Quintus had half a notion that Corax would tell Pera to piss off, but if that happened, he would feel like a child whose father had stepped in to protect him from a bully. Again his pride surged out of control. ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll ride against you.’
‘Crespo! Are you fucking insane?’ whispered Urceus.
‘Later, then,’ said Pera. ‘Here, at the turn of the second watch. We can use the ground outside the wall.’
‘Very well, sir.’ Already realising he had been unwise, Quintus watched as the two centurions rode off, joking with one another.
‘You’re a damn fool!’ snapped Urceus. ‘What were you thinking?’
‘Who does he think he is?’ answered Quintus in an angry undertone. ‘My father put me on a horse’s back before I could walk. I could ride him into the ground.’
‘Maybe you could, but you won’t! Not unless you’re even more of an idiot than I take you for. The man’s a centurion! The likes of you and me are nothing compared to him.’
‘Jug is right,’ said Mattheus, who had just arrived. ‘If you beat him, he’ll make your life a fucking misery.’
Marius rumbled his accord.
Quintus nodded his head in furious, reluctant agreement. ‘I hear you.’ His comrades were right. Standing up to Pera had been rash. He would have to let the centurion win. His sour mood deepened and, for a moment, Quintus regretted leaving his exalted position as an equestrian behind four years before. The idea vanished in a few heartbeats. I wouldn’t have my comrades, or Corax as my commander, if I’d stayed in the cavalry, he thought. Are they not more than enough? Bitterness filled him, however, as he pictured the race to come. Not only would he have to lose, but he would have to endure being humiliated by Pera.
Quintus cursed himself for not keeping his mouth shut.
‘Ready?’ asked Gaius, the centurion who had accompanied Pera earlier.
Darkness had fallen some time before, and the Roman fortifications loomed bright in the moonlight. If one looked hard, it was possible to make out the sentries as they walked to and fro. The usual night-time noises carried from the camps on the other side: cavalry mounts nickering at one another, men’s voices and occasional bursts of laughter.
Astride Gaius’ horse, a steady chestnut with a luxuriant mane, Quintus’ throat was tight with tension. He nodded firmly.
‘More than ready,’ said Pera, smirking. He sat on his mount, ten paces to Quintus’ right.
‘As agreed, you will ride to where the torch has been stuck in the ground, five hundred paces yonder, and back. The first man to reach my line’ — Gaius pointed with his sword tip to the dirt at his feet — ‘will be accounted the winner. Agreed?’
‘Yes,’ both men replied.
‘On the count of three, then,’ declared Gaius.
It was a beautiful night, thought Quintus. Cool, but not too cool. No wind. A clear sky above, with a waxing moon to provide light. The ground that they were to race upon was for the most part flat. He’d walked the course earlier, and there were few places where a horse could break a leg. The conditions were perfect for a clandestine race. Unsurprisingly, news of it had travelled fast. More than a hundred soldiers had gathered to watch. Despite the fact that such activities were prohibited — especially because they were outside the siege wall — there were plenty of infantry officers too: optiones, tesserarii and centurions. Quintus thought he had spied Corax among them, wearing a hooded cloak. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried that his centurion hadn’t tried to end his participation in the race.
A number of men moved through the throng, offering odds, taking bets. Quintus half smiled. If Pera hadn’t been his opponent, he would have given Urceus all of his money and told him to wager it on him, the naïve hastatus who was going up against a centurion. Of course he’d done nothing of the sort. Instead, he would ride as if to win, but near the end, he would lose. Beating Pera might provide him with a moment of glory, but having a centurion as an enemy would be downright dangerous. Damn it all! I should have kept my peace.
‘One,’ said Gaius.
Quintus leaned forward and stroked his horse’s cheek. He’d had a chance to trot it up and down a little beforehand. It was a calm beast, but he wasn’t sure that, even if he’d wanted it to, it had the legs to beat Pera’s mount, which looked fast. ‘Do your best, boy,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t fall and hurt yourself, or I’ll have your master to answer to.’
‘Two.’
Quintus glanced at Pera, who mouthed a curse of some kind at him. Like Quintus, the centurion was dressed in nothing more than a light wool belted tunic. He also had a whip gripped in his right fist, a tool that Quintus had never liked using on a horse.
‘Three!’
In spite of the requests by Quintus’ comrades that they remain quiet, the spectators let out a low cheer. Hoping that the race would not be discovered by a senior officer who wasn’t in the know, Quintus urged his horse towards the spot of light — a torch — that marked the turning point of the race. Alongside, Pera was already wielding his whip, striking it off his mount’s sides with sibilant little cracking sounds. The black surged into the lead, and Pera shot a triumphant glance over his shoulder at Quintus.
‘Come on! We can’t let the whoreson get away with that,’ Quintus muttered to the chestnut. He flicked the reins and, to his delight, the horse responded with gusto. Its hooves pounded off the ground faster and faster. By the time that they had ridden perhaps half the distance, Quintus judged that the gap between them and Pera had narrowed. The torch was more visible now, flickering in the light breeze. The devilment of earlier returned, and Quintus grinned. There could be no harm in scaring Pera a little, surely? The centurion was still going to win after all. ‘Faster,’ he urged the chestnut. ‘You can catch the black. I know you can.’
Gamely, his horse increased his speed. This beast is faster than he looks, thought Quintus with delight as the night air rushed by his ears. He smiled again as Pera threw an alarmed look back at them. By the time that the torch was a hundred paces away, they had caught up with him. Side by side, no more than an arm’s length apart, they galloped towards the halfway mark. Quintus took great pleasure from the anger on Pera’s face. Does he realise yet that this is no mistake? That I could beat him? he wondered.
Crack! Quintus heard the sound in the same moment that his cheek erupted in agony. He reeled, almost losing his balance. Only his grip on the reins prevented him from falling off the chestnut, which slowed instinctively.
‘You piece of filth!’ cried Pera. ‘That’ll show you!’
As Quintus regained his seat, the centurion’s mount surged ahead, towards the torch. He lifted a hand to his stinging cheek, winced as he felt the warm stickiness of blood under his fingers. Pera clearly wanted to win, but Quintus hadn’t been expecting the bastard to use his whip as a weapon. White-hot rage surged through Quintus, and he thumped his mount’s chest with his heels. It was if the chestnut sensed his desire to catch Pera; it rushed onward once more, its hooves hammering the hard ground in a mesmeric rhythm. Quintus wished that he had a spear to throw or, failing that, a chance to knock Pera from his horse and beat the centurion into a bloody pulp.
Despite the pulse beating at his temples, Quintus knew such a reaction would result in a death sentence. How he longed then to win the race instead, to teach Pera a lesson in horsemanship. The chestnut was doing him proud; at this rate, it might well catch the black soon after they had both turned for home.
Quintus took a deep breath; then he let it out slowly. The option of succeeding against Pera was also impossible. Best to ride on, keeping his mount under a tight rein. He could give a good account of himself, accept the jeers of Pera and his friends at the end, and consign the whole race to bitter experience. Draining an amphora of wine with his comrades afterwards would help to put the whole sorry episode from memory.