The Circus Maximus Murders!!! Chapter XVII
Originally posted July 11, 2001
Author: L. Silva Didius [Reposted with permission]


It really is a lovely walk from my apartment to the Circus Maximus. You stroll down the Janiculum to the Tiber River, cross over on the Aemilian Bridge, and you find yourself by a little, jewel, the Temple of Portunus, the god dedicated to ports and port trade. Then you turn right and walk into the Forum Boarium, the market place for all the sacrificial animals are supplied to the hundreds of temples scattered across the city. Beside being the Cattle Market Square for "The Urbs", it is also the focal point and center of worship for the demi-god Hercules. This is because of the three temples dedicated in his honor which have been built here. Running from northwest to southeast they are: Hercules Olivarius (Hercules the Peacemaker, supported by the City Guild of Olive Oil Producers of course); Ara Maxima Hercules (the Great Altar of Sacrifice); and the lovely little round temple of Hercules Invictus (Undefeated Hercules).

A few hundred feet to the northeast, right at the end of the Vicus Tuscus, was a larger temple dedicated to Janus, the two-faced god that protects all doors, and the coming and going of travelers. Legend has it the Vicus Tuscus, or Etruscan Alley, was named for the defeated Etruscan soldiers who were lodged in that area. They had been brought to Roma in chains to build the very first Circus Maximus and then killed in the Victory Games on the first day. This entire area is always busy and even more so on a racing day as the crowds cut across it to the starting gate end of the Circus.

We stopped just long enough for me to bet three sestertii on the Reds with my favorite, illegal, off-track racing tout "Honest" Fabatus, who has a little wooden stall on the Street of the Three Temples. When Zoe asked me what I was doing, I tried to tell her that I was just visiting an old army buddy. Then I stood open-mouthed as she calmly slipped around me, placed five sesterctii on the blues, and, to add insult to injury, managed to talk Fabatus into shaving two points off the spread. As she slipped her arm back through mine, I realized there was quite a lot about Lady Librarians that I didn't know in general, and Zoe Xanthippus in particular.

We walked under the Emperor's archway and turned in at gate number four. These huge gates, twenty feet in height, had all been flung open at dawn, when the brass horns, from the Castra Praetoria in the northeast of the City, blared the call "First Watch." The Circus is a massive four-story structure and a maze of shops, rooms, stairways, ramps, and arcades. Throngs of people milled about in the great interior corridor that provides access to every part of the structure. Vendors hawked their wares, sold refreshments and cheap souvenirs. More than the many Forums throughout the City, even more than the huge Flavian Amphitheater, the Circus Maximus is the true melting pot of the Empire. Inside this pot, like some gigantic stew, is a mix of emperors and slaves, grandfathers and newborn babes, artisans and craftsmen, the ancient Senatorial families and the ancient unwashed. And just like a seasoning in this stew, is a generous sprinkling of racing touts, prostitutes, vigiles, gamblers, pickpockets, girl-watchers, boy-watchers, those who were slowly drinking themselves into oblivion and a night in the nearest gutter, and those who had already beat them there by several hours.

I couldn't fault our seats. We were allotted the section reserved for Senatorial Families and their guests. The aisles are double-wide, cushions have been provided to support delicate Patrician bottoms, and slaves are stationed everywhere to run and fetch refreshments. I always wondered if slaves weren't also provided to run to the restrooms for them, so that the rich don't have to miss any of the action.

"I say Glaucon, I don't want to miss the ending of this race. I feel a bit constipated. Run down to the restrooms and do a good #2 for me, then hurry right back. There's a good fellow." Or some such direction.

Over on the Plebian side of the aisle there are no cushions on the stone seats unless you remembered to bring them yourself, and the aisles are so narrow that you are constantly being kneed by the man behind you, or having his picnic lunch dumped down your back when he shifts to make way for rich Uncle Faustus or dear old Auntie Phoebe. A few minor scuffles were already underway between people who had covered twenty feet of bench with boxes, bags and cloaks in an attempt save seats for their family and friends who hadn't arrived as yet, and latecomers trying to shove the obstructions aside and grab the space for themselves and their as yet to arrive family and friends.

Personally, I would have preferred to be seated down on the first turn. It is where Fate casts the dice of life and death. That is where the greatest skill is demanded of the driver, the steadiest hand, the keenest eye, the best timing, the quickest reflexes, the surest judgement, and the greatest courage. It is where the most accidents take place, a lucky driver rewarded and an unlucky one punished. It is the anvil upon which new heroes are formed and old heroes broken. But rich people always like to sit on the finish line. They care nothing for the driver or his team. There only concern is who crosses the finish line first, and how much money they have won or lost.

Zoe and I settled into our overstuffed cushions and waited for the trumpeters to blow the march - "The Entrance of the Gods".

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