Read Online Emperor: The Field of Swords by Conn Iggulden - Free Book Online

from Spain. They say the horses from Spain went through a storm that unsettled them. Most of the betting money is going on Dacius at the moment.”
        Crassus fixed the man with a glare. “You did not mention this before,” he snapped. “Paulus brought his horses over from Spain. Did they suffer in the same ship?”
        “I do not know, master,” the slave replied, bowing his head.
        Crassus reddened as he wondered whether he should withdraw his bet before the race began. No, not in front of Pompey, unless he could find a reason to excuse himself for a few moments.
        Pompey smiled at the other consul’s discomfort. “I will trust the people. One hundred gold on Dacius,” he said.
        The slave didn’t even blink at an amount greater than his own price at sale.
        “Certainly, master. I will fetch you the token.” He paused for a moment in silent inquiry, but Crassus only glared at him.
        “Quickly, the race is about to start,” Pompey added, sending the slave off at a run. Pompey had seen two flag-bearers approach the long bronze horn at the edge of the track. The crowd cheered as the note sounded and the gates to the stables opened.
        First out was the Roman, Dacius, his light chariot pulled by dark geldings. Crassus fidgeted as he noted the arrogant poise and balance of the man as he brought his team around in a smooth turn to line up at the start. The man was short and stocky and the crowd cheered wildly for him. He saluted toward the consular box, and Pompey rose to return the gesture. Crassus copied the action, but Dacius had already turned away to complete his preparation.
        “He looks hungry today, Crassus. His horses are fighting the bit,” Pompey told his colleague cheerfully.
        Crassus ignored him, watching the next team onto the sand. It was the Thracian entry, marked out in green. The bearded driver was inexperienced and few of the crowd had put money on him. Nevertheless, they cheered dutifully, though many were already craning to see the last two come out of the gloom of the stables.
        Paulus flicked the long looping reins over his Spanish horses as they thundered out into the light. Crassus thumped the rail with his fist at the sight of them.
        “Dacius will have to work hard to beat these. Look at their condition, Pompey. Glorious.”
        Paulus did look confident as he saluted the consuls. Even at a distance, Crassus saw the flash of white teeth against his dark skin, and some of his worry eased. The team took its place with the others and the last Spanish competitor rode out to join them.
        Crassus had seen nothing wrong with the horses in his first visit, but now he studied them for signs of weakness. Despite his assertions to Pompey, he was suddenly convinced the stallions looked ill at ease compared to the others. Crassus took his seat reluctantly as the horn sounded again and the betting ceased. The slave returned to hand Pompey his token and the consul played idly with it while they waited.
        Silence fell across the mass of people. Dacius’s team took fright at something and sidestepped into the Thracian, forcing both men to crack their whips over their heads. A good driver could snap the tip of his whip inches away from any one of his horses at full gallop, and order was quickly restored. Crassus noted the Thracian’s calm and wondered if a chance had been missed. The little man didn’t seem at all out of place amongst the more experienced charioteers.
        The silence held as the horses pawed and snorted in place for a moment, then the horn was blown a third time, its wail lost in the roar as the teams lunged forward and the race began.
        “You have done well, Crassus,” Pompey said, looking over the heads of the crowd. “I doubt there’s a man in Rome who doesn’t know your generosity.”
        Crassus glanced sharply at him, looking for mockery. Pompey was impassive and didn’t seem to feel the