If they bucked, or failed to obey his command, he was done for. Attempting a quick change in direction might work, but it would likely spook his horses. The chariots in front of him swerved, an attempt to get as far away from the wreck as possible. The force caused the leather reins to dig into the flesh of his hands, enough to make anyone wince in agony - but Diocles knew that any distraction could result in a crash, and did his best to retain his composure.Ī distant dust cloud on the straight signified another competitor had fallen. He leaned hard into the corner, willing his horses to move left with him in the hopes they would avoid a fallen chariot. Instead, he hung behind the pack for as long as possible, waiting for the shipwrecks to emerge, mangled amalgams of flesh and wood as chariots lost their balance and crashed into the ground. Quick starts were for the foolish, or those with a death wish, and Gaius was neither. A plume of dust filled the air as horses gained their traction.Ĭhariots rushed past him into the first corner, precisely as expected. Unnecessary thoughts had no place here, and before he could concern himself with anything else, the flag dropped in an instant. That was to be expected after racing five times earlier that day, but it bothered him nonetheless. Were his legs pressed against the wooden side rails of the chariot to keep his balance in the turns? Had he set his feet? Were the reins taut? Did the horses look relaxed? Everything felt comfortable, except for a bothersome dull aching in his right arm. Instead he went through an exhaustive mental checklist. Thunderous applause enveloped Diocles as his name was announced and his feet left the ground, climbing onto the unstable platform of his chariot, but the crowd noise barely registered with him. Instead, he placed his faith in his skills, and prayed to Mercury, the god of luck, confident he would watch over him just as he had for hundreds of races before. A veteran charioteer, he had learned that paying attention to anything but the race itself would mean injury or death. Gaius knew better than to be distracted by the pageantry. This kid was lost in the moment, staring in awe at the crowds. Gaius spotted a young racer to his right, someone he’d never seen before. Thousands of screaming fans, dust whipping around the sun-bleached earth, horses grunting in disapproval while assistants tightened ropes and readied equipment. It was easy to get lost in the spectacle of it all. He’d made this walk dozens of times before, but it never got easier. Gaius Appuleius Diocles entered the arena from an underground holding area. The Circus Maximus was dizzying like that. Whatever happened next could determine whether he would race another day, or lose his life. He didn’t need to win he just had to survive.
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