SEPTEMBER 11th.
ludi circenses quarters
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LUDI CIRCENSES ( quarters ) :
Presented by : Aula Tullia Scholastica
Caius Curius Saturninus - races calculations
| A. Tullia Scholastica quiritibus, sociis,
peregrinisque bonae voluntatis S.P.D. Aestate provecta, Romae caelum caeruleum apricumque hodie; calor moderatus, nec calidior, nec frigidior est. Iam diu aves cantare desinivere; sunt quae plumas ponant, dum aliae nocturnae fiunt cum migrationem imminentem praeparent. Et cicadae conticuere, sed grylli per noctem iam strident, sperantes obviam ire illi hexapodi praecipuae... Oops! Once again I forgot that we have all sorts of barbarians here who don't know our beautiful and powerful Latin language; this time, it isn't the heat, but the fond memories of chatting in Latin every day with Quaestor Cordus, Proconsul Astur, and T. Amatius Paulus at Conventus, coupled with the results of preparing to teach again, this time with a whole new system...let's try that in Phoenician. It's a warm and sunny late summer day in Roma, neither too hot nor too cold. The birds stopped singing long ago; some are molting, while others have become nocturnal in preparation for their impending migration. Even the cicadas have fallen still, but the crickets still sing through the night, hoping to meet that one special hexapod. A cool front came through overnight, washing away the unseasonable heat with a gentle and welcome rain (no thunderbolts signifying Jupiter's wrath...), much needed as the crops were getting a bit dry in the fields, and the weather was too hot for comfort while sitting in the open arenas in which the amusements we Romans love so much are held. Today is far more pleasant for the spectators and charioteers alike; the dust on the track has been wetted down, and the cooler temperatures are far better suited to the exertions to come later this day. Therešs more than the usual excitement in the crowds thronging to the Circus Maximus, for today is the commemoration of the earliest and most important of the ludi, the Ludi Romani, held in honor of the Capitoline Triad: Iuppiter Optimus Maximus, Jupiter Best and Greatest; his sister and consort, Juno, queen of the Gods; and his daughter Minerva, Goddess of wisdom. These games are likely the most magnificent of all, and word has it that the field of contestants is far larger than the disappointingly small one at the last ludi, the Ludi Victoriae. Everywhere one can see flashes of the colors of the four racing factions: albata, white; praesina, chartreuse or leek-green, veneta, blue, and russata, red. Will all four be represented today as usual, or will some be disappointed despite the larger field? We shall have to wait and see. The crowd scurries toward the Circus Maximus, everyone intent on one thing...getting to the Circus and finding the best possible seat; concerns about the outcome of the races will come later. The earliest of the early birds are already inside and seated, while the next group is just entering. The dignitaries, however, don't have to hurry; their pace is more leisurely, for places are reserved for the highest among them; their slaves have no need to run as they carry the magisterial litters, though the lesser lights aren't so fortunate, and have no patience with their bearers as they urge them to outdo the horses' speed, galloping toward the Circus. Now and again some pedestrian brushes against a tree or bush in haste, and receives a free shower from the raindrops still clinging to the leaves; a bit annoying now, but perhaps later a bit of cooling moisture will be welcome. Little by little, the crowd makes its way into the Circus; most are seated now, though the latecomers are dashing about, trying to find seats...any seats, but preferably those with a good view, and not behind some tall German or Nubian barbarian who would obstruct their vision...not to mention that these benighted barbarians still haven't heard about the benefits of daily bathing, and, shall we say, are rather pungently scented... At last, everyone seems to have found a seat somewhere, if only in the topmost and worst tier; the air crackles with excitement. The buzzing is so loud that one would have thought that someone had disturbed a beehive, and that, too, at a most inauspicious moment in apian life. The Porta Pompae is opened, and trumpeters, once again led by the redhead said to be affiliated with Legio III in Nova Britannia, emerge, signaling the start of the procession. The aediles curules, T. Iulius Sabinus and C. Equitius Cato, (whose near-fanatical devotion to calendars is well known to every Roman), ride around the track, resplendent in their triumphal Tyrian purple garb (some even look as if they are dibaphae, the hyper-expensive double-dyed version), as they are borne in an elegant chariot drawn by Cato's beloved steed, Nicomachus; Praetores T. Octavius Pius Ahenobarbus and Ti. Galerius Paulinus are next, followed by Consules C. Fabius Buteo Modianus and Pompeia Minucia Strabo. They dismount when they reach the pulvinar, the magistrates' skybox on the Palatine side of the Circus (which, as you will recall, is nestled between the Palatine and the Aventine), and make their way to the sellae curules, the curule chairs reserved for certain magistrates, and join the other dignitaries as they acknowledge the cheers of the crowd. Another contingent of trumpeters follows, marching around the track as their brassy music fills the air. After them acrobats leaping and turning somersaults skip along, preceding a far more serious group which now makes its way around the track: a vexillation of soldiers from Legio XXIV, one of those which defends Rome and expands her sway, march in perfect time under the watchful eyes of their centurion, the wise and faithful Gallio Velius Marsallas. As they pass the pulvinar, they salute the magistrates, never missing a beat in their perfect drill. Next, as a change of pace from the more somber military mood, desultores, acrobatic riders who leap from one horse to another and perform other feats as they ride, now appear, entertaining the crowd with appetizers for the equestrian events to follow. Next, come plaustra, carts carrying the images of the Gods. The statues of Those Who Made Rome Great are robed in the finest fabrics, brilliantly hued with the most exquisite (and expensive!) dyestuffs, their clothing woven by weavers whose skill is little inferior to that of Minerva herself. The statues themselves have been crafted by the finest sculptors in the known world, a worthy tribute to the Deities they represent. Close behind are the tensae, litters bearing still more, and equally impressive, images of the Gods; as each is borne to its place (the highest today reserved for the Capitoline Triad), senior consul and pontifex Buteo Modianus honors the deity it represents with an offering of incense and a libation, for the curule aediles have graciously granted him the honor of presiding over these ludi. Now that the preliminary amusements are over, and the deities to whom these ludi are dedicated have been honored, it is time for the more serious business of the day. The charioteers have been busy, checking and rechecking their horses, their chariots, and the horses' tack; now they emerge from the cool, darkened cavern, blinking in the bright sun as they make their way around the track. As is customary, the contestants who have drawn the lot for the first missus (heat) precede; the others will follow in their turn. First comes Veritas Aeterna, Eternal Truth, property of L. Cassius Pontonius, Veneta Factio, under the guidance of one Karta. Next is Biga Fortuna, an Albata entry, owned by Censor Cn. Equitius Marinus, who is more than ordinarily attentive as his chariot circles the track, especially since it is now commanded by the recently-recovered Aoife of the Silures, a skilled driver, but one whose long convalescence from serious injuries sustained in a previous outing may have dulled her skills a bit. There's nothing dull about her appearance, though; her wild hair and barely-covered body do nothing to conceal her barbarian heritage...but if the spectators and other charioteers secretly admired her beautifully rippling muscles clearly visible above, below, beside, and through her minimal attire, they nonetheless shunned her out of respect for their noses, for Aoife was not redolent of Corinthian perfumes or the clean scent of daily bathing. If she bathed at all, it was a decennial affair. No wonder it took so long for her to recover... Third in this missus is Erebus, a Russata chariot, a frequent entry whose reddish color is almost black as night; it is drawn by four equally black stallions; all are owned by C. Arminius Reccanellus. As Erebus makes its way around the track, some whispers are starting in the crowd; some members of the audience are saying that dirty work has been afoot, likely directed against Albata...and that Reccanellus and his team are somehow involved. Indeed, they have a knowing look about them, and a smile plays lightly over Poncianus' lips as he surveys Biga Fortuna. Last in the first, and largest, of the three missus of the quarterfinals is a most oddly (and barbarically...) named chariot, Ego Est Nitricum, an absolutely meaningless moniker (what on earth is 'nitricum?' This isn't a Latin word, not to mention that 'I is' is not exactly anyone's idea of proper grammar), a chariot which belongs to the recently-returned Senator L. Arminius Faustus and is piloted by one Delenda Delegatii, whose name is almost as linguistically impaired as that of the rig itself. It seems that Senator Faustus has been out of contact with any Roman so long that he has forgotten his native tongue during his sojourn in the trackless wastes of some unheard-of country called Brasilia, so remote that he couldn't even get a courier to go to Rome and carry messages to the Senate, for heaven's sake...he must have utterly forgotten his Latin among these savages, who wouldn't know a subjunctive from a supine or a gerundive from an infinitive. One thing he hasn't forgotten, though, is his undying hatred for Factio Albata; word has it that he, a staunch Russata partisan, has spent large sums of money in and effort not only to sabotage an Albata chariot, but even to kill one of this faction's prize aurigae. Could he be in league with Reccanellus? Have they sabotaged Biga Fortuna or some other Albata chariot? Over the years, Russata has been implicated in a number of such activities, but Veneta has generally kept its hands clean; we must wait and see what happens. The four chariots of the first missus--one Veneta, two Russata, and one Albata, complete their lap and return to the dank cavern behind the Porta Pompae; the three competitors for the second missus take their places, plodding around the track. First comes Equus Magnus, representing Veneta; a rather strange name for a chariot (though at least it's good Latin...), owned by T. Licinius Crassus, who, as might be expected, has spared none of his considerable wealth in equipping this chariot and training its horses and its driver, Orionis Draco. Following him is Incitatus, another name better suited to a horse than a chariot (though not to a Roman senator...), but this one at least fits either well enough. L. Cassia Silvana owns it, and has appointed the experienced Furius Bellator as its driver; she has informed us that he contended in the Megalensia a while ago, where he won his heat in the quarters, but suffered an accident in the semis, possibly due to sabotage. He sustained a slight injury from which he has fully recovered, and is more determined than ever to defend the honor of his Factio Albata. Last in this group is yet another Veneta entry (this faction seems unusually well represented today), and yet another oddly-named one, Vitecus, owned and driven by Q. Iulius Probus, who has told us that his team, Hondatus, Pegemefius, Veteius, and Deltaboxus, have been carefully chosen for their skill at various aspects of racing, and, like players in a team sport, positioned accordingly. The triad slowly parades around the track, then joins the chariots of the first missus in temporary retreat. The triplets allotted to the third and final missus of the quarterfinals come forth into the brilliant sunshine, led by none other than Aedilis Sabinus' young son, Crassus, once again at the helm of Aprilis. The chariot seems to have been improved this time, and there's a new horse, a chestnut. The red paint on the chariot has an unusual glow, and the wheels look markedly different; the metal beneath the paint doesn't look like the run of the mill chariot material. I wonder if our aedilis curulis had enough spare cash despite all of his heavy ludi outlays that he could have found some smiths in his Dacian homeland who had discovered a newer and better material for chariots; some strong, but light, alloy perhaps... Next in this group is Trux Puteolanus Everto (I, the ferocious Puteolanan, overturn; as above in Aeterna, I've made a slight spelling correction), driven by Bibulus Marius, Veneta, this one owned by Q. Vitellius Avitus Vopiscus; last of all is another with a somewhat similar name, also from the same faction, Velox Puteolanus Sors, Swift Fate of Puteoli (what is it with Puteoli today?), belonging to L. Vitellius Triarius; its auriga is one Felix Celeris. They parade around the track, amid a growing murmur from the crowd. The colors of Factio Veneta wave everywhere in the breeze, for its fans are delighted to see that four of the ten entries belong to their favored faction--surely ONE must win! The devotees of Russata are equally pleased to see four red chariots, though Albata must pin its hopes on only two--but where is Praesina? Not a single one of the chariots entered today is from the Green faction. One spectator turns to another, and the buzz grows louder and louder. Surely our champion, Spandex, would be here! Where is Velociraptor and its diligently-trained Sarmatian steeds? What could have happened? The women sigh; Spandex may be a barbarian who needed a bath, but he is SO handsome, with those long blond braids and gorgeous muscles rippling under his lightly-tanned skin...finally word comes from someone in the know; a family emergency has summoned him away from the ludi. A courier bearing Spandex' regrets has just reached the pulvinar. The shock among the Praesina partisans is palpable; their hopes are dashed as they have no champion in these, the most important of all the ludi; not even their faithful Spandex bears their colors into the fray. The mood is far different among the devotees of the Red, White, and Blue (especially the latter two), however... These last three have completed their circuit, and withdraw for a brief respite. The four chariots selected for the first missus emerge, and wend their way to the carceres. The cavea resounds with a roar as the four chariots approach the starting gate. The charioteers draw their lots, and take their positions accordingly. As you may recall, the gate is marked with the signs of the zodiac; lots are drawn to determine which entry takes which place. Veritas Aeterna draws first, and selects Libra; Aoife looks a bit downcast at losing her favorite sign so early, but displays uncharacteristic reserve nonetheless. She is next, and gets Pisces, then Erebus chooses Capricorn, while Ego Est Nitricum draws Scorpio. They take their places in the gate. Consul Modianus rises, and waves the gleaming white mappa for attention. A hush falls over the crowd. All eyes are now fastened on the senior consul. He drops the mappa; the track attendants drop the rope restraining the chariots, et missi sunt! They're off! None is in any particular hurry now, however; no need to tire the horses out prematurely. The day is yet young, and so, too, is the race. The pace is leisurely, more like a canter than a gallop. They're coming into the first turn now, and even this early in the race, Erebus is hugging the spina as they round the turn...watch out; that's a dangerous move! The rest dawdle along as they finish the first lap, and the dolphin is turned. So it continues for the second and third laps, albeit with slight increases in speed; Erebus is almost kissing the metae as it takes the turns, and the others continue at a moderate pace; they trade places frequently, but none holds the lead for long. The breeze has picked up, and it brings a whiff of Eau de Aoife to Delenda Delegatii's unwilling nostrils, which he wrinkles in disgust...then he remembers a little something. He draws out a whip, a nasty-looking thing, one no sensible auriga would apply to the backs of his horses...wait; he's not going to use it on the horses, he's drawing it back and aiming it at Aoife, whose sixth sense caused her to duck just in time. Delenda Delegatii mutters under his breath as they round the spina; this time neither he nor Erebus is not as close as they would have liked. The others swing wide as well. Veritas Aeterna is closing the gap, and overtakes both Ego Est Nitricum and Biga Fortuna; it is almost literally on Erebus' tail. The dolphin drops, signaling the end of the fourth lap, and things are getting more serious now. No longer is the pace leisurely; the aurigae have their eyes on the prize. Aoife, however, maintains a rather constant pace, if faster than in the first laps; no daredevil stunts throwing sparks from the wheels as they graze the spina for her. Nonetheless, she's in the lead now, with Erebus close behind, followed by Veritas Aeterna. Ego Est Nitricum brings up the rear, a situation Delenda Delegatii intends to change with the greatest possible dispatch. He draws another whip from his arsenal, and plies it over the horses' backs. They jump in surprise, and respond; soon Delenda is within range of Veritas Aeterna--or, should I say, of her driver, Karta. Delenda Delegatii picks up his first whip--CRACK! It meets Karta's helmet, and lands a glancing blow on his back. He winces, the helmet still ringing, and turns to see who might have done this--and looks into the frenzied eyes of Delenda Delegatii just as he was about to lash again--lower this time. Karta twists aside, and tries to grab the end of the whip, but misses. He plies his own crop on the horses' backs to get out of Delegatii's range. Meanwhile, Biga Fortuna and Erebus continue in first and second places, respectively. They're nearing the next turn, which Erebus takes so tightly that it almost scrapes the paint off against the meta, though it still can't catch up to Biga Fortuna. Censor Marinus must have gotten some exceptionally fine horses when he refitted the now-misnamed Biga Fortuna as a quadriga. He certainly looks quite satisfied with events so far... As they finish the fifth lap, Veritas Aeterna and Ego Est Nitricum still trail, for the former's burst of speed caused Veritas to pull ahead of the latter. Delenda Delegatii's dark eyes blaze with fury... Now they're in the sixth lap, and there isn't much time to lose. The horses thunder around the track, and the effort is showing in their eyes; some are even starting to lather a bit despite the coolish morning. The Veritas Aeterna team seems to be tiring, and Ego Est Nitricum passes them, closing on Erebus as well--but not yet close enough for Delenda Delegatii to wield that whip of his. Karta relaxes a bit, too; he might not win, or even place, but at least he won't look like a slave who has displeased his master...still, he's trying to get some more out of his horses, but today it seems they just can't comply. The chariots are coming up on the turn; the meta is beckoning Poncianus like a Siren--he rounds it with a hair's breadth to spare. Biga Fortuna is still ahead of him, however--and upwind at the moment, as the fragrance of sweaty and unwashed Silurian bathes his nose. Ego Est Nitricum is edging ever closer, and Poncianus lays it one, if for no better reason to avoid that lash. The dolphin is turned, and they head into the last lap. The pounding of sixteen hooves and the rattling of four chariots fills the air, accompanied by the cheering of the crowd. The chariots come down the straightaway at a furious pace, but quite inexplicably, Biga Fortuna has slowed a bit--oh, wait; it seems that something is wrong. Aoife is reining the horses in. Poncianus passes her, holding his nose, and so, too, does Ego Est Nitricum, then even Veritas Aeterna. Aoife takes the last turn at a comparative snail's pace--but as she does, the axle breaks and sends both wheels flying in opposite directions. The chariot box scrapes the ground, but Aoife's skill in controlling the horses has saved her, them, and most of Biga Fortuna. Delenda Delegatii hears the scraping, and cranes his neck to see what has happened; he flashes a delighted grin momentarily before his loathing for both Aoife and Albata change his expression. He exchanges knowing glances with the victorious Poncianus of Erebus...it does indeed look like sabotage, but only a close inspection of the wreckage will tell. Consul Po hastens to Aoife, who is a bit shaken, but uninjured; this time, at least, our nurturing consul's armory of healing potions won't be needed. Of course, her medical experience has made Consul Po quite impervious to malodorous patients... The surviving chariots return behind the Porta Pompae for a rest and another equipment check; the track attendants and grooms from Factio Albata pick up the wreckage while Aoife leads the horses back to the stable. Censor Marinus looks a bit concerned...he's had a run of bad luck lately. The contenders for the second missus now come out of the cool waiting area and proceed to the starting gate. They draw their lots, and the attendants guide the chariots into their proper places; no misbehavior from any of this group. Equus Magnus has Scorpio; Incitatus draws Virgo, and Vitecus gets Aquarius. The crowd shifts in their seats; this group has come so fast that there was no time for a quick visit to the latrina, or to the caupona, though at least the roaming vendors have some tasty morsels and refreshing beverages available. Consul Modianus stands again, and waves the mappa; Consul Po takes a quick inventory of her omnipresent medical supplies in case a worse accident should occur. Mappa manu consulis decidit, the mappa falls from the consul's hand, and they're off! Missi sunt currus! Equus Magnus, a magnificently adorned chariot (surely you expected no less from the likes of Licinius Crassus...) proceeds at a moderate pace. Vitecus, too, is in no hurry just yet, and Incitatus, the only female-owned entry today and the second Albata one, follows suit. Steadily they canter around the track, giving the spina a wide berth as they round the turns. Some of the audience members think that this might be a good time to make a run for the thermopolia or the latrinae... And so it goes for the first three laps. Deltaboxus, Vitecus' left funalis (trace horse), is indeed showing good form on the turns, but the spectators didn't come to watch the ancient equivalent of the Lippizaner stallions or dressage--they want some excitement! Now they're in the fourth lap, and at last Equus Magnus picks up some speed. That spurs the others to do the same, and soon Incitatus is neck and neck with Equus Magnus. Remember, Incitatus' driver, Furius Bellator, is an experienced one who suffered an accident in his last outing, and is looking for a win. Vitecus is still cautious, but also speeds up; it's the only chariot today whose owner is also the auriga, and a cautious man is he. All three are now galloping at a moderate pace, but no one will accuse any of then of burning up the track. Now they are coming up on the sixth lap, and at long last the pace quickens. Equus Magnus has pulled out ahead, dashing down the straightaways, but seems afraid of the turns (not without good reason), and Bellator brings Incitatus ever closer to Equus Magnus. The dolphin drops again; they're in the seventh and final lap. Everything depends on a burst of strength, speed, and skill now...if the drivers can wring these from their chariots, their horses, and themselves. Hondatus, Vitecus' speed horse, doesn't seem to be having much luck getting the other three to cooperate, nor is Probus, who is loathe to lay on the lash; Vitecus falls well back, and will likely finish a distant third. Incitatus catches up with Equus Magnus, then passes it just before the finish line. Furius Bellator has indeed redeemed the honor of Factio Albata in this race; he has the victory he sought. Well, that might not have been the most exciting race, but it WAS a race. Some of the audience members who stuck it out now take the opportunity to grab some refreshments and/or head for the latrinae, while others simply stretch and wait for the longer interval between the quarterfinals and the semifinals. The three chariots from the second missus have retired, and the three for the third and final quarter match are just coming out onto the track now. Young Crassus proudly guides his team onto the track, his growing confidence showing in his bearing; Velox Puteolanus Sors follows, and auspiciously named vehicle whose driver bears an equally lucky, albeit grammatically imperfect, name; Felix Celeris; the final entry, Trux Puteolanus Everto, lags. They reach the carceres, and draw their lots; Crassus takes Taurus, Felix Celeris gets Leo, and Bibulus Marius (who seems a bit tipsy) draws Pisces. Marius seems to be having considerable trouble getting his rig into the gate, whereas the others go in quite meekly; at length, the track attendants wrestle the unruly team into place, and signal the presiding magistrate, Consul Modianus, that all is ready. The consul rises; the crowd grows quiet as the late returnees from the brief intermission try to find their seats. Mappa manu consulis decidit, the mappa falls from the consul's hand; the attendants drop the restraining rope, and they're off! Missi sunt! As is usually the case, the drivers are sparing their horses, saving them for the final laps. There's nothing unusual in the first two laps, except for the fact that Bibulus Marius seems to be having a lot of trouble controlling his team; the horses weave back and forth all over the track. Of course, no one can be sure whether or not this is intentional; it may be a trick to confuse his rivals, but it may also reflect a problem. The dolphin drops, and the chariots head into the third lap; the pace quickens, especially on the straightaways. None of these three seems inclined to tempt Fate by skimming the metae or the spina. Well, as Horatius said, "auream quisquis mediocritatem diligit, tutusque caret obsoleti sordibus tecti nimium premendo litus iniquum..." Oh, there I go again! Well, any barbarian who can read can find a translation of Horatius' remarks on the Golden Mean in any decent library...the one in Alexandria may even have it. Aprilis is putting those chariot improvements and that new chestnut stallion to the test; Crassus' confidence is building by the minute. He takes the lead as they start the fourth lap. Velox Puteolanus Sors isn't far behind, however; it wasn't given that name for nothing, nor was it s auriga called Lucky of Swift for nothing--though I suspect that Felix Celer, Lucky Swift, was what his grammatically-impaired owner meant to call him. The two lead chariots keep exchanging places; first Aprilis leads, then Velox Puteolanus Sors, while Trux Puteolanus Everto is continuing to weave, wobble, and bobble as it comes round the track. Surely he's not trying to fool anyone when he's there in last place...they head into the turn--and as they begin the fifth lap, they hear the horrible sound of wood and metal meeting metal that is more solid. Trux Puteolanus Sors evertitur; Trux Puteolanus Sors is overturned. Bibulus hit the spina, and now lies prostrate on the track. The horses kept running for a while, dragging the wreckage, but the left funalis also met the spina, and isn't in the best of equine health. Consul Po grabs her med kit and dashes to the fallen Bibulus Marius; her slaves carry him off the track moments before Aprilis, now in the lead, thunders by. Crassus deftly dodges the wreckage and the injured horses with the help of the new chestnut; Velox Puteolanus Sors has to pull up a bit, but manages to squeeze by. The track attendants rush to get the mess off the track; one unhitches the horses and leads them away, while others pick the chariot remains up. The Veneta veterinarians have been summoned, and are on their way; all but the left funalis seem reasonably uninjured, but the trace horse is going to need some serious attention. Meanwhile, Bibulus bllinks his eyes, lifts himself up a bit and turns his head--and vomits copious quantities of half-digested wine. It looks as though Avitus Vopiscus is going to have to get a more reliable, and more sober, driver...or did someone spike a more moderate amount of wine? Consul Po and the Veneta physicians look Bibulus Marius over and dress his wounds; if he races again, it won't be soon. The two remaining chariots are now vying for the lead; they are well into the sixth lap, and there's no holding back any more. Both quadrigae are churning up the dust on the track, spattering the mud from last night's rain as they make a mad dash for the finish line. The dolphin is turned, and they're in the seventh and final lap. Young Crassus and wily Felix Celeris are neck and neck as they gallop down the straightaway. Aedilis Sabinus, who was literally on the edge of his seat, has jumped up to see better; he's cheering as the two chariots round the turn and approach the finish line. This indeed has been a close and exciting race--but at the end, it's a bit disappointing to Aedilis Sabinus, for Velox Puteolanus Sors wins by a nose. The crowd is cheering as the last of the quarterfinal races ends; this was an exciting match, and one which offered not only a very close finish, but one which had a bit of the gore some find so attractive. The spectators stretch and many make their way to the latrinae and the thermopolia, for the lines are long, and soon the semifinal races will start. Most are pleased, for one member of each of the three factions represented here today has won, and more will move on to the semifinals; the throngs eagerly await the next set of races. Valete, |
