Seventh Dimension - The King - Book 2, A Young Adult Fantasy (23 page)

“Good. The most
dangerous points are at the turns on each side of the spina. This
is where most of the collisions take place. If you lose control
going into the turn, your rig can overturn, and you, along with
your horses, are likely to be crushed by the other chariots as they
round the post behind you.”

I took a deep breath.

Cynisca probed
my eyes. “Have you ever seen a man crushed by a
chariot?”

I shook my head.

Cynisca sighed. “It’s not a pretty sight, my friend.
Even if you live, you can be maimed for life.”

My stomach soured at the mere mention of
crushed.

“Did you see Dominus’s cane?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s what happens if you get hit by another
charioteer. Dominus was fortunate he wasn’t killed.”

“So Dominus was
run over by a chariot?”

Cynisca rolled
her eyes. “Not just once, many times. That’s why he’s a hero. A
lesser man would have died, but he had the will to
live.”

“Have you ever wrecked?” I asked

Cynisca glanced
away. “Once. After that, my father wouldn’t let me race anymore. So
now I’m the head trainer.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And you didn’t get hurt?”

Cynisca
frowned. “I did, but I’m fine now. I broke some bones. I was
lucky.”

I hoped I was as lucky.

“The main thing
is,” Cynisca continued, “if you do fall off, get out of the way.
Don’t lie on the track like a fool.”

Cynisca smacked
her hands. “It can happen that fast. The best thing to do is not
fall. No matter what, don’t turn over your chariot. And watch out
for Tariq and Nidal.”

I nodded.

She glanced down at her notes. “Where was I? You
were asking about rules. You can’t deliberately ram into your
opponent, but who’s going to stop the race if someone does?”

I didn’t know.

“You’ve got to
stay clear of everyone. That’s how our last gladiator was killed.
He didn’t and he was trampled by Nidal and Tariq.”

Cynisca turned
her face from me, clearing her throat before continuing.

“There are
twenty-four races in a day. Most of the gladiators live in the
barracks, and since you don’t, you’ll be a little
unusual.”

“In a bad way?”

“No. They’ll just be curious about you. They’ll
think you’re rich.” She shrugged. “It’s something you should be
aware of.”

“All
right.”

“And beware of the spikes on the sides of the
chariots. Let’s see, we need to get your Xystis—garment. In the
meantime, you can wear the robe I gave you. Do you have a curved
knife?”

“What’s the knife for?”

“You don’t know
much about racing, do you? If you get knocked off, you don’t want
to be dragged by the reins of the horse. If you get tangled up, you
need the knife to cut yourself loose.”

My muscles
tensed. Why did this have to be so dangerous?

“And, of course, we need to fit you with a leather
helmet, knee pads and shin pads, and the rest of your
clothing.”

“When do I get those?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“You’ll race around the curricular seven times.”

“What’s that?” I interrupted.

“The arena,” Cynisca clarified. “Each time you go
around, they’ll drop a dolphin.”

“A dolphin?”

“Oh, they are in the middle. See the decorative
sculptures. As you finish each lap, they tilt them forward. That’s
how they keep track of how many times you’ve gone around.”

“I
see.”

Now, you’ll be in the starting gate on the outside
since you’re new. Once you win a couple of races, they will give
you a more preferred spot. You have to earn that.”

“I
will.”

“And, of
course, the judge’s boxes will be set up the day of the race.
Pontius Pilate will drop the handkerchief. And dignitaries show up,
so you must do well. Otherwise, the spectators will laugh at you.
They are merciless until you’ve proven yourself. They want a
show.”

Reminded me of sports back home.

“I think that’s it for the rules.”

“What will I wear?”

“It’s a
sleeveless garment called a Xystis. It comes down in a V-shape and
is cinched at the waist. You’ll have a pair of straps across your
upper back to prevent it from ballooning up during the race. But
for now, what you’re wearing will work fine. We won’t be racing for
speed for a few days.

“Practice
maneuvering the chariot through the turns, as we did yesterday,
only this time in the arena. It will be more fun here, where you
get a feel for the bends around the stadium.”

Cynisca darted
her eyes about. “It’s quite exciting to be down here with all the
seating and the colonnades. Don’t you think?”

“Makes my stomach knot up.”

She laughed.
“That’s good. If you didn’t have some fear, I’d wonder if you were
human.”

I wiped the perspiration from my forehead.

Cynisca stood. “Let’s head back to the stables and
meet your horses.”

We passed
several gladiators on the way. I could feel their steely eyes, but
I pretended not to notice. The Naser brothers in particular gawked
at me. Of course, I wasn’t dressed in the proper attire, so I
looked like a newbie.

I caught up with Cynisca as we neared the entrance
to the stables. The onlookers soon went back to their own
business.

At least a
dozen horses stood in the stalls. Each horse was tended to by two
or three slaves. I was impressed with how clean the area was for so
many animals.

Cynisca pointed
to a chariot sitting outside a stall. “There is your bigae.” The
waxed front and sides made the chariot look like a piece of art.
Even the wooden wheels were spotless—without a speck of
dust.

Inside the
stall, two slaves were grooming a horse. One of the slaves was
cleaning the horse’s nose—I was glad I was spared that chore—and
another was shampooing the same horse’s tail. Two additional slaves
were tending to a second horse.

“So I’m training with these horses?”

“Yes. These are
fine racehorses. Your horses,” she enunciated.

I studied both of them with anticipation.

“They were specially bred in Africa.”

I walked over
to the closest one. His freshly brushed mane was coppery and his
tail was darker, more bronze. I reached out and stroked his neck.
“What are their names?”

“That one is
Mosi, the lead horse. The other one is Oni.”

“Greek names?”

“Of course. This is a Greek sport.”

I smiled. I
would soon be so fluent in Greek and Hellenistic culture I might
lose my Jewishness. I had not noticed any Jews in the chariot
races. I seemed to be the only one here.

Cynisca’s eyes
studied me as I ran my hand along the back of the horse. The slave
moved out of my way.

I spoke gently
to the horse. “So you are Mosi, huh? I’m Daniel and we’ll make a
great team, with Oni.”

The horse nodded and snorted, as if understanding
me.

“So even though you don’t know anything about racing
chariots, you seem to be comfortable with horses.”

I glanced at Cynisca. “This is a fine horse, but
unless he trusts me, he won’t race for me.”

“That’s so
true,” Cynisca agreed. “Relationship building is
important.”

I stared into
Mosi’s eyes. If Shale were here, what secrets could she tell me
about the horses?

I turned to Oni
and stroked him on the neck. Both horses seemed to have good
temperaments. I was glad I’d had an opportunity to meet my racing
partners before we got on the track.

“Come,” Cynisca
said. “Let the slaves finish with the horses. They will bring the
chariot and the horses out to us. Nidal and Tariq are doing their
practice runs and I want you to watch.”

We entered the
arena and sat a few rows up in the stadium seats. The brothers were
trotting around the track in their bigaes. I paid close attention
to how each used his left hand to steer around the corners. Their
skills impressed me. In art and athletics, whenever someone made
something look easy, you knew he was skillful.

“In how many
races have they competed?” I asked.

Cynisca stopped
to think. “They have been racing for only a few months, but they
have won every race. We race every week, sometimes twice a week, so
what would that be? Twenty-five races at least.”

“How much money is that?”

Cynisca
laughed. “They moved out of the slave quarters after their first
two races. If they keep this up, they will soon become quite
wealthy.”

How much would
medical school cost? It would take three months of working for
Brutus to earn what I could win in one race—and he paid
well.

I asked
Cynisca, “Which is more important, the charioteer’s prowess or the
horse’s ability?”

She puckered
her mouth as she thought. “It’s a little of both.”

One of the brothers slapped the horse with a
whip.

“I don’t like
slapping a horse with a whip,” I commented.

“That’s how you make them go faster. Horses are
basically stubborn, you know.”

“Not if they are trained well,” I countered.

Cynisca seemed
surprised by my statement. “You’re in charge when you’re out there
racing. You must make your horse outperform the others.”

I would work on the relationship part. I didn’t like
the whip.

After a while, the slaves brought out my bigae and
horses.

Cynisca touched my hand and her bright eyes focused
on me. “It’s your turn now.”

We walked down
the steps and headed over to the chariot. My mind went blank—like
right before a test at school, when I felt that I’d forgotten all
the answers.

Cynisca
directed me to step up on the chariot, and the slaves connected it
to the horses. She handed me the reins.

“Let’s go around the track slowly through the turns.
Get a feel for the horses.” She handed me the whip.

“You don’t have
to hit them hard,” she cautioned. “They know what to do, but you
need to let them know you’re in charge.”

I checked the
reins. They needed to be short enough to stop the horses, but not
so short that I tugged at their mouth. I would steer Mosi with my
left hand and he would guide Oni on the right.

Everyone moved
out of my way—probably out of fear. They knew I was a
newbie.

I yelled at the
horses to go. They didn’t move. I tried a couple more times. They
still didn’t move. My face burned hot as I heard a couple of
snickers from the gladiators.

Cynisca approached me. “You will have to hit them
with the whip to make them go,” she whispered.

I took the whip
and slapped the left horse, and both horses took off running—too
fast. I panicked. We came to the first turn. I blanked on what
Cynisca had showed me the day before. I hoped I didn’t fall off and
wildly moved the reins with both hands.

As we spun out
of the first turn, I breathed a sigh of relief. The horses knew
what they were doing, even if I didn’t know what I was doing. They
made me look better than I was.

We completed
the first lap around the track and I arrived back at my starting
point. I noticed the slaves and gladiators looked surprised that I
hadn’t wrecked or fallen off the chariot.

Cynisca was all smiles. “Good job,” she
congratulated me, “after a somewhat dubious start.”

“Can I go
around again?” I asked.

“Sure. The track is ours for the next hour. Don’t go
too fast. Besides, you don’t have your helmet. Let the horses get
to know your voice today.”

I galloped the
horses around the track a few more times, feeling more confident
each time. On the third lap, I looked up into the stands. I
imagined crowds cheering as I passed victory lane.

Unexpectedly, I
saw someone from my past. She sat in the first seat next to the
track on the far side, wearing the same clothes I had seen her wear
before. I’d almost forgotten about the ventriloquist. A year had
passed since her last appearance.

She smiled and waved, holding a bag of popcorn, as
if she were in the year 2015 watching a football game. Her presence
was disturbing and broke my focus and concentration. What was she
doing here?

I had to put
her out of my mind. When I made another trip around the track, she
was gone, but that she was here at all disturbed me. The demon had
followed me all the way to Caesarea—why?

Cynisca walked
up to me on my final lap, smiling broadly. “You did a fine job on
your first day at the hippodrome.”

“Thank you.” My
elated feeling from earlier had been subdued by the unexpected
visitor. Cynisca seemed not to notice.

She peered up
at the sky studying the sun’s position. “It is time to finish for
today. We’ll be back here tomorrow first thing in the
morning.”

I nodded.

“You still want to be a gladiator, right?”

“Yes—absolutely.”

“Great.”
Cynisca glanced at her parchment. “Tomorrow I’ll give you your
corset, helmet, shin guards, knee protectors and knife. You’ll need
to decide if you want to fasten the knife over your back or at your
waist.