Mika Waltari - The Roman

The mare trotted cheerfully out of the stable and neighed grandly, but at a command from the stablemaster stood absolutely still. I mounted with the reins in my hand, and asked to have the stirrup straps adjusted to the right length.

“I can see you’ve ridden before,” said the stablemaster approvingly.

Then he bawled out in a thunderous voice: “The knight Minutus Lausus Manilianus has chosen Arminia and is thinking of riding her!”

The riders out on the exercise field scattered to the edges, a trumpet blew the signal to attack, and immediately a game began which more by good luck than skill I managed to survive unscathed. I barely had time to hear a warning from the stablemaster to spare the mare’s tender mouth and not pull too hard on the reins-but Arminia seemed to have a mouth of iron. Reins and bit were completely unknown to her. To begin with, she jerked backward in order to throw me over her head. When this did not succeed, she began bucking and rearing and then set off at a wild gallop, employing all the tricks an experienced circus horse can find to throw an inexperienced rider. I realized only too well why the others had scattered and fled to the edges of the field when Arminia was let loose.

I could do nothing but hang on with all my strength and keep her head at least turned slightly to the left, for she rushed straight at the fence around the field and then stopped suddenly, trying to crush my head against the posts. When despite her efforts I remained on her back, she went quite mad and took great leaps over the obstacles on the field. She was in truth an overwhelmingly powerful and cunning horse, so that when I had recovered from my first fright, I began to enjoy the ride. I let out one or two wild yells and kicked her flanks with my heels to let her work off her rage and tire herself out.

Astonished, Arminia tried to look back at me and obeyed the reins just sufficiently for me to guide her straight at the stablemaster and the breaker in. They hurriedly stopped laughing and scuttled behind the stable door. The stablemaster shouted an order, his face scarlet with fury. A trumpet blared, a troop formed into line and began to trot toward me.

Hut Arminia did not swerve away, however much I pulled at the reins. Spluttering lather and swinging her head, she carried me at full gallop straight at the closed ranks of riders. I was sure I would be thrown, but either the leading riders lost courage or they must have deliberately opened the line at the last moment to let me through. But each one who could reach tried to sweep me out of the saddle with his wooden spear or hit me over the back as the furious Arminia took me, biting, leaping and kicking, right through the group of riders without my receiving more than a few bruises.

This vicious and deliberate attempt to frighten me made me so angry that I mustered all my strength and managed to turn Arminia in order to try to unseat some of the riders myself. But at the last moment I remembered Barbus’ advice, controlled myself and instead rode past them shouting, laughing and waving a greeting.

When Arminia had worked off her rage, she at last calmed down and became irreproachably obedient. When I dismounted in front of the stable, she did try to bite my neck, but I think it was mostly in fun and I contented myself in return by butting her with my elbow under her muzzle.

The stablemaster and the breaker-in looked at me as if I were a monster, but the stablemaster pretended to be angry.

“You’ve ridden her into a lather and torn the mouth of a valuable horse so that it bled,” he said reproachfully. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s my own horse and my own business how I ride it,” I answered.

“You’re quite wrong,” he said angrily. “You can’t ride her at practices because she won’t stay in line and doesn’t obey orders. She’s used to being ahead of the others.”

Several of the riders had left their horses and had gathered in a circle around us. They encouraged me and cried out that I was a good rider and they all agreed that the stablemaster had allotted me the horse by shouting it out for all to hear.

“Don’t you see it was a joke?” the stablemaster finally had to admit. “Every recruit has to try Arminia the first time, if he’s not too feeble. Arminia is a real warhorse and no miserable parade nag. She’s even fought with wild animals in the amphitheater. Who do you think you are, you insolent boy?”

“Joke or not,” I protested, “I stayed in the saddle and you fell into your own trap. It’s a shame to keep a fine horse like that shut up for days on end just to use for frightening recruits. Let’s meet each other halfway. I want to ride her every day, but for practices I’ll take another horse if she can’t keep in line.”

The stablemaster called on all the gods of Rome to bear witness that I had demantled two horses instead of one, but the others were on my side and cried out that he had played his joke with Arminia long enough. Every one of them had a bump or a scar or a broken bone to remind them of their attempts to ride Arminia as recruits, although they had all been riding since infancy. If I were mad enough to want to break my neck then I had a right to have Arminia. She was in any case the property of the Order of Knights.

But I did not want to quarrel with the stablemaster, so I promised him a thousand sesterces as a tip and said I should like to stand everyone some wine to wet my riding boots. In this way I was taken into the Roman cavalry and made friends among my contemporaries and also among the older youths. After a while I was chosen to join the elite riders in place of a youngster who had broken his leg, and we started practicing seriously for the competitive games at the centenary festivities. They were sufficiently dangerous that no one was allowed to take part simply because of noble birth or wealth, but only according to his own skill and ability. So I was proud of being chosen.

It is unnecessary to continue boasting about my success in the equestrian games. We were divided into two sections which performed a regular cavalry battle at the great circus at the centenary feast. It was a rough game, although it was prescribed that neither side either won or lost. I managed to stay on Arminia’s back right to the end but after that I had to be carried home and I saw little of the displays in the amphitheater or the performances at the circus which were supposed to be the most brilliant and best organized that had ever been seen in Rome. In the middle of the festivities, many of my friends found the time to come and see me on my sickbed and assured me that without me they would have won much less honor and glory. I contented myself with having ridden my black mare and with having heard a couple of hundred thousand people roaring with excitement and shouting my praises before I broke several ribs and my left thigh. But I had stayed in the saddle on Arminia until the very end.

The most significant political outcome of the centenary festival was that people paid great tribute to Emperor Gaius’ nephew, that ten-year old Lucius Domitius, who beautifully and fearlessly led the more innocent displays of the boy riders. Claudius’ own son, Britannicus, was put completely in the shade. The Emperor did call him up to his box and tried his best to show him to the people, but the crowd only shouted for Lucius Domitius and he received the acclaim with such modesty and good manners that everyone was even more delighted.

As far as I was concerned, I should have been lame for life if the cavalry doctor from the temple of Castor and Pollux had not been so skillful. He handled me cruelly and I suffered fearful pain. I had to lie in splints for two whole months. After that I had to practice walking on crutches and could not leave our house for long.