The Circus itself is about six hundred feet long by about three hundred feet wide. The racecourse is divided by a long low wall – the spina – at the ends of which are the points round which the chariots have to turn. At one of these points are seven golden dolphins, at the other seven golden eggs. The normal length of a race is seven circuits, and dolphins and eggs are removed at the appropriate moments to remind spectators how far advanced the races are.
Between these points are various works of ancient art. At the exact centre of the spina is an Egyptian obelisk of the most incredible antiquity. Someone told me once that this dates from before the Flood. Since no one can read the picture writing that covers the thing, and since there was probably no Flood – where, after all, could the waters come from to cover the whole world? – I take this as one of those fanciful guesses by which people cover their ignorance. But the obelisk must be old.
I am on firmer ground with other works. For me, the most illustrious of these is the serpentine column of bronze erected in ancient days at Delphi to commemorate the final defeat of the Persians. This came to the city when the Great Constantine ransacked the world for monuments to adorn his new capital. You can read on it the names of the city states that took part in this unquestionably miraculous deliverance.
Martin and I arrived with Authari soon after dawn, and joined a long queue of chattering citizens dressed in their finest to gain admittance. As we filed in through the Great Entrance, I saw that slaves were stretching canopies high over the seating areas in the Circus to keep off the drizzle that had continued through the night. With successive, rippling cracks that reminded me of the sails on a ship, the slaves had the canopies neatly unfurled. They were stretched from poles set into the perimeter walls, reminding me of the teeth of a comb. The racecourse itself was uncovered, but the retaining cords of the covering connected to each other far above the course. The whole was then steadied with a network of other cords that held it rigid in the shifting winds and kept off both sun and rain.
We were met inside by Alypius. He led us through the gathering crowds to the semicircular end of the Circus. Our seats were right at the front on the lowest row. On our left, stretching all the way up to the highest row of seats, was a line of armed guards. A few yards before us, blocked by more armed guards, was a staircase leading down to the racecourse.
From here, we had a fine view of the whole Circus. I noticed the Senators filling up their terrace. On the plainer robes I could make out the bordering flashes of purple. Conspicuous in his black was what I guessed to be the Greek Patriarch. Among the men, I saw a few veiled ladies.
Most remarkable, however, were the humbler spectators. Around us were seated crowds in no particular style of clothing. These were the unaffiliated citizens. But on my right – that is, on the side of the Imperial Box – sat the Green Faction. On the other side of the Circus sat the Blue Faction.
There are, you see, two teams in every race – one blue, one green – and these have their fans among the spectators. These two factions are separately seated because of the riots that often attend races. They have always had some official recognition, their leaders being held responsible to the Urban Prefect. They have their own social life, providing insurance and support for their members. Since the first big siege by the Persians, they have been armed and drilled, and now form part of the regular City defences.
The Factions flocked together in their accustomed seas of blue and green robes, each facing the other across the racecourse. As the Circus filled up, and the rain left off and the sun began to peep from behind the grey clouds, the unofficial festivities got under way.
By custom, the first insults traded between the two Factions are generally accusations of heresy or treason, and curses that go back to before the establishment of the Faith. This is the only place left where you can hear public venerations of Isis and Serapis and others of the dethroned Ancient Gods. Often, the phrases used are so old and garbled that most are unaware of the blasphemy.
Then, as the teams enter and go one lap about the Circus, the abuse becomes more tailored to the alleged faults of the chariot eers. The first team that day to enter was the Green. Through the internal gateway beneath the Imperial Box the team entered to thunderous cheers and groans, the charioteers in green robes, the two horses to each chariot also dressed in green. As they passed by the Green section, the charioteers dismounted and took the plaudits of their faction.
With neatly trimmed beards and gravely impassive faces, they stood by their chariots – these stripped back to the absolute minimum needed for a riding platform. They stood beneath a shower of rose petals, and were treated to an elaborate choral ode in their honour.
Then, from across the Circus, came the first sustained mass of abuse. Directed at the team leader, Paul, and in a rolling chant, carried by perhaps ten thousand voices, it went something like this:
Ye Nymphs lament, Ye Cupids too,
And every man of feelings true
And decent. For, such her meanness,
Fate has robbed Paul of his penis -
His penis that he loved so well;
His penis that could often swell
From one to maybe two or more
Full inches, if not quite to four.
It never felt the warm embrace
Of any vulva, nor in place
The firm grasp – by law denied us -
Of a playful young cinaedus.
But his left hand as well it knew
As a foot its favourite shoe.
And limp now, nor more to present,
There will it rest, all passion spent.
Ah Savage Fate – cruel to devour
His solace of a silent hour -
Behold the product of thy power:
Tucked in bed, lies Paul unsleeping,
Ever red his eyes from weeping.
As the last measure ended, the chanting dissolved into screams of laughter and individual abuse. There was a volley of green dildoes from the Blue Faction, and a less organised repetition of the final lines.
His face creasing into a smile, Paul took the assault in good spirit. Indeed, it was hard not to. Someone among the Blues had a good ear for the Latin classics and had done a fine job of parodying Catullus in the fixed syllabic lines of modern Greek. Paul took up one of the dildoes and waved it derisively back at the crowd. Then he pulled up his robe to show the whole Circus what the truth was regarding his manhood.
I was too far away to see the details, but they pleased the Greens. The approving roar must have been heard outside the City walls.
Matthias, leader of the Blue team, got the same treatment. His epigram went as follows:
Beside Matthias, have no fear,
Your wives and daughters may sit near;
And lustful glances, if he cast,
Can bring to them no harm at last.
Nor for your sons you need take fright:
Matthias is no sodomite -
Or, much as he’d love to insert
Himself, he’d never dare assert
Himself sufficient to succeed:
A timid little man indeed!
And he, to complete your data,
Is neither a lewd fellator,
Nor some other fornicator.
You’ll find his pleasures are very,
Very, very solitary:
For every other vice unfit,
Matt eats and masturbates in shit!
Well, that got everyone going nicely. I thought the chaotic shouting that followed this recitation would never end. So far, though, it was all good-humoured fun. Even Matthias had to smother a laugh at the inventiveness of the epigram someone had taken the trouble to compose against him. He knew that if the verse made it into one of the anthologies, it might be good advertising throughout the Empire.