"If I leave a little behind the others, then I'll get to the spine without competition from their chariots!"
"No. You must be first to the spine and block them. Or else they will block you and it's very difficult to overcome that. Now try again."
So I did. Again. And again. Over and over.
Each time I left the gates, the routine was the same. To leave the gate as quickly as possible and make a full round of the tracks before coming back to start again. The only difference each time was the particular criticism Radulf shouted at me as I rode. However, he was becoming more specific in his attacks on my performance, down to the way I managed the reins and the angle of my feet on the chariot floor. I hoped it meant I was getting better, though each time I returned to the gates, his frustration with me was the same.
"You're acting tired," he said late that afternoon.
"There's a reason for that," I countered.
I was exhausted. Not only from being awake for most of the night, but I'd also been on my feet all day. Even if my mind would be ready in three days, I was beginning to doubt whether my worn body could handle seven rounds of the track. I had stupidly promised not to use magic in the Ludi Romani, though I knew Brutus never would have agreed to the bargain otherwise. Maybe it wouldn't be fair to use magic, but I didn't much care about fairness at the moment.
"Why are you so tired?" he asked. "Perhaps you can tell me where you were all night."
I rolled my eyes. Yes, I had known all along that he would ask. I just wished he hadn't waited until my mind was as tired as my body.
I handed the reins to a nearby stable servant, removed my helmet, and jumped off the chariot. "I don't have to explain anything to you."
"No, that's true, you don't."
Surprised at his response, I turned back to look at him. Respect and understanding were the last things I ever expected from Radulf.
Then he stepped forward and continued, "I can't force you to talk to me. But too often, you make decisions without thinking, ignoring all the danger you are in, until you get into trouble, and then you call me for help. So if you are going to ask for help, I have the right to know where you were!"
"I understand, and you're right," I said, keeping my tone even. "So I won't ask you for help, not anymore."
And I backed away from him into the stands. I wasn't sure why I went there, only that it was someplace to go. I watched the other charioteers manage their horses as they practiced, and compared myself to them. Then I stopped. Mostly because I didn't compare well.
"Look at that man, the one in green." As he spoke, Radulf sat down beside me. Servants accompanied him, carrying some food.
I said nothing, but I did look. I had been watching the green charioteer for some time, trying to figure out how he stayed ahead of the other racers. It didn't even look like he was trying that hard.
Radulf took my silence as an invitation to stay, and maybe it was. I definitely wanted the food, and if I lowered my pride, I also knew that I needed more of his help.
"See how he stands at an angle to the chariot," Radulf said. "It helps him shift his weight when it's time to make the turns."
Then, a few minutes later, Radulf pointed to another man, one with a white tunic. "He's no good. The horses drive him and not the other way around. Let's hope the Praetors choose him to compete against you, eh?"
"They won't choose him," I said grumpily. "His own mother wouldn't bet on him winning."
And I wondered at that, if my mother would bet on me. Then an even more curious question -- if I had any money, even a single coin, would I bet it on myself to win? Probably I would, but only because if I failed in the race, losing that coin would be the least of my worries.
"Of all the games of Rome, I've always loved the chariot races the most," Radulf said. "I know all the best drivers in the city. There are perhaps six or seven who are especially good, and who would be happy to race against you, if they were paid well enough. But no amount of gold in their pocket can compare to your reasons for wanting the victory. It's your heart that will win this race, Nic. You must race with passion, above everything else."
Passion was important but so was sleep, and the latter was far more important to me now. I had wanted to think more about the words from the vestalis last night, but thinking about anything at all was difficult. Finally, we decided to return to Radulf's home, where I could bathe and then have the rest of the evening to myself. A man was nailing a curse tablet to the wall as we exited the circus, and when he saw us, he dropped the hammer and tablet and ran.
Radulf went over and picked it up, then used enough magic to crush it to dust in his fist.
"What did it say?" I asked.
"It had your name on it," he said.
Obviously. "But what did it say?" To escape his home, I'd collected plenty of curse tablets, and a few of them had mentioned me, as part of the red faction.
"This was specific," Radulf said. "It calls you a plague to the empire and begs the gods to curse you before you can do them any more harm."
I grinned. "The gods have already cursed me, Radulf. They won't do any worse now."