Robert Fabbri: The Racing Factions

‘In which case I’ll be only too pleased to help – but it’ll be expensive.’

‘Don’t worry, senator, you’ll be able to recoup that money and a lot more besides.’

They stopped outside a single-storey house that, although tall and grand in structure, was not ostentatious compared to other buildings on the Palatine. Its windowless walls were painted a plain white, and it lacked any extraneous decoration.

Gaius slapped Magnus on the shoulder. ‘Thank you, Magnus. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for me whilst I have my interview with Antonia, I shouldn’t be long.’

‘Of course, senator. One thing before you go in: does Antonia have anything to do with Ahenobarbus?’

‘He’s her nephew, the son of her late elder sister, another Antonia. And he’s married to her granddaughter, Agrippina.’

‘Is he now? Does Antonia have any influence over him?’

Gaius rapped on the bronze-studded oaken door. ‘A little, but not enough to make him forgo all the bribes from the other candidates.’ A viewing slat slipped back and after a brief pause the doors were opened. Gaius walked in leaving Magnus deep in thought.

‘I thought the offer of a tour would be of interest to you.’ A broad-shouldered young man with military-style cropped hair and a tanned face greeted Magnus at the entrance of the Greens’ stables in the shadow of the Flaminian Circus.

‘More than you would know, Lucius, my friend.’ Magnus grasped the proffered forearm. ‘It’s good of you to remember your promise. When did you get back from Moesia?’

‘A couple of days ago; I’ve got a month’s leave in the city. Let’s go in.’

Lucius led Magnus through the arched gate, acknowledging two guards who made Ignatius’ protectors look like boy-players in the theatre.

‘How come they let you in?’ Magnus asked, eying the two colossi.

‘All my family work for the Greens; my uncle’s the stable-master now, I can come and go as I please.’

They walked into a busy, rectangular yard, two hundred paces long and half that across. The two long sides consisted of solely of stables, hundreds of them; whilst the shorter sides housed a mixture of workshops, forges, warehouses and offices. The air was scented with the sweet, animal smell of horses and filled with the sound of their hooves clattering on the paved ground as they were exercised in groups of four or in pairs. At one end, teams of carpenters were repairing those chariots only mildly damaged in yesterday’s racing, replacing broken struts in the light frames and restretching green linen over them. Next to them blacksmiths fitted glowing-red iron tyres on the eight-spoked wheels and dipped them, steaming and hissing, into tubs of water, contracting the metal so it fitted tightly around the rim. Everywhere there was activity: hunched leather-workers stitching harnesses and traces, dusty grooms currying horses, sweating slaves unloading bags of feed from a covered wagon, boys running errands, axles being greased; hammering, joking, neighing, sawing, shouting and whickering – all the business of a faction’s stables on the day after a race.

‘Were you there yesterday?’ Magnus asked as they wove their way through the plethora of pursuits.

‘Of course, I was helping my uncle in the Forum Boarium; we had a hundred and forty-four horses in the teams yesterday, plus all the hortatores’ mounts and the spares. Busy day.’

‘And only one winner.’

‘Yeah, shit, weren’t it? We haven’t had a day like it for years even through it was only a half-day’s racing. The faction-master was livid; although judging by the size of his purse at the end of the day he wasn’t just betting on his own team.’

‘Bastard.’

‘Yeah. Especially as it’s not allowed for anyone who works in the faction’s stables; one rule for them and one rule for us – you know how it is, my friend. If we get caught betting on another team we get expelled from the stables.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘It’s assumed that the only reason you would want to bet on an inferior team is because you’ve been fraternising with them and got some tips in exchange for information about your own team’s plans or, even worse, you’ve bribed the drivers to throw a race.’

Magnus stroked the muzzle of one of the finest pieces of horseflesh he had ever been close to: a beautiful bay Gaetulian mare from the province of Africa.

‘Spendusa,’ Lucius informed him. ‘She’s a rarity.’

‘I know; most racehorses are stallions.’

Spendusa whickered gently, her breath and soft, flaccid lips warming the palm of Magnus’ hand.

‘We have one team of mares. It’s a new idea: we don’t expect them to win but we’re going to use them when they come on heat. The hope is that they’ll distract the stallions in the other teams and allow our other two chariots to come in first and second.’

‘But they’ll be just as distracted as the rest.’

‘Not if they’re two teams of geldings.’

‘Nice.’ Magnus grinned and stroked Spendusa’s well-muscled flank. ‘Will it work?’

‘My uncle says that it already has in experiments in the Flaminian Circus. The stallions under-perform – they’re too busy trying to get a sniff; whereas the geldings just press on thinking about nothing more than their feed-bag at the end of the race.’

Magnus whistled appreciatively. ‘That’ll piss off the other factions.’

‘It’ll cause a riot.’

‘It will. When are you going to try it?’

‘They’re next on heat at the calends of March, Mars’ birthday. We’re going to put them in one of the races on that day, after the armed priesthood of the Salii have finished their round of the city.’

‘Which race?’

‘I don’t know yet but I’ll tell you when I find out.’

‘Now that’s the sort of information that’s worth a lot of money.’

‘I know. And I’m telling you because I want you to pass it on to Tribune Vespasian as a thank you for his saving me from execution back in Thracia. Hopefully he’ll be able to profit from it.’

Magnus laughed and slapped an arm around Lucius’ shoulders. ‘And Vestals will stop taking a close interest in their middle fingers. I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong thank-you gift there, my friend; Vespasian’s about as likely to put money down on a wager as I am to take it up the arse from a Nubian. And, besides, he’s away from Rome for a few months at his estate in Cosa. I, on the other hand, will be only too pleased to profit in his stead.’

Lucius shrugged. ‘Fair enough, I owe you as well. I should know which race we’re entering them for by Equirria festival, two days before the calends. Come and see me then.’

‘What do you know about the bookmakers Albus, Fabricius, Blasius and Glaucio?’ Magnus asked Servius. They were sitting on one of the rough wooden tables outside the crossroads tavern, idly throwing dice; no money was involved. Around them, the Brotherhood was similarly occupied whilst at the same time keeping their eyes on the constant stream of passersby making their way to and from the Porta Collina, just a couple of hundred paces away along the Alta Semita, or frequenting the open-fronted shops on the ground floor of tenements that lined the street.

‘Aside from the fact that they are all licensed to operate in the senators’ enclosure in the Circus Maximus?’

Magnus smiled, impressed by the speed with which his counsellor made the connection. ‘Yes, I know that.’

‘Albus and Glaucio both come from the Aventine: born and bred in the tenements on the far side by the granaries; but they now live in far grander houses on the summit. They’ve known each other and been rivals since boyhood; their mutual loathing is surpassed only by a hatred of any other bookmakers. Despite their antipathy they work together to fix odds to protect their businesses.’ Servius threw the dice and grimaced his disgust.