The horses began their ceremonial parade around the track of raked sand, five teams prancing under a sweltering brass bowl of a sky. The Blues came first, Derricus pointing his whip out at the crowd in the famous gesture that brought screams of adoration. Women cooed and threw flowers; Vitellius let out a whoop and banged a meaty fist against the arm of his chair. Diana hissed, clapping loudly only for the team she had named the Anemoi after the four winds. Cornelia had to admit the horses were beautiful: chestnuts as red as their traces, almost dancing before the chariot in their eagerness to run. Diana let out a whoop as they took their place in line, drowned out by Fabius Valens, who was laying uproarious bets with the Emperor.

“Hello, my loves.” Lollia dropped beside them, waving a peacock feather fan against her face. “Gods, it’s hot.”

“How are you and your husband?” Cornelia asked, since Diana was too rapt on the track for any kind of courtesies.

“He’s . . . energetic. Tireless, in fact. Thank the gods he spends half the night dicing and whoring with Vitellius, or I’d never get any sleep.” Lollia peered down at the track, where Derricus the Blues charioteer was preening in the gilt-crusted blue chariot. “Goodness, he does look smug.” She whispered in Cornelia’s ear. “I hope Diana never finds out I had a little fling with Derricus once. She’d never forgive me.”

“You slept with a charioteer?”

“Yes, and let me tell you a fast finish might be nice on a track but not in a bed.”

Cornelia caught herself before she could giggle.

The blood bays at the Blues chariot lunged ahead before the scarf dropped and had to be muscled back in line. The crowd groaned at the false start, and to distract them Vitellius tossed a basket of numbered wooden balls one by one into the sea of humanity below, each one to be redeemed with the Imperial stewards for a prize—a prize bullock, a team of horses, even a summer villa. Our new Emperor certainly is generous. Groans turned to squeals as the plebs fought over the balls, cheers mounting like waves. Fabius snapped Lollia back to his side, stuffing a blue scarf into the Emperor’s hand as the horses drew up to the starting line again. Diana leaned forward, lips parted. Vitellius dropped the scarf, and the horses surged down the track.

At once the crowd surged up, shouting, calling encouragement to the drivers, laying bets. Vitellius leaned over the rail yelling down to the Blues. Diana chewed her lip. The Reds pulled ahead in the first lap after a spectacular scrape of a turn, and hers was the only cheer to go up from the Imperial box. Fabius glared back at her. “I’ll cheer whom I like,” Diana said, unrepentant. “Gods’ wheels, I wish Centurion Densus were here.”