.
Manius was dragged along the ground, his skin torn and bloodied as he tried to reach for his knife to cut himself free. Just as he got hold of it, he was flipped onto his back. The blade flitted across the dirt, vanishing into the dust.
All Nero had to do was signal to his horses one more time. One final push and they would move ahead, win, and take the prize, along with all the riches fans would bestow on the novice charioteer.
Manius’s horses slowed without the presence of a whip on their backs. He would likely be trampl
ed by the approaching horses, or if by some miracle he made it to the end of the straight, he would hit the stone wall through the turn.
Manius’s death was imminent, and Nero was about to win. So why on earth was he hesitating?
Dulcia. The answer was always Dulcia.
Peach-coloured lips, a crown befitting an empress, grey eyes pleading. She would carry Manius’s death like a cross on her back for the rest of her life. She would blame him, or worse, herself. The man’s death on their wedding day would tarnish her. Sure, she did not love him, but she would never wish him dead.
Pulling back on the reins, Nero’s chariot slowed to match the pace of the runaway horses. He veered left, getting as close to Manius as he could without running him over, then bent to retrieve his dagger from the sheath strapped to his leg. A chariot swept past him on the outside, and the crowd went crazy as the red team took the lead. Nero tugged the outside rein and the chariot skidded in the opposite direction, close enough to Manius to reach the leather straps in which he was tangled.
‘Get ready to roll!’ he shouted, glancing behind at the approaching chariots.
With one mighty swing of his dagger, Nero cut through both reins. Manius tumbled a few times, then went still. For a moment, it looked like he might be trampled. But he managed to roll himself towards the edge of the spina, where he was snatched up by two men and dragged to safety.
Nero rounded the bend on the outside. Two more chariots overtook him, and on the straight, he could not catch them. He crossed the finish line in fourth place, his chest burning and hands raw.
What have I done?
Chapter 35
Dulcia stood at the foot of the bed while the physician tended Manius. Whenever he flinched or cried out through gritted teeth, she placed a hand on his ankle. The aim was both to soothe him and balance herself. She was trying very hard not to faint.
