The Horse Who Would Be Emperor

By Katherine Roberts

Emperor Caligula's favourite racehorse Incitatus the Swift eats gold for breakfast, attends the Senate, and has 18 slaves to look after him. When Caligula names Incitatus heir to the throne, the horse's stylist Livia and young charioteer Marcus are caught up in a plot to assassinate the mad emperor and restore the Republic to Rome. Livia is sentenced to death fighting tigers, while Marcus must risk life and limb racing in the Circus Maximus. Only Incitatus can save them... but how can a horse be Emperor of Rome?

 

An exciting adventure of chariot racing and gladiatorial battles from the author of 'I am the Great Horse'. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Electric Unicorn Press
• Release date: May 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201898137

Katherine Roberts

Katherine Roberts grew up in the southwest of England, where her first fantasy stories were told to her little brother at bedtime. She graduated in mathematics from the University of Bath, after which she worked for the General Electric Company, and later for an American company developing business models for petrol stations. When redundancy struck in 1989, she fulfilled her childhood dream of working with horses in a National Hunt racing yard, writing in her spare time. After several years of writing short fantasy and horror stories for genre magazines, her first book Song Quest won the 2000 Branford Boase Award for best debut novel for young readers, kick-starting her career as an author. Her books have been published by HarperCollins, Chicken House and Scholastic US, and translated into 12 languages worldwide – one of them even hit the bestseller list in Taiwan. Her latest series for young readers, The Pendragon Legacy about King Arthur’s daughter, is published in the UK by Templar Books. Away from her computer, Katherine enjoys folk music, cycling, skiing, and horse riding holidays. She has flown a glider solo and scared herself silly doing aerobatics in a small plane. All of these experiences eventually find their way into her books – though sometimes the horse becomes a unicorn, and the plane becomes a dragon!

Book preview

Characters

I, INCITATUS THE SWIFT

Born AD33, Hispania (Spain to you).

Not dead yet.

MY CHARIOT TEAM MATES

Amator – dappled grey stallion, almost as fast as me.

Cupido – dark grey gelding, slower but strong on the inside around the turns.

Aura – pale grey mare, could show the boys a thing or two.

MY WIFE

Penelope – beautiful and gentle palomino mare, does not race.

MY STAFF

Livia – my personal stylist.

Eutychus the Drunken Idiot – so-called champion charioteer.

Marcus Demetrius – our new young charioteer.

Paulus – exercise boy, too plump and nervous to race.

Drusus – mechanic who looks after our chariots.

Head Groom Cornelius – ex-charioteer.

Stable harpist – don’t know her name, but the music is good.

Twelve other grooms for yard sweeping, mucking out, etc. I forget all their names, but they’re slaves so their names don’t matter much.

OTHER HUMANS

Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, also known as Little Boots Caligula because he wore miniature war-sandals when he was a boy playing at soldiers – Emperor of Rome.

Milonia – Caligula’s fourth wife, childless and scared of horses.

Decurion Demetrius – Marcus’ father, an officer of the Equestrian Order and Republican sympathiser.

Cassius Charea – Caligula’s tax collector, another secret Republican.

Antonius the Gladiator – Livia’s father, awarded his freedom by the old emperor Tiberius but later eaten by tigers in Caligula’s games.

Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus, also known as Uncle Claudius – Caligula’s lame uncle, stammers when he speaks so writes a lot of scrolls instead.

Several senators, most of them ancient and partly deaf, who spend their time in the Senate reminiscing about the good old days when Rome was a Republic. I blame them for what happened next...

Scroll I

RACEHORSE

Circus Gaius, Rome, March AD40

INCITATUS

Want to know the worst part of being the most famous racehorse in the entire Roman Empire? I’m surrounded by idiots, from the nervous slaves who polish my hooves, to the so-called champion charioteer, currently drunk as a donkey, who is ‘driving’ (I use that word loosely) me and my team mate Amator around the emperor’s private racetrack. To be fair, old Eutychus wasn’t expecting to drive a chariot today. The Praetorians grabbed him on his way home from an all-night banquet to stand in for the emperor, who usually drives us out here. Eutychus was champion charioteer in the Circus Maximus several years running, but he’s losing his nerve. He almost fell out at the last turn, and would have got run over by the chasing chariot, if one of the Praetorians hadn’t thought to tie the reins firmly around his waist before we started the race. Needless to say, Eutychus was too drunk to manage this feat himself.

Our hooves pound the sand as we hurtle down the back straight and trigger another lap counter, still picking up speed. We’re a long way ahead of Cupido and Aura in the chasing chariot. We’ll overtake them before the finish at this rate, which isn’t surprising. They’ve got our exercise boy Paulus driving them, and he’s heavier than an entire racing rig these days because of the way he stuffs his face with honey-cakes whenever he’s off duty.

We gallop past a genuine Egyptian obelisk pointing at the sky. There’s an identical obelisk in the Circus Maximus but, despite Caligula’s orders to build his private circus as an exact copy of the public track so that we can train out here, the shadows are different. We’re going a bit too fast to round the turn safely, but should make it in one piece if our driver leans the right way. Eutychus, however, must have lost his judgement because he unexpectedly throws his whole weight backwards against our reins, yelling at us to stop. It makes little difference to our speed. I took control of the chariot halfway around the second circuit, and my blood is up. This is turning into a race almost as exciting as those in the Circus Maximus, and I’ve no time for our driver’s sudden loss of nerve.

Eutychus must sense this, because he gives up trying to stop us and instead jerks at Amator’s rein in a vain attempt to steer us wide. The drunken fool is not even looking at the turn. He’s staring down at our outside wheel as if he’s going to throw up all over it.

So we’re rounding the turn on one wheel, so what? That’s perfectly normal in a chariot race. The circus track is shaped like an Olympic stadium, divided by a long barrier called a spina with a pillar at each end. The chariot that turns closest to the pillars has the least distance to travel, but takes the most dangerous route. When he’s driving us himself, Caligula is usually hanging out of the side of the chariot and laughing like a madman by now.

Eutychus is not laughing. He’s sawing desperately at our reins and shouting. STOP, you stupid pig of horse! Or we’re going to DIE!

Nobody calls me a pig and gets away with it, let alone a geriatric charioteer who was once a common slave, so I pay him little attention. We’re quite close to the pillar, some would say dangerously close with the obelisk’s shadow falling on it like that, but horses’ eyes are better in the gloom than human eyes. Amator starts to swing us around, and I put on a spurt of speed to catapult us onto the home straight. We’ve done this plenty of times with the emperor driving us, and our two-horse biga is more nimble than the four-horse quadriga we’ll pull when Cupido and Aura join us for a proper race in the Circus Maximus. With luck, we shouldn’t hit anything.

We’re out of luck.

There is a loud CRACK behind me, accompanied by a final curse from our driver. Out of the corner of my eye, I see one wheel bounce off at an angle to crash against the barrier, where the Emperor Caligula and his ever-present escort of Praetorian guards are watching the race. There is sudden panic as the guards drag their young emperor out of harm’s way. Our fool of a charioteer comes flying over our heads with a desperate scream, the ends of our reins pulled tight around his waist. The Praetorians probably didn’t know the safety knots – too late now. For a glorious heartbeat, Amator and I are free to gallop as fast as we like. Then there’s a fierce jerk as our chariot, skidding on its side now, hits the pillar and disintegrates.

Amator neighs in pain as a corner of the marble plinth bruises his hocks, but he’s a strong horse and doesn’t fall. There’s a lot of broken wood flying about, and I feel the splinters sting my legs. I think Eutychus must have rolled under my hooves (I felt something soft and fleshy underfoot) but it’s impossible to stop. I kick at our dangling harness, and there’s more snapping and breaking behind me. Shouts echo around the circus – this time from the guards, who have left their emperor to fend for himself and are running across the track towards the wreck in an attempt to clear the course before the other horses round the turn and there’s another accident.

Amator and I gallop down the home straight, minus our chariot, still harnessed together and dragging the limp body of our driver. We catch the chasing chariot, which has skewed to a stop near the barrier to avoid the wreck, and swerve past it. The Praetorians have not managed to clear the track in time and scatter. Amator and I jump the remains of the wreck, side by side. I forget about our driver until his body snags in the wreckage and jerks at my bridle. I can feel blood trickling down one of my hind legs, but it doesn’t hurt that much. Wounds never do in the heat of a race.

The entrance to the circus is closed off, so we round the pillar and canter down the back straight again. Halfway along, a tall gangly figure wearing a purple toga trimmed with gold steps out of the shadow of the obelisk into the middle of the track and claps his hands in delight. It’s the Emperor Caligula, of course – nobody else would be crazy enough to step into the path of a runaway chariot. His guards shout a warning and wave their arms in an attempt to head us off before we run him over. But the emperor ignores them, applauding as enthusiastically as if we’ve just won a race in the Circus Maximus for his Imperial Blues.

Clever Incitatus! he calls, ignoring Amator’s part in the race. You’ve won again.

One of the frantic Praetorians reaches the young emperor just in time to shove him out of our way, while another waves a spear in my face. I would have bitten it in two and run him down but Amator shies, taking me with him, and a burly Praetorian with more muscle than brain dives onto our trailing reins. We’re going quite slowly by now and he manages to haul us to a stop, while another runs up and uses his sword to cut the leather, releasing the limp and bloodied body of our driver. He bends over Eutychus, looks up at the emperor and shakes his head.

Caligula pays no attention to the dying charioteer. Instead, he points at the little cut on my hind leg caused by the splinters. "Who has dared injure my horse?" he asks in his high-pitched voice.

Wheel came loose, by the looks of things, mutters one of the guards, and adds with a glance at the others, Thank the gods you decided not to drive Incitatus yourself today, Caesar!

There’s an awkward pause, during which the Praetorians avoid their emperor’s accusing gaze, while the select audience of senators and officers from the Equestrian Order – who by this time have also run on to the course to show concern for their emperor – shuffle their feet and look as if they would rather be somewhere else.

Thank the gods my handsome Incitatus still has all four legs, you mean! Caligula snaps. It’s lucky my horse is not dead, like his fool of a charioteer. He aims a kick at Eutychus’ mangled body.

One of the Praetorians holds my bridle, while another man cuts Amator loose and leads him limping away. I neigh after the grey horse, my blood still hot. Caligula glares at his audience. Wheel came loose, did you say? Who is responsible for crippling the swiftest and most handsome four-legged senator of Rome?

The only four-legged senator of Rome, if you want the truth. Caligula’s idea, not mine.

A two-legged senator gives a nervous cough and says a bit too quickly, I’m sure it wasn’t deliberate, Caesar—

Don’t interrupt your emperor! yells Caligula, scowling at the man who dared speak. Nobody is to leave this place until I say so, on pain of death. Where’s that useless mechanic who is supposed to check my chariots are safe to race? Bring him to me! Two of the guards run smartly off towards the stalls where our chariots were prepared for the race, their short gladius-swords slapping against their thighs. Meanwhile, Caligula draws his royal dagger and swings the glittering blade around in a slow arc, pointing it at our suddenly silent audience. There’s almost as much blood on the track as you would expect to see in the Circus Maximus on a proper race day, and everyone trapped inside is poised for flight like nervous horses.

This dagger pointing does not take the emperor long. His current pretty wife is allergic to horses and stayed behind in the palace with her ladies. Apart from the Praetorians and our dead driver, there are only a handful of older senators left in the stands, and a boy I’ve seen up here a few times before who appears to be the son of one of the captains. He’s the youngest spectator of all and he looks rather green. He sensibly stays where his father left him, safe in his seat behind the barrier.

Before Caligula’s pointing blade reaches the boy, one of the Praetorians returns and whispers in the emperor’s ear. Caligula clenches his fist on his dagger. I notice his hands are trembling and hope he isn’t about to have another of his frothing-at-the-mouth fits, like he had in my stable earlier. That’s the reason he didn’t drive us today, of course, although nobody will dare say as much. The Emperor of Rome is never sick or mad. At least, those who call him as much don’t live to repeat it. But Caligula’s anger is still directed at the absent mechanic who, it seems, has mysteriously disappeared from the track. Well, don’t just stand there – go find the traitor! he shrills. I want the fool hanging by his thumbs in my dungeon by the time I get back!

While the guards run off again, the emperor presses a hand to his forehead and says in a weary voice, One of you take Incitatus back to his stable and get his wounds doctored. Tell the Head Groom to give him extra gold in his feed today. Then find me another charioteer capable of driving my horses to victory in the Circus Maximus next race day – this drunken idiot’s no use to me any more. He aims a final kick at Eutychus.

Paulus, who is much too plump to race in the Circus Maximus and therefore safe from being selected, gives a nervous titter. The atmosphere is thick enough to make my coat prickle. Nobody else laughs.

Old Eutychus was getting past it, anyway, if you ask me, mutters one of the Praetorians, frowning at the mangled body of our driver. Once they start drinking, that’s the beginning of the end. There are a few grunts of agreement. The senators drift towards the exit, obviously not wanting to be the unfortunate one chosen to lead me back to the stables.

Then one of the Equestrian captains clears his throat. I believe I can help you with your charioteer, Caesar, he says, waving at the boy in the stands. Get down here, Marcus! he calls. Your emperor needs you.

MARCUS

Marcus stood on shaky legs. He’d eaten a good breakfast before coming out to the track, but now wished he hadn’t taken a single bite. Every time he looked at the trampled body of his childhood hero whose chariot had just crashed, he felt like throwing up. But, as the son of a decurion serving in the emperor’s elite Equestrian Order, he had to show self-control.

He pushed back his shoulders and swallowed down the bile. Then he wiped his mouth, took a deep breath, and vaulted the low barrier onto the track. Averting his eyes from Eutychus’ broken body, he crossed the blood-soaked sand to where his father stood with the emperor, and saluted smartly.

Sir! he said, unable to keep his gaze from straying to the wrecked chariot. It should have survived that last turn. Eutychus had been leaning the correct way and holding the