Free Imperial Fire by Robert Lyndon Page B

little boy trumpeting through his hands in fierce ecstasy.
    ‘What’s going on?’ Lucas shouted. ‘Is this a religious procession?’
    The man pointed ahead. Lucas heard the word ‘Hippodrome’ and understood: the crowd was on its way to the races.
    He went with the flow, buildings sliding past on both sides. Some of them were fine mansions with draped balconies occupied by silk-clad figures who looked down on the stew of humanity with patrician disdain.
    The mob must have borne Lucas nearly a mile before it disgorged into a forum, the river dividing around a lofty shaft of purple marble crowned with an imperial statue. The buildings on all sides were the most splendid he’d seen, with dazzling white façades and noble porticoes. The crowd spilled into an even wider thoroughfare. Over the packed heads rose a high arcaded wall similar to the ruined Colosseum he’d seen while passing through Rome. It extended away almost to vanishing point. Slowly the crush moved forward. A hand touched Lucas’s waist, but when he whirled, the faces around him were blank. He patted his purse under his tunic.
    The crowd funnelled towards a massive gate surmounted by four life-size rearing bronze horses. Stewards manned the entrance. Lucas thought he saw money changing hands and fumbled for his purse, was still fumbling to remove coins when the crush thrust him forward. A steward held out his hand, but Lucas didn’t know the price of admission, didn’t know the exchange rate for his Italian money, didn’t know the value of the coins that Hero the Greek had given him. Didn’t know
anything
.
    ‘
Diploma
,’ the steward kept shouting. Lucas held out a few coins. The steward threw up his hand in vexation.
    ‘I don’t understand,’ Lucas shouted, bracing himself against the mob pressing from behind.
    Unable to force Lucas back, the steward snatched the coins from his palm and propelled him forward. He stumbled through the gateway into a huge amphitheatre lit by dazzling sunshine. He’d never seen so many people in one place. The stadium could have held the population of Rome with room to spare. All the ringside seats were taken and the spectators spilled up the tiered stands. He climbed thirty steps and worked his way around the Hippodrome before finding a thinly occupied section, below the U-shaped curve at one end of the racetrack. The starting stalls were at the other end, almost a quarter of a mile away. Down the middle of the course, separating the two straights, ran a stone plinth crammed with obelisks, statues and bronze figures of animals and charioteers. Fitful music carried from an orchestra assembled in the centre of the arena. Peering hard, Lucas saw that some of the musicians were playing organs, the bellows operated by teams of children.
    His neighbour noticed his astonishment and drew his companions’ attention to it. They grinned with the good-natured condescension of cosmopolitans showing off their sophistication to a foreign hick. They had come prepared for the day, with cushions to pad the stone benches, parasols, baskets of food and flagons of wine. Lucas had to turn his face from all that plenty. He hadn’t eaten a decent meal in three weeks and his stomach had shrunk so that it almost touched his backbone.
    By now the Hippodrome was full, the crowd settling into an expectant buzz. Then the noise swelled to a roar that pulsed against Lucas’s ear-drums. Everybody jumped to their feet. His neighbour pulled him upright, pointing at the eastern side of the Hippodrome. Out onto a covered balcony processed a line of god-like figures. The stall must have been more than two hundred yards away, but Lucas could make out the shimmer of silk, the glint of gold, the flash of jewels.
    One of the figures, black-bearded and clad in red and purple, advanced to the edge of the box and raised a hand. The crowd bellowed a salutation.
    Cupping his ear against the uproar, Lucas leaned towards his neighbour. ‘Is that the