Free Empire Of The Undead by Ahimsa Kerp Page A

amphitheater, and next to the bathhouses built by your divine brother,” Rufus said, wincing. Titus seemed constantly to come up. “I have diverted and built new aqueducts and there will be plenty of water for the men. The connecting tunnels are complete and one can enter the fighting grounds directly from the training grounds.”
    “Well done,” Domitian said.
    Rufus smiled to himself, hiding the bitterness he felt. The Emperor had become a tight-lipped man. He found himself missing the energetic, gangly youth who had appeared in his chambers all those years ago.
    Around them, the plebs roared their approval. They were cheering not for a particular racer, but for an accident. Furor circensis, their mad fury was called, and it was just getting started. The stands were not even full for the early morning ientaculum matches. Rufus glanced to the racers below. Domitian's pulvinar naturally had the best view possible. It looked right over the track, though of course,  both a wire screen and a canal as long as two men separated the racers from the spectators.
    The front two racers, red and blue, were going around the meta. They all had the reins wrapped around their waist, to keep them in their baskets. The white racer leaned toward the green. Metal glinted in his hand. The racers carried curved knives called falx. Nominally, they were to be used to cut themselves free from their reins when they crashed. Far more often, however, they drew close enough to their opponent to slash at him. The green racer was ready for the slow slash, and his chariot swung wide.
    The white racer was momentarily overextended, but he was able to right himself. He would have, rather, had that moment not been precisely when an eager fan hurled a curse tablet at him. The curse tablets were a way for the fans to get involved, and it was well known that the driver with the fewest curse tablets often won. To make sure, however, the amulets were often studded with nails or shrapnel.
    The tablet hit the white driver right on the head. He wore a helmet, but the force of it, coupled with his off-balance footing, caused him to stumble and fall out the back of his chariot. Many of the crowd roared their appreciation for this move. For those close enough, the prone body of the racer made for a tempting target, and a barrage of curse tablets hit the stunned driver before he could rise. Finally, he stumbled away, hopping for a side door.
    A different part of the crowd cheered as the racers entered the sixth lap, of seven.  A young Blue racer was ahead, but the Red was fast. His chariot was clearly going faster than the one before him. Behind them, the Green driver was trying hard to catch up, but it did not look hopeful. With every second, the Red racer was closing in on the Blue.
    “Have you placed money on this match?” Domitian asked suddenly. Rufus saw that the man’s cheeks had turned red with excitement.
    “No, Caesar. I only returned this morning.”
    “I'm told the Blue driver is the favorite.”
    “The red driver looks to catch up quickly,” Rufus said.
    “Would you care to wager on red?” Domitian asked.
    “With you?  Of course, and the stakes…” Rufus asked. Domitian said nothing, only turned back to watch the final quarter lap.
    It was disappointing in the end. The Blue racer took the turn very tightly and sped away, and the Red could not catch him, though he leaned so close to his horse that he seemed to disappear. The winner cruised over the finish line leisurely. Men and women wearing blue scarves were overjoyed, hugging strangers and screaming themselves hoarse. Those wearing red, green, or white, were obviously less jubilant.
    That race would have enriched some of the people, Rufus thought. Slaves would buy their freedom. Men could clear long-owed debts. Conversely, some would have been broken by that result. One race could lead to a lifetime of servitude. Rufus tried to imagine the level of desperation necessary to risk it all. Had