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that he was a charioteer and had been ... recruited to join them. The guards
looked dubious.
The boy beside Taras spat into the street. 'Tucking unlock the gate.
It's raining and he's who he says he is.'
In that order, Taras thought glumly, water dripping from his hat and down the
back of his neck. The metal gates were reluctantly swung open. No word of
welcome, of course. The guards didn't even believe he was a chariot-racer. The
compound's courtyard-almost identical to that of the Greens-was muddy and
deserted in the wet, cold morning.
'You'll be in that barracks,' the boy said, pointing off to the right. 'Don't
know which bed. Astorgus said drop your stuff and see him. He'll be eating.
Banquet hall's that way.' He went off through the mud, not looking back.
Taras carried his gear to the indicated building. A long, low sleeping
quarters, again much like the one he'd lived in this past year. Some servants
were moving about, tidying up, arranging bed linens and discarded clothing.
One of them looked over indifferently as Taras appeared in the doorway. Taras
was about to ask which bed was his, but suddenly the prospect seemed too
humiliating. That could wait. He dropped his wet bags near the door.
'Keep an eye on these for me,' he called out with what he hoped sounded like
authority. 'I'll be sleeping in here.'
He shook the rain off his hat, put it back on his head, and went out again.
Dodging the worst puddles, he angled across the courtyard a
second time, towards the building the boy had indicated. Astorgus, the
factionarius, was supposed to be in there.
Taras entered a small but handsomely decorated front room. The double doors
leading to the hall itself were closed; it was quiet beyond, at this hour of a
grey, wet morning. He looked around. There were mosaics on all four walls
here, showing great charioteers-all Blues, of course-from the past. Glorious
figures. Taras knew them all. All the young riders did; these were the shining
inhabitants of their dreams.
Work hard, and who knows what might happen.
Taras felt unwell. He saw a man, warmed by two fires, sitting on a high stool
at a desk near the interior doors that led to the dining hall itself. There
was a lamp at his elbow. He looked up from some writing he was doing and
arched an eyebrow.
'Wet, aren't you?' he observed.
'Rain tends to be wet, 'Taras said shortly. 'I'm Taras of the .. .I'm
Taras ot Megarium. New rider. For the Whites.'
'Are you?' the man said. 'Heard of you.' At least someone had, Taras thought.
The man looked Taras up and down, but he didn't snicker or look amused.
'Astorgus is inside. Get rid of that hat and go on in.'
Taras looked for somewhere to put his hat.
'Give it to me. 'The secretary-or whatever he was-took it between two fingers
as if it were a rancid fish and dropped it on a bench behind his desk. He
wiped his fingers on his robe and bent to his work again. Taras sighed, pushed
his hair out of his eyes, and opened the heavy oak doors to the banquet hall.
Then he froze.
He saw a huge, brightly lit room, packed with people at every table.
The morning stillness was shattered by a sudden, vast, thundering roar
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erupting like a volcano, loud enough to shake the rafters. He realized, as he
stopped dead on the threshold, heart in his throat, that they were all leaping
to their feet-men and women-cups and flasks uplifted in his direction, and
they were shouting his name so loudly he could almost imagine his mother
hearing it, half a world away in Megarium.
Stupefied, frozen to the spot, Taras tried desperately to grasp what was
happening.
He saw a compact, much-scarred man throw his cup down, bouncing it off the
floor, spilling and spattering the lees of his wine, and stride across the
room towards him. 'By the beard of the beardless
Jad!' cried the celebrated Astorgus, leader of all the Blues,'I
cannot fucking believe those idiots let you go! Hah! Hah! Welcome, Taras of
Megarium, we're proud to have you with us!' He wrapped Taras in a
rib-cracking, muscular embrace and stepped back, beaming.
The noise in the room continued unabated. Taras saw Scortius himself-
the great Scortius-grinning at him, cup held high. The two urchins who had
fetched him were both here now, laughing together in a corner, sticking
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