“You’re in a mood, I see.” “So I am.” “Well, these people are here to see a fairly run race. Do not disappoint them, lad. Despite your fucking ill moods.” “Ach!” Rubio trotted off, his hand gesturing dismissively, heading for the starting gates, his team of armentarii walking with him. “You had better win, boy!” Buccio called after him. “Our Dominus has spent too much coin in getting you to this auspicious day.” “Yah, Yah,” the Germani grumbled, “I shall win. Worry not.” Buccio was right, Rubio knew all too well. Aurelius Falco had spent a small fortune getting him to this moment. The purchase of four Libyan racehorses hadn’t come cheaply, even after Simon Ben-Atar had so kindly granted a discount on the price of the horses. The combined sum of the horses and the trip to Caesarea had cost Falco some 75,000 sesterces, including Rubio’s mouthy mishap with the Roman Centurion, which he was yet to deduct from Rubio’s winnings. But that would be rectified today, he averred. A prodigious first place purse of 40,000 sesterces was offered for the Certamina, a sum he had never won in his forty-five starts. Such a sum would surely set things to rights, him personally receiving two-thirds of it—30,000 …show more content…
The lots had already been drawn and Rubio had taken the second stall behind the White driver, Flavius Castus, who had won the draw and so picked the first stall. Aquilius of the Blues had taken the third stall, and Florus of the Green Faction had taken the forth. The armentarii accompanied the chariots and their drivers to the allotted starting stalls. Then attention turned to the presiding editor, the city magistrate Gaius Plautius. Perched atop the gallery, directly above the starting gates, he stood at the ready with the white mappa in his hand. The tension was quite unbearable; the horses were pawing the ground and snorting, their manes studded with pearls and semi-precious stones. They wore breastplates hung with silver and gold amulets, and each horse had a broad colored ribbon of its faction draped around its neck. Another brace of trumpets sounded and the mob’s prodigious barracking dwindled to a low rumble; the editor was