To Love Again - Bertrice Small [126]
The chariots thundered off around the race course. Within moments the horses were frothing at the mouth and sweat was flying off their shining flanks. Their drivers drove with a reckless abandon such as Cailin had never seen. At first it appeared that the race course was wide enough to accommodate all four vehicles, but Cailin shortly saw that in order to win, the drivers had to steer their chariots all over the course, this way and that, struggling to get ahead of their competitors. Sparks flew as wheels from opposing chariots clanged together gratingly, and the drivers used their whips not only on their horses, but on the other drivers in their path as well.
The crowd screamed itself hoarse as the Green team’s chariot spun around the final turn on one wheel, almost tipping over but quickly righting itself, only to be cut off by the Blue team’s chariot, which leapt ahead suddenly, crossing the finish line first by just a nose. Both chariots came to a halt, and the drivers of the Blue and Green teams immediately engaged in a violent fistfight. Pulled apart, they left the track shouting curses at one another as the chariots for the next race queued up and dashed off.
Cailin was delighted by the chariot races. A Celt in her soul, she had always admired good horseflesh; and the horses racing were the finest she had ever seen. “Where do those magnificent animals come from?” she asked Aspar. “I’ve never seen better. They are finer-boned than the horses in Britain, and they look high-spirited. Their speed and surefootedness is commendable.”
“They come from the East,” he told her, “and are highly prized.”
“Does no one raise them here in Byzantium, my lord?” she wondered.
“Not to my knowledge, my love. Why are you so curious?”
“Could we not take some of your land, and instead of growing grain, put it into pasture in order to raise these horses? If they are so prized here, then certainly these animals would bring you a fine profit. The market for these beasts would be great, as it would be far more accessible to and less risky for the chariot teams than importing animals from the East. If we raised our own horses, they could see them grow from birth, and even choose early those whom they felt showed promise,” Cailin concluded. “What think you, my lord?”
“I think she is brilliant!” Arcadius chimed in enthusiastically.
“We would have to find an excellent stallion, or two for breeding purposes, and we would need at least a dozen mares to start,” Aspar thought aloud. “I would have to go to Syria myself to find the animals. We should allow no one there to realize our intent. The Syrians pride themselves on their fine horses, and their profitable export market. I can probably obtain young mares here and there by pretending I want them for the ladies in my family, who amuse themselves riding when in the country. Normally,” he told Cailin, “women do not ride.”
“The Greens have won the second race while you chattered,” Casia chimed in. “The Blues are crying collusion, for the Reds and the Whites seemed to have made a decided effort to cut off the Blue team’s driver at every turn, and he finished dead last.”
Between each of the morning’s four races there was a little entertainment as performed by mimes, acrobats, and finally a man with a troupe of amusing little dogs that leapt through hoops, did tumblesaults, and danced upon their hind legs to the music of a flute. These intervals were brief, but a much longer one came between the morning’s races and those to be run in the afternoon. Then the emperor’s box emptied, as did the patriarch’s.
“Where are they going?” Cailin asked of no one in particular.
“To a small