The Circus Maximus Murders !!! Chapter IV
Originally Posted: April 5, 2001
Author: L. Didius Silva [Reposted with permission]

It was a short walk up the Clivus Scauri to the Street of the Public Fishponds then down to the Street of the Three Temples that runs along the southwest side of the Circus Maximus. This street is aptly named. The first is the Temple of the Sun and the Moon. A few hundred feet past that is the Temple of Venus Obsequens, who is the Protectress of Prostitutes and Adulterers; and next to that is the Temple of Mercury, which is the headquarters of the Guild of Merchants. The close proximity of these three Temples made this a very lucky area in which to do business.

The Street of the Three Temples was fairly quiet today. But on race days and especially race nights, this street would be filled with race fans, prostitutes, pickpockets, girl watchers, boy watchers, drunks, Vigiles, touts, ticket-scalpers, Senators and fishmongers. If you're new to the Urbs and want to get to know the real Roma, don't go to the Forum Romanum, go to the Circus. There are two other Circuses in Roma, the Circus Flaminius and the Circus Gaii et Neronis. But the Circus Maximus so far surpassed the other two that it was always called "The Circus" and no citizen ever misunderstood which one you were referring to.

Tucked into a six foot alcove formed by the overhanging roofs of the Temples of Mercury and Venus, was a little wooden stall. A hand-painted sign read "Honest Fabatus" and below that "Programs, Racing Results, Horoscopes, Lucky Numbers." On a stool behind the counter sat Aemilius Fabatus, ex-legionary of the IInd Augusta. He'd lost his left arm in Britannia and had been given his Honorable Discharge home. He'd had enough in his Legion Savings Bank to buy a little apartment on the Aventine and open up this shop. Unlike most of the other touts who handled racing bets, Fabatus really was an honest man and probably the most knowledgeable man in Roma when it came to charioteers, race horses, and the ins and outs of the various Racing Factions.

"Piso! Silva! Back so soon? What can I do for you?"

"Any tickets left for Games?" I asked.

Which Games?"

The Megalesian of course."

"You've gotta be kidding Silva. Besides, I thought you already had your tickets."

"I need it for a close friend. Come on Fabatus. The Circus holds 250,000 people. There's got to be at least one ticket left."

"If there was, Silva, and there isn't, you couldn't afford it; not with Crescens, Menander, Scorpus, and the Raven all up against each other in the opening race. Sorry."

He was right of course. The four main factions had lined up their top drivers for the first race as a guaranteed draw to fill the Circus and give themselves a big financial shot in the arm at the start of the racing season.

"What are you here for Piso?"

Piso slapped his coins down on the counter. "Put fifty sestertii on White if Paulinus is the driver and hundred sestertii on Red if Clemens holds the reins."

"They're not the top drivers," I said.

"No. I always bet on the up and comers. Better odds," replied Piso.

"What about Glaber?"

"Oh yeah, put five denarii on Crescens of the Greens for Capillius Glaber."

"Did you say five denarii," asked Fabatus.

"Yeah, that's right," said Piso.

"Big Spender," said Fabatus. "Don't you pay your people well?"

"Glaber is so tight, he squeaks when he walks."

They both laughed at that picture.

"Any advice for this season?" I asked.

"Yeah. If your going to bet, your best chance of winning in the long run is with the Reds" answered Fabatus.

"Inside information from the stable veterinarians?" I joked.

"That's for amateurs," he responded.

"Who then?" asked Piso.

Fabatus stood up, bent over the counter and looked up and down the street to make sure he wouldn't be overheard, then whispered to us: "From the horses!"

"What?"

"I pay the slaves who clean the stables to bring me samples of the horses' dung."

"You're telling me that you pay somebody to bring you buckets of horse manure from the various racing stables? Whatever for?"

"I dissect the manure when I get it. I used to be a farrier in the legions. I can tell from their manure what food they are given to eat, if they're sick or not, all kinds of things. Besides it's the best thing for fertilizing flowers and vegetables. The Reds feed their horses the best, so they are healthier and will have better stamina over the season. The Blues like to cut corners by mixing sawdust in the feed which provides bulk but no real nutrition. Half way through the season their teams will weaken and start to come in last. The White horses have been sick this winter and a new shipment has just arrived from Africae Proconsularis. But they're still suffering from seasickness and will take at a least another week before they can even begin training to replace the existing teams. The Green horses are fine but the drivers have been arguing over their share of the purse. Rumor has it that they may be tempted to hold back during these games to teach management a lesson."

"What about the Gold and Purple Factions?" I asked.

"Small potatoes, Silva. They were big in Domitian's day. But it costs a fortune to house horses and drivers, training costs, feed bills. The four big Factions, Red, Blue, Green, and White have pretty much run the Purple Faction and Gold faction out of the business. They still show up for an occasional race. As a matter of fact, I hear that there will be a special Six Faction Race on the last day of the Games. You gonna place a bet Silva?"

Piso laughed.

"Not today Fabatus, I haven't had the chance to stop by my banker yet. I'll see you tomorrow."

We strolled across the street and up the stairs that lead to the seats. Slaves were still putting the finishing touches to the stadium, hanging flower garlands, sweeping and cleaning the seats, raking the sand smooth, and chalking the white lines that ran from the twelve starting gates to the first straightaway. We sat down and stretched our legs out.

"Edepol Silva, but we've spent some good times here, exciting times. Do you remember 'Sulla Fever'?"

"The greatest charioteer I ever saw," I replied. "If I should meet him in eternity I would be hard put to find the right words to praise his skill and daring. I made a tidy fortune wagering on Sulla. I always felt I owed him a great deal - not just financially- but as an example of utter contempt for catastrophe."

"You're right there, Silva. He drove every race as though he were racing against time instead of the other drivers. Even if he was far in the lead, he would continue to urge his horses to the wildest speeds all the way to finish line, like he was trying to lap the field. The other drivers, more concerned for their own safety than the hysterical applause of the crowds, would hold back a little, waiting for him to kill himself on the seventh circuit, which one day he finally did."

"Do you remember when the Blues vowed that they would never let him win again no matter what the cost," I asked. "Their two teams had him boxed in for the entire race. He stayed right in there with them, conserving his horses strength. Then on the final lap he cuts to the extreme outside of the course, throws his reins in air, and without holding on to the chariot he whips his frenzied horses across the finish line, beating the blues by a half a horse's length." We laughed at the memory.

"And how about the race against the vaunted Greek, Cassander," said Piso. Was there ever a sight like it. Sulla was still in a hospital bed recovering from a spectacular crash, and his horses were much the inferior beasts. The Greens bring in Cassander from Alexandria and start bragging that Sulla isn't really hurt at all, just hiding out in the hospital because he's too afraid to face him. On the day of the race who comes rolling up to the starting gate but Sulla, hardly able to stand, the bandages bulging out around his racing leathers. And when it looks like the Greek might take the victory after all, he deliberately smashes both their chariots into the meta prima turn. The Greek is killed and Sulla has to be carried from the track back to hospital while the screaming, adoring fans showered his stretcher with gold coins."

"I don't think he ever fully recovered from that second crash," I reply. "But until the day he died, there was just no cure in Roma for "Sulla Fever." We both sat there lost in memories. It was good to share those moments of crisis and triumph still so brilliant in my mind, with another man, a friend, who truly understood.

"I've got to be getting back to the shop, Silva. Hope you get those tickets."

"Thanks Piso. You go on ahead. I think I'll just sit here for awhile and soak up the sun.

Copyright © 2000-2002, L. Didius Silva. All Rights Reserved.