"Let's hope not," he said. "I'm afraid for what happens to you if things get any worse."
Yes, so was I.
On the second day, I returned to the tracks early. I'd already been awake for hours, trying to learn some of the magic that came so easily to Radulf, and doing more poorly than I wished to admit. So I was glad to leave when Radulf called for me. His new, finer team of horses would be waiting here and he wanted us to begin working together as soon as possible.
But before we reached the tracks, we were met by new curse tablets that had gone up overnight. Dozens of them. I didn't read them all, but every single one I glanced at had my name engraved on it.
Normally this meant the odds had been calculated and people would be betting against me to win. But this time, I thought the tablets meant something else: that the Praetors were nervous. They believed it was possible I might win, and they were begging the gods to side with them.
Their pleas would go unheard. The gods would never help them. If the Praetors won the race, the gods would lose.
Diana alone would be on the side of the Praetors, and I had no doubt that she'd be happy to curse me. Or more correctly, to curse me even more. She needed the Praetors to win if she was to finish her rebellion against the other gods. It was partially for that reason that I would not use the bulla in the race. Diana would surely use her power to sabotage any magic I might attempt.
Radulf seemed more upset by the tablets than I was, though this time we only passed them by. If he tried to destroy all of the ones that had been posted, he'd collapse half the stands.
Once we got back to the stables, Radulf was presented with his new horses, which looked as fine as any I'd ever seen. The four horses were tall with broad chests, bright fur coats, and eyes that seemed every bit as alert as Callistus's were when he looked at me.
"They have been tested in other races and performed well," Radulf told me as he ran a hand over the mane of the tallest horse, a muscular black male with a white star on his forehead. "With them, you'll be faster than ever before."
I patted the horse, and whispered to him my excitement to test Radulf's words. I knew he was right.
Today, our plan was to work on managing the curves around the spine. The spine itself was the narrow center of the track that kept racers from crossing into oncoming drivers. It was built of brick and stood off the ground about four feet. A large obelisk rose up in the center of it, looted from Egypt after Rome's victories there. At either end, three tall poles were stationed to protect the spine from any chariot crashes. The turns there were so sharp that few races were ever completed without at least one charioteer losing his balance. For that reason, the more cautious charioteers made wider turns on the ou
ter rim of the track. Maybe they'd survive the race, but cautious drivers never won. As a rule, I was rarely cautious, and besides, I had no choice but to win. I needed to practice those curves.
With the Ludi Romani being so close, at least twenty teams were already on the track today. Many of them were doing full races, hoping to be chosen for their faction.
"We'll come back tonight." Radulf's tone was tense, and he spoke in a low voice so that we wouldn't be overheard. He was worried, that much was obvious. But I doubted it was for my safety. More likely, he thought I would expose my inexperience to the other charioteers and look even worse by comparison.
But I was already hooking up my chariot to the new team of horses. "No," I said eagerly. "I'm riding."
I used the first few laps to test the new horses. They were far stronger than my original team, so much that I knew I was borrowing strength from the bulla just to keep them from pulling too hard on their reins. They were faster too. I nearly lost my balance on our third lap.
These were winning horses, certainly. Radulf had chosen them well, and he was right to insist I use them. I nodded my thanks to him as I rounded the track. He shouted back something at me, a criticism of my performance, of course, but I didn't care. I'd rarely felt happier in my life. My hopes to win the race were growing.
I spoke to the horses as we rode, freely using the bulla to tell them what I wanted and expected of them. The horse farthest to my right was the fastest; because he was on the outside, he would run more distance than the others. But the horse on the inside had to be the strongest. I needed him to keep the entire team together as we rounded each turn. I told them these things and hoped to understand what they expected from me as well. Though I wasn't competing against the other teams on the track, it was a successful morning. When I gave them a midday break, along with a fat apple and a pat on their backs, I thanked each horse personally for his strength and speed.
Radulf and I were eating lunch again in the stands when a charioteer in a green toga approached us.
"You drive well, although I think you are far too young to race," he said to me.
I glared back. "And you drive well for someone far too old to race."
Radulf lightly swatted my leg, then said to the charioteer. "Is there something you wanted?"
He nodded at Radulf. "The grandson of Rome's finest general is on the tracks. It would be an honor to race against Nicolas Calva."
Radulf shook his head. "Today is a practice for the Ludi Romani. If you qualify, you may race him then."
The charioteer motioned toward the tracks, where several of the horse teams had stopped to watch us. "Actually, we all want to race the boy. We've seen the curse tablets and wondered, why are all of them in his name? Is it because he's so bad" -- he arched an eyebrow and stared directly at me -- "or so good?"
I started to answer but Radulf spoke over me. "He's a fair driver. Not worth your trouble."
"What a pity." The charioteer was still looking at me. "I saw you in the amphitheater. I know the things you can do with a wave of your hand. I suppose what the people say is true, that without that bulla around your neck, you are helpless."
I stood. "I don't need the bulla to race."
"Nic --" Radulf began, but this time I ran over his words.