"Iggulden, Conn - Emperor 3 - The Field of Swords" - читать интересную книгу автора (Iggulden Conn)

"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 gaze.
Below them, the thundering horses reached the first corner. The light chariots scored long sliding arcs in the sand as they were pulled around by the plunging horses. The riders leaned over to balance themselves, held in place by nothing more than their skill and strength. It was an impressive display and Dacius slid neatly between two teams to take an early lead. Crassus frowned at the development.
"Have you decided whom you will support for consul at the end of the year?" he said, forcing a neutral tone.
Pompey smiled. "It's a little early to be thinking of it, my friend. I am enjoying being consul myself at the moment."
Crassus snorted at the blatant falsehood. He knew Pompey too well to believe his denials. Under the pressure of his stare, Pompey shrugged.
"I believe Senator Prandus can be persuaded to put his name on the lists," he said.
Crassus watched the racing teams, considering what he knew of the man.
"There are worse choices," he said at last. "Would he accept your . . . guidance?"
Pompey's eyes were bright with excitement as Dacius continued to lead the field. Crassus wondered if he was feigning the interest merely to annoy him.
"Pompey?" he prompted.
"He would not be troublesome," Pompey replied.
Crassus hid his pleasure. Neither Prandus nor his son Suetonius was a man of influence in the Senate, but having weak men as consuls would mean he and Pompey could continue to guide the city, merely exchanging the public aspect for the private. Returning to the anonymity of the back benches after leading Rome was an unpleasant prospect for both of them. Crassus wondered if Pompey knew he held debts on the family and would have his own form of control if Prandus was elected.
"I could accept Prandus, if you are sure of him," he said over the noise of the crowd. Pompey turned an amused expression to him.
"Excellent. Do you know if Cinna will stand?"
Crassus shook his head. "He's all but retired since the death of his daughter. Have you heard something?"
In his eagerness, Crassus reached out to hold Pompey's arm, and Pompey grimaced at the touch. Crassus felt a spike of hatred for the man. What right did he have to assume such airs, when Crassus paid the bills of his great houses?
"I have heard nothing yet, Crassus. If not Cinna, though, we must find another to stand for the second post. Perhaps it is not too soon to begin cultivating a new name."
As the fourth lap began, Dacius led by a full length, with the Thracian holding position behind him. Paulus was third, with the seasick Spanish horses bringing up the rear. The crowd bellowed their approval and every eye was on the teams as they rounded the far corner and galloped through the start for the fifth lap. The wooden egg was removed and the bawling voices were becoming hoarse.
"Have you considered Julius? His term in Spain is almost over," Crassus said.
Pompey glanced over at him, suddenly wary. He still suspected Crassus of a loyalty to the young Caesar that he did not share. Had the man not waived the debts of the Tenth shortly after Julius took control? Pompey shook his head.
"Not him, Crassus. That dog has teeth. I'm sure you don't want . . . disruption any more than I."
Dacius had increased his lead and Crassus continued to speak, pleased to be able to ruffle the smooth placidity of his colleague.
"They say Caesar has done very well in Spain. New lands under our control, new cities. I believe there has even been talk of a Triumph for him."
Pompey looked sharply at Crassus, his brow furrowing. "I've heard nothing of Triumphs and I have made myself clear. When his posting is over, I will send him somewhere else. Greece, perhaps. Whatever you are planning should be forgotten, Crassus. I witnessed my own men standing in the rain for that one when they saw his oak wreath. My own men, honoring a stranger! You remember Marius well enough. We don't want another one in the city, especially as consul."
Crassus didn't reply for a long moment and Pompey chose to interpret the silence as assent.
Below them on the track, Dacius came up behind the Spanish team and moved to lap them. The faltering driver swerved violently as Dacius passed him, losing control for a split second. It was long enough. With a crash that could be heard over the appalled howl of the crowd, both teams were fouled and the neat lines of horses became screaming chaos in an instant.
The Thracian heaved his reins over to clear the wreckage. His whip snapped at the inner horses, forcing them to shorten their stride for a turn that nearly had him over. The crowd watched in agony as the little man guided them around, but then they were through and clear and many in the Circus rose to their feet to applaud his skill.
Pompey swore under his breath as he saw Dacius lying still on the sand. One of his legs was twisted peculiarly. His knee had clearly been shattered, and though he still lived, he would not race again.
"Signal the guards I gave you, Crassus. There will be fighting once they recover from the shock."
Crassus set his jaw in anger, catching the eye of a centurion and holding up a clenched fist. They moved down amongst the benches and it was not a moment too soon. After the excitement at the destruction of the horses and chariots, the crowd had become aware of their lost bets and howled as one in an orgy of frustration. The final laps went without incident, the Thracian first across the line to general indifference. Fights had already broken out and the legionaries acted swiftly, using the flats of their swords to separate struggling men from each other.
Pompey signaled his personal guard that he was ready to leave, and they cleared a path for him. He exchanged a glance with Crassus as he left, and saw the man's dislike, for once unmasked. As he reached the street, Pompey was lost in thought, barely hearing the growing disruption behind him.