CHARIOTEERING
Sight-seeing in Rome, in the guise of Gallic wastrels, under the tutelage
of a harborside slum host, was truly an experience for me after my former
station as a nobleman of the Republic, and my ruin and disguise and
flight. I positively enjoyed it.
First of all Colgius was for showing us over the stables of the Reds, for
he was mad about racing and boasted that he had bet on the Reds since he
was six years old and his father gave him his first copper. But I demurred
and pointed out that none of the racing-stables were fit places for us,
since a steady stream of Spanish horses trickled through Marseilles and on
through Vada Sabatia and Genoa to Rome, and there was too great a
probability that we might come face to face with some groom, hostler or
hanger-on from Marseilles who would know us at sight. Colgius yielded to
this argument and agreed that we must avoid all the racing stables. This
greatly relieved us, since, while neither I nor Agathemer had been
devotees of the sport, both of us had been through all six establishments
often enough to be likely to be recognized in any one of them.
Baffled in his first choice and, apparently, in his only choice, Colgius
asked us what we wanted to see. I said I wanted most to see a day of
racing in the circus, blurting out this rather foolish utterance without
reflection, merely because I thought it would seem natural to him. He
replied that that would be easy, but that the next racing day was day
after tomorrow: what would we like to do today?
I said I wanted first of all to be shown the Temple of Mercury, for I
wanted to make an offering to the god.
"Oh, yes," he said, "Mercury is your chief god in Gaul, isn't he, and you
put him ahead of Jupiter. What is it you call him?"
"You are thinking of the Belgians," I said, "and of the Gauls in the
Valley of the Liger. They call Mercury Tiv or Tir and regard him as their
chief god. But we provincials never had any such ideas: we worship the
same gods as you, in the same way. But I, personally, while revering
Jupiter as king of the gods, have always particularly sought the favor of
Mercury."
Off we went to the meat market and I bought there two white hens, as on
the day of my flight, more than a year before. With one under each arm I
then followed Colgius to the Temple of Mercury and there made my prayers
and offering.
When we came out he, of course, began to display the outside of the Great
Circus and to tell me of its glories, which, he said, he would show me
from the inside the day after tomorrow. The life there was much as
Maternus and I had seen it twenty-three days before.
We could not avoid following Colgius about Rome, round the Palatine, the
Colosseum and the Baths of Titus and through the Forums of Vespasian,
Nerva, Augustus and Trajan. At Trajan's Temple he reiterated his regrets
that we dare not go on to the stables of the Reds, and turned back through
Trajan's Forum, the Forum of the Divine Julius and the Great Forum. Of
course, I was quaking with dread for fear some lifelong acquaintance would
recognize me, even in my coarse attire. But none did: in fact I set eyes
on no one I knew, except Faltonius Bambilio, who was pompously lecturing
ten victims in the Ulpian Basilica. I was certain that his eyes were only
on his auditors; the sight of him did not alarm me, he never paid any
attention to those he considered his inferiors.
All along Agathemer and I were bursting with suppressed giggles: Colgius
paid very little attention to the Palace, the Great Amphitheater, the
magnificent public baths, the temples or to any of the glories about us;
he was all for cook-shops and hauled us into cook-shops without number,
sometimes presenting his Gallic friends, Asper and Felix, to his good
friend, the proprietor, sometimes bursting into invectives against the bad
cookery, infinitesimal portions or absurd prices of his enemies'
establishments. In cook-shops Agathemer and I felt safe, near a cook-shop
we felt almost safe, between cook-shops, companioned by Colgius and any
cook-shop frequenters we met, we felt more than a little safe. To our
thinking no spy, informer or secret service agent would feel suspicious
towards Colgius and his friends, nor towards us in their company, and he
presented us to idlers, loafers, louts, betting agents, sellers of tips on
the races, friends of jockeys, cousins of hostlers and such like to an
amazing number.
We found all Rome, as we saw it in the company of Colgius, humming with
two names and we made sure that, if they buzzed in such company as we were
in they also formed the chief topics of conversation in all parts of the
city and at every level of society from the senators down.
One name we had heard when in Rome with Maternus, but had barely heard it;
now we heard it everywhere; the name of Palus, the charioteer; Palus, the
incomparable jockey; Palus, the king of horsemasters; Palus the chum of
Commodus. Both of him, and about him, not only from the men who talked to
us, but also from bystanders, diners and idlers, who never noticed us or
knew that we overheard them, we heard the most amazing stories:
He could guide six horses galloping abreast between the test-pillars for
tyros driving four-abreast and never jostle a pillar or throw a horse; he
had done it time after time; he had won three races, driving seven horses
abreast, his competitors driving four abreast; he had won a race, with a
team of four Cappodocian stallions, guiding them without reins, by his
voice only; he was the most graceful charioteer, bar no one, ever seen in
Rome.
As to his origin and personality the stories were not only fantastic, but
divergent, contradictory or incompatible.
If we might believe what we heard he had been presented to Commodus by the
same nobleman who had presented Murmex Lucro, and on the very next day; he
was from Apulia; he was a Roman all his days; he was a Sabine; he was a
nobleman in disguise, he had been a foundling brought up in the Subura; he
was a half brother of Commodus, offspring of an amour between Faustina and
a gladiator, reared in Samnium on a farm, lately recognized and accepted
by the Emperor; he was Commodus himself in disguise.
All this, you may be sure, made us prick up our ears. Still more did we at
the sound of the other much-bandied name. Here again the tales were
varied, inconsistent, antagonistic.
But the name!
That name was:
Marcia!
Marcia was in control of Commodus, of the Emperor, of the Republic, of the
Empire. She was domiciled in the Palace, she was treated as Empress, she
had all the honors ever accorded an Empress except that she never
participated in public sacrifices or other ceremonial rituals. Crispina
had been divorced and was no longer Empress, but had been relegated, under
guard, to a distant island; Crispina was still Empress, but had withdrawn
in disdain from the Palatine, occupied the Vectilian Palace on the Caelian
Hill, still received Commodus when he visited her, but would not set foot
on the Palatine nor take part in any ritual or ceremonial; Crispina had
been murdered by Marcia's orders, in her presence, with the Emperor's
consent; Marcia got on well with the Empress, there was no jealousy
between them, Crispina was glad to have someone who could soothe Commodus
in his periodic rages and humor him when he sulked; every possible variety
of story about Crispina was told, but every tale represented Marcia as
undisputed and indisputable mistress of the Palace and of everybody in it.
Of her origin we heard mostly versions of the true story; often we heard
named Hyacinthus and Ummidius Quadratus, never my uncle nor Marcus
Martius. We dared not seem to know anything about Marcia and so could not
name Marcus Martius or ask after him. From all the talk we heard,
addressed to us or about us, his name was as absent as if he had never
existed.
How Marcia came to the Emperor's attention, won his notice, acquired her
mastery of him, as to all this we heard not one word: of her complete
control of him and of all Rome everyone talked openly.
The next day we escaped the unwelcome attention of Colgius because Maganno
came after us to introduce us to the captain who was to take us to
Antioch, to show us his ship, and to make sure we knew the wharf at which
she lay and how to reach her. The ship was to sail two days later. The
captain's name was Orontides, which struck both me and Agathemer as being
the same as that of the most fashionable jeweler in Rome, whose
grandfather had come from Antioch, where, I suppose, the name would be as
natural and frequent as Tiberius with us.
He was a Syrian Greek, with curly brown hair and brown eyes, by no means
so wind-tanned and weather-beaten as Maganno, but manifestly a seaman. He
was bow-legged and had very large flat feet.
Orontides looked us over, approved us, required a deposit of twenty gold
pieces, counted them, said we might pay the rest of his charges at
Antioch, and we shook hands on the bargain.
Yet, as the cost of the voyage would land us in Syria with but a few
coins, it was well for us that, later in the day, Agathemer found a dealer
in gems lately come to Rome and sold him another jewel. This filled our
pouches and left us certain of having gold to spare until he could manage
to find a purchaser for yet another gem in Antioch or elsewhere.
Colgius, when we returned to our lodgings, talked of nothing but the Games
which were to be celebrated next day. He first exhibited the togas which
he had hired for us to wear; we, as fugitives, having, of course, no togas
of our own. We found them clean and tried them on. Colgius approved and
went on with his enthusiasm.
There were to be twenty-four faces, all of four-horse chariots only,
twelve in the morning, of six chariots, one for each of the racing
companies; twelve in the afternoon, of twelve chariots, two for each of
the racing companies. Colgius discoursed at length as to his opinions
concerning the six companies, inveighing against the Golds and the
Crimsons, declaring that they were rich men's companies, in which only
senators and nobles took any interest and the existence of which spoiled
racing.
"You never heard of a plain man like me betting on the Crimson or the
Gold," he ranted, "all folks of moderate means, all the plain people, all
the populace, bet on the Reds, Whites, Greens or Blues. I agree that the
Greens are the most popular company, most popular with all classes from
the senators and nobles to the poorest, but I will never admit, as many
claim, that the Blues have the second place in the affections of the
people; the Blues, I maintain, come third and the Reds have second place
with all classes. The Whites are a strong fourth. But, as to the Golds and
the Crimsons, no one ever lays a wager on them except the enormously rich
nobles and senators whose ancestors organized them under Domitian a
hundred years ago. But they, being so enormously rich, can buy the best
horses and have the best jockeys. Now they have Palus. The Reds have
Scopas and the Greens Diocles, and both have been wonderful, but Palus can
beat anybody.
"They say he has wagered an enormous sum that he will win all of the
twelve races in which he is to run, the first six odd numbers and the last
six even numbers, and that he will do so in a previously specified way;
that he will take and keep first place in the first race; that, in the
others he will, at the start, take second place, third place and so on
progressively further back in each, till he lets the whole of five get
ahead of him in the eleventh race and the whole field of eleven have the
start of him in the last race."
Colgius was afraid Palus would succeed in doing precisely what he
purposed. The Reds, if they won any races, must win in those in which
Palus did not start. He judged they could not hope to win more than eight
of those twelve. He was gloomy.
Next day dawned fair, mild, and with a gentle breeze, perfect weather for
spending a day in the Circus. To this Agathemer and I looked forward with
some trepidation, for service men, spies and informers were always in all
parts of the Circus and one might recognize me. But we comforted ourselves
with the hope that they were no longer on the lookout for me. If I knew
the ways of secret-service men I conjectured that they would never have
been willing to report the truth: that they could find no trace of me,
that I had vanished utterly and completely. I would have been willing to
wager that, within a month of my disappearance, some corpse somewhere was
identified as mine and my suicide reported as verified; which report had
probably been accepted at the Palace; whereafter I would be off the minds
of all secret-service men everywhere. Therefore I felt reasonably sure
that no agent would be on the lookout for me. Of course there was a chance
that one might recognize me by accident. But this was so unlikely that we
did not worry over it much.
I was more concerned for fear of arousing suspicion in Colgius by not
behaving as he would expect a Gallic Provincial to behave at his first
sight of the great games in the Circus Maximus. I could not be sure at
what he would expect me to exclaim, what I ought to wonder at and remark
on to seem natural in my assumed role of Marseilles scapegrace.
We were a party of eight, Colgius, his wife Posilla, and two teamsters or
drovers named Ramnius and Uttius, who conveyed goods or convoyed cattle
between Ostia and the markets of Rome. They had their wives with them, but
I forget their names. The three women were arrayed in wonderful costumes
of cheap fabrics dyed in gaudy hues and adorned with jewelry of gilt or
silvered bronze set with bits of colored glass. I had seen such at a
distance, but never so close.
Both Agathemer and I liked Ramnius and Uttius; we felt at ease with them
at first sight. And they were evidently intimates of Colgius and high in
his favor. He and they wore their togas with all the awkwardness to be
expected from men who donned togas only for Circus games and Amphitheatre
shows. To my amazement I found myself really delighted at again wearing a
toga. Like all gentlemen I had always loathed the hot, heavy things. But I
found myself positively thrill at being again garbed as befits a Roman on
a holiday or at a ceremonial. Besides I found that a toga, over a poor
man's tunic, was not nearly so uncomfortable as it was over the more
complicated garb of a fashionable person of means and position.
The interior of the Circus, from my novel location, appeared sufficiently
strange to lull my dread that I might seem too familiar with it. Of course
we were very far back, only five rows in front of the arcade, whereas as
long as I was a nobleman of Rome in good standing, I had always sat in the
second tier, far forward.
But what made much more difference than sitting far back and high up
instead of well forward and low down was that we were on the other side of
the Circus from my old seat and almost directly opposite it. I had always
sat in section E, about the middle of the east side of the Circus and not
far from the Imperial Pavilion in section C. We were in section P,
directly facing E, and not far from the judges' stand in section O.
Now from where I had been used to sitting, facing a little south of west,
I had viewed only the tiers of seats and of spectators, the upper arcade,
and, above that the roofs of the not very lofty, large or magnificent
temples on the Aventine Hill. From where we sat with Colgius we faced the
Palatine and I was overwhelmed by the vastness, beauty and grandeur of the
great mass of buildings which make up the Imperial Palace. On a festival
day, of course, they were exceptionally gorgeous, for every window was
garlanded at the top and most displayed tapestries or rugs hung over the
sill, every balcony was decorated similarly and with greater care than the
windows, and every window, balcony and portico was a mass of eager faces.
Especially my eye was caught by the crowd of Palace officials and servants
on the bulging loggia built by Hadrian in order to be able to catch
glimpses of games when he was too busy to occupy the Imperial Pavilion in
the Circus itself. That Pavilion, as yet occupied only by a few guards, I
gazed at with mixed feelings.
Colgius put Agathemer next him, then me; beyond me sat Ramnius and his
wife and then Uttius and his. But across Posilla we were introduced to two
cattle inspectors named Clitellus and Summanus of whom we felt
uncomfortably suspicious from the instant we laid eyes on them. They
looked to me like secret-service agents and Agathemer nodded towards them,
when they were not looking, raised his eyebrows and touched his lips.
I for some time satiated myself with gazing at the Palace, with admiring
the wonderful charm of the outlook from this side of the Circus, with
revelling in the sense of delight at being again in it, with feasting my
eyes on its gorgeousness, on the magnificence of its vastness, of its
colonnade, of its costly marbles, of its tiers of seats, of the obelisks,
shrines, monuments and other decorations of the _spina_.
Then, after the upper seats were well packed with commonality, the gentry
and nobility began to dribble into the lower tiers and even a few
senatorial parties entered their boxes in the front row. I began to peer
at party after party, outwardly trying to keep my face blank, inwardly
excited at the probability of recognizing many former friends and
acquaintances.
The first man I recognized was Faltonius Bambilio, unmistakably pompous
and self-satisfied. Although a senator he came early. Later I saw Vedius
Vedianus and, far from him, Satronius Satro. Didius Julianus, always the
most ostentatious of the senators, was unmistakable even in section B,
further from me than any part of the Circus except the left hand starting
stalls and their neighborhood.
I looked for Tanno in section D, and early made him out.
But, even after the equestrian seats and senatorial boxes had all filled,
nowhere could I descry any feminine shape at all suggestive of Vedia. I
was still peering and sweeping the senatorial seats with my eyes, hoping
to espy her, when the bugles announced the Emperor's approach and the
audience stood up. My eyes were on the Imperial Dais watching for the
appearance of the Emperor. But when he came into sight, and I joined in
the cheers, I viewed without emotion this man, who had honored me with his
favor, yet who had credited to the utmost, without investigation, my
inclusion among the number of his dangerous enemies. I reflected that no
man accused of participating in a conspiracy against any Prince of the
Republic had ever been given any sort of hearing or his friends allowed to
try to clear him.
I used all my powers of eyesight to con the Emperor, distinctive in his
official robes but too far off to be seen well. He appeared to me to have
lost something of his elegance of carriage and grace of movement. He
seemed less elastic in bearing, less springy of gait. There was, even at
that distance, something familiar in his attitude and stride, but it did
not seem precisely the presence of Commodus as I had known him. I stared
puzzled and groping in my mind. But I felt no emotion as I stared and
peered at him.
Oddly enough, from the moment when I received Vedia's letter of warning
until I caught sight of the head of the procession about to enter the
Circus through the Procession gate, I had had not one instant of
despondency or of self-pity. But, at sight of the head of that magnificent
procession, a sort of wave of misery surged through me and inundated me
with a sudden sense of wistful regret for all that I had lost and also
with an acute realization of the precarious hold I had on life, of the
peril I was in from hour to hour. This unexpected and unwelcome dejection
possessed me until the whole line of floats displaying the images of the
gods had passed and the racing chariots came along.
The very first of these drawn by a splendid team of four dapple grays, was
driven by a charioteer wearing the colors of the Crimsons' Company. I did
not need to hear the exclamation of Colgius:
"There is Palus! That is Palus!" to recognize this Prince of Charioteers.
The descriptions I had heard were enough to have told me who he was. For
at even a distant sight of him I did not wonder at the tales which gave
out that he was a half brother of Commodus, or Commodus in disguise. He
was more like Commodus than any half brother would have been likely to
have been; like as a twin brother, like enough to be actually Commodus
himself. He had all Commodus' comeliness of port and refinement of poise.
Every attitude, every movement, was a joy to behold. I stared back and
forth from this paragon in a charioteer's tunic to the stolid lump on the
Imperial throne, perplexed at the enigma, feeling just on the verge of
comprehension, but baffled. I kept gazing from one to the other till Palus
rounded the further goal and was largely hidden by the posts, the stand
for the bronze tally-eggs, the obelisk and the other ornaments of the
_spina_. [Footnote: See Note G.]
There were about two hundred chariots, for very few teams were entered to
race twice. More than a third were driven by charioteers, the rest by
grooms, or others, quite competent to control them at a walk, though some
of the more fiery had also men on foot holding their bits.
"Felix," Agathemer queried, "did you notice anything peculiar about the
first chariot?"
"Yes, Asper," I replied, "I did. I never saw a chariot with its wheels so
close together, nor with such long spokes. Its axle is higher from the
ground than any I ever set eyes on."
"I recall," said Agathemer, "hearing you recount a lecture on chariot-
design you once heard from a man of lofty station."
"The design of that chariot," I replied, "certainly tallies with the
design advocated in that lecture. It would seem to indicate that Palus has
accepted the views of that very distinguished lecturer."
"Perhaps," said Agathemer drily. "Perhaps it indicates something more
notable."
"Perhaps," I admitted.
Most of the teams were white or dapple gray, those being the favorite
colors of all the racing companies except the Whites themselves, among
whom it was a tradition that teams of their racing-colors were unlucky for
them. Next most frequent were bays, then sorrels, while roans and
piebalds, as usual, were distinctly scarce. In fact there were but three
teams of roans, all with the white colors, and two of piebalds, one
belonging to the Greens and one to the Blues. The Blue team caught my eye,
even at so great a distance. When it came opposite us I nudged Agathemer
and queried:
"Asper, did you ever see any of these horses before?"
"Yea, Felix," he replied. "You are quite right in your judgment; the left-
hand yoke-mate is the very stallion you are thinking of, which you and I
have seen and handled before to-day. You and I know where you rode him and
how he passed out of your ken."
It was, in fact, the trick stallion I had ridden at Reate fair and won as
a prize of my riding him, which had been spirited away from my stables not
many nights after he came into my possession. At once I foresaw some
attempt at altogether unusual trickery in the course of this racing-day.
The team of four splendid piebald stallions, about five years old, was one
of the few entered for two races. I could not conjecture how a horse which
had spent his youth as trick-horse in possession of an itinerant fakir,
had acquired, since I knew him, reputation enough to be yoke-mate in a
team highly enough thought of to be entered for two races the same day in
the Circus Maximus. This was a puzzle almost as absorbing as the likeness
and contrast between the Emperor and Palus.
The racing had many remarkable features, but I am concerned to relate only
those in which Palus took part.
At once after the procession he drove in the first race, always a perilous
honor. When we saw the chariots dart out of the starting-stalls, the
Crimson emerged from the stall furthest to the left, just that which is
the worst possible position from which to start. Although thus handicapped
the Crimson seemed a horse-length ahead before the other chariots had
cleared the sills of their stalls and a full chariot-length ahead before
it reached the near end of the _spina_ wall. We saw Palus take the wall
easily and hold it throughout the race, after the first turn never less
than two full chariot-lengths ahead of the Green, which came second. The
Red was third, which comforted Colgius a little. As Palus passed the
judges' stand he threw up an arm, with a gesture so boyish, so debonair,
so graceful, so altogether characteristic of Commodus, that I felt a qualm
all over me. And a second gesture of exultation as he vanished through the
Gate of Triumph was equally individual.
The Red won the second race, which put Colgius, Uttius and Ramnius in high
good humor and seemed to make their fat, smiling wives even more smiling.
Agathemer and I agreed that the rumors retailed by Colgius concerning the
wager said to have been made by Palus were probably correct; for he did
just what that rumor specified and so singular and spectacular a series of
feats could hardly have been fortuitous. It was quite plain that he pulled
in his team in the third race, and let a Gold team get the lead of him and
keep it till five eggs and five dolphins had been taken down by the tally-
keepers' menials and there were but two full laps to run. Then he took the
lead easily in the middle of the straight and won by four full lengths.
So of the other races in which he drove. He pulled in his team at the
start and each time allowed to get ahead of him one more team than in his
last race. Then he joyously and without apparent effort passed first one,
in one straight, then another in another, varying his methods from race to
race, watching for and seizing his opportunities, biding his time, dashing
into top speed as he chose, all smoothly and in perfect form.
The Blue team of piebalds with my trick-stallion among them won the fourth
race in which Palus did not compete.
The eleventh race, in which Palus let the whole field of five precede him,
was most exciting, especially because of the length of lead he gave even
to the fifth team, and the impression of inevitableness about his victory
afterwards. The thirteenth, in which he did not drive, was notable for an
appalling smash-up of five chariots, in which three jockeys were killed
and eight horses killed outright or so badly injured that the clearing-
crew had to put them out of their agonies.
The fourteenth race would have been spoiled by an even worse massacre had
it not been for the superlative skill of Palus and his amazing luck. He
had passed five of the seven chariots which had the lead of him at the
start and was a close third to the two Blue teams, with the entire field
well up behind, three abreast, mostly, bunched up in a fashion which
seldom happens. The whole dozen had gathered way after the tenth turn, as
they came up the straight past the judges and us on the first lap, while
two eggs and two dolphins still remained on the tally stands. Two thirds
up the straight, just when all twelve teams were at their top speed, the
Blue chariot furthest out from the _spina_ wall swerved to the right as if
the jockey had lost control of his team. Palus lashed his four and they
increased their speed as if they had been held in before and darted
between the two Blues. As the twelve horses were nose to nose the outer
Blue pulled sharply inward in a way which appeared certain to pocket Palus
and wreck his team and chariot, but even more certain to wreck the
swerving Blue. What Palus did I was too far off to see, but the roar of
delight from the front rows, which spread north, south and west till it
sounded like surf in a tempest, advertised that he had done something
superlatively adequate. Certainly he slipped between the two Blue teams
and won his race handily, as he did every other in succession, though
eight, nine, ten and eleven chariots led him at the start of each in
succession.
"What do you think of that, Asper?" I asked Agathemer.
"Felix," he replied, "there has never been but one man on earth who could
manage horses like that. I've seen him do it. I've been smuggled in to
watch him, like many another servant supposed to be waiting for his master
outside. I recognize the inimitable witchery of him."
"No need to name him," I said. "But if you are right, who is wearing his
robes and occupying his usual seat to-day?"
"Don't ask me!" Agathemer replied. "But you yourself, Felix, who have seen
him drive so much oftener than I have must agree with me about Palus."
I was mute.
I never saw a better managed racing-day. The first twelve races of six
chariots each were over and done with more than an hour before noon and we
had plenty of time to eat the abundant lunch Posilla and her two friends
had put up for us, to drink all we wanted of the wine served in the tavern
in the vault to the left of the entrance stair, underneath the seats of
our section, and to return to our seats, refreshed like the rest of that
fraction of the spectators which went out and came back, most of them
sitting tight in their seats, unwilling to miss any of the tight-rope-
walking, jugglers' tricks, fancy riding and rest of the diversions which
filled up the noon interval. Also the twelve afternoon races of twelve
chariots each were so promptly started, with so little interval between,
that the last race was run a full two hours before sunset, while the light
was still strong; stronger, in fact, than earlier in the day, for a sort
of film of cloud had mitigated the glare of noon, while by the start of
the last race the sky was the deepest, clearest blue and the sun's
radiance undimmed by any hindrance.
That last race! Palus passed nine competitors in ten half laps, and, in
the first half of the sixth lap, was again third to two Blue teams one of
which was the piebald team with the Reate trick-stallion as left-hand
yoke-mate. Again, as in the fourteenth race, the field was close up,
widespread, bunched, and thundering at top speed. Palus was driving the
dapple grays with which he had won the first race.
Now, what happened, happened much quicker than it can be told, happened in
the twinkling of an eye. The inner leading Blue team apparently hugged the
_spina_ wall too close and jammed its left-hand hub-end against the
marble, stopping the chariot, so that the axle and pole slewed and so that
the horses, since the pole and the traces did not snap, were brought nose
on against the wall and piled up horridly, just at the goal-line, opposite
the judges stand, and falling so that as they fell they straightened out
the pole and brought the chariot to a standstill with its axle neatly
across the course.
The other Blue, with the piebalds, was not close in to the leaders, but
fairly well out and about a length behind. As the wall-team piled up
something happened among the free-running piebalds. Of course, I
conjecture that the trick-stallion threw himself sideways at a signal. But
it seems incredible that a creature as timid as a horse, so compellingly
controlled by the instinct to keep on its feet, should, in the frenzy of
the crisis of a race, while in the mad rush of a full-speed gallop, obey a
signal so out of variance with his natural impulse. Agathemer vows he saw
the trick-stallion throw himself against the chief horse while he and the
other two were running strong and true. I did not see that; I only saw the
four piebalds go down in a heap in front of their chariot, saw the chariot
stop dead, saw, even at that distance, that its axle was perfectly in line
with the axle of the other wrecked chariot, both chariots right side up
and too close together for any chariot to pass between them.
Palus, skimming the sand not three horse lengths behind the piebalds, was
trapped and certain to be piled up against the wrecked Blues, under three
or four more of the field thundering behind him.
Actually, at that distance, I saw his pose, the very outline of his neck
and shoulders, express not alarm but exultation. Although his right ear
and part of the back of his head was towards me, I could almost see him
yell. I could descry how the lash of his whip flew over his team, how
craftily he managed his reins.
Right at the narrow gap he drove. In it his horses did not jam or fall or
stumble or jostle. The yoke-mates held on like skimming swallows, the
trace-mates seemed to rise into the air. I seemed to see the two wheels of
his chariot interlock with the two wheels of the upright, stationary
wrecked chariots, his left-hand wheel between the chariot-body and right-
hand wheel of the chariot on his left, his right-hand wheel between the
chariot-body and left-hand wheel of the chariot on his right.
Certainly I saw his chariot, with him erect in it, rise in the air, saw it
bump on the ground beyond the two stationary chariots, saw it leap up
again from its wheels' impact upon the sand, all four of his dapple grays
on their feet and running smoothly, saw him speed on and round the upper
goal-posts.
As Palus came round the next lap, well ahead of the diminished field, he
craftily avoided the heap of wreckage. As he won he dropped his reins
altogether, threw up both, arms, and yelled like a lad. As he vanished
through the Triumphal Gateway, he again dropped his reins, left his team
to guide themselves, and turned half round to wave an exultant farewell to
the spectators.
"What do you think, Asper?" I asked Agathemer.
"Felix," said he, "I wouldn't bet a copper that the occupant of the throne
is not Commodus. But I'll wager my amulet-bag and all it contains that
Palus is not Ducconius Furfur."
He said it under his breath, that I alone might hear.
"My idea, precisely, Asper," I replied.