Furies Read Online Free Page A

place of worship for all lovers of horse and chariot races, evidenced by the number of votive offerings littered about the statue’s hooves – had to suffice.
    “Say, isn’t that Gellius?” Varus said. “Gellius!”
    Caught off guard, Aculeo glanced towards the gates where Varus was looking. The man standing there was thinner than he recalled Gellius ever being, and pale as milk, his chin badly in need of a shave, his hair an unruly brown mop atop his head, but it was certainly him. Aculeo was seized with a sudden, stark panic. He tried to look away but caught the other man’s furious glare of recognition. Aculeo stammered and began to sweat. He tried to think of something to say but Gellius turned and left without a word.
    “What’s with him I wonder?” Varus asked as they continued down the mosaic-tiled corridor. “Ah well, I suppose it has something to do with that Corvinus nonsense, it quite ruined him …” He glanced at Aculeo, eyes wide, and bit his bottom lip. “Ah, by Hera, there I go again, I didn’t mean that …”
    “My own losses were minimal,” Aculeo lied again, offering what he hoped resembled a carefree smile.
    “Well, that’s good. It’s part of doing business, I suppose,” he said, giving Aculeo a quick, sidelong glance.
    They passed through the gates, the marble archway overhead carved with an elaborate frieze of a chariot race. The stench of rancid sweat from the crowds within, straw, manure and spilled beer all proved a challenge to his unsettled stomach and throbbing head. The heat inside the Hippodrome was relentless, the viewing area where most of the crowd stood unprotected from the strong Egyptian sun. Slaves walked around the inner ring of the track between races carrying large buckets of sparsiones, perfumed water which they sprayed as a mist over the welcoming crowd, providing them with some relief from both the heat and oppressive smell.
    Betting brokers wove their way through the throngs, offering their odds, taking patrons’ bets and silver. Aculeo watched the next group of race horses being led in from the back stables towards the red clay dirt track ring within.
    “Place a wager, sir?” one of the brokers asked him. “Four to one on Heracles’ Fury.”
    “That’s the one,” Varus whispered eagerly.
    Aculeo, still brooding over his encounter with Gellius, watched the other patrons standing nearby appraising the animals and their riders, touching them, saying a prayer, spitting out a curse, anything to gain an edge in the upcoming race. “Which one is she?”
    “See there, in the green colours with the white blaze on her forehead?” the broker said. “An auspicious sign, sir.”
    She is a fine looking beast, Aculeo thought, sleek black coat, fine long legs, fire in her eye.
    “Five to one,” Varus proposed.
    “Ah, sir, too steep,” the broker said, scratching at his beard. “I could do nine to two.”
    “Done,” said Varus. Aculeo was thoughtful for a moment and gave a silent prayer to the gods before he counted out his silver and took the betting slip from the broker. The two men climbed the staircase to the second level to find some seats.
    Aculeo looked down at the oval track as the horses were led into their stalls, their gleaming noses peering over the starting gate, anxious to begin. The red flag was dropped and the horses thundered out of the starting gate and the crowds roared in delight. The horses rounded the first corner, their bare-chested riders driving them, the crowds cheering them on. Varus cheered loudly for Heracles’ Fury, slapping his hands against the rail.
    A familiar face caught Aculeo’s eye, moving through the crowd on the level below. Isn’t that Iovinus? he thought, his blood practically chilling within his veins. It can’t be. He moved closer to the rail, leaning over as far as he could. The same bony frame, stilt-legged walk, big ears, deeply receding hairline … it was surely him. The man licked his lips and gave a