Cheering for the people’s favorites was easy, it was only necessary to choose one of the colors of the tunics of the rider, in which they carried on quadrigas past the stands. At first there were two colors: red and white. Then green and blue were added. Fans divided Rome into factions, forcing citizens to argue to hoarseness and often leading to clashes.

Emperors also did not shy away from horse races. They say Nero was a supporter of the Greens, and Octavian liked white.

A traditional ceremony had already taken place, which was led by the consul Ceionius. He marched in a purple toga embroidered with palm branches, above his head, a state slave carried a golden oak wreath. Around him were numerous clients and relatives, in the middle of which Marcus noticed his future wife, Fabia, and her younger brother, Lucius. They were used to such ceremonies and kept quiet and were not as frightened by large crowds of children shyly clinging to their parents. The procession was called pomp, and according to the established custom took place before each race.

But here the tedious pomp ended, Ceionius took his place over the gates, releasing quadrigas. Meanwhile, special wagons drove through the arena, from where slaves poured water from barrels and scattered everywhere sand, so that the eyes and nostrils of horses were not clogged during the race. Marcus noticed that the water was not simple, but saffron. The water gave pleasure to the floral sweet smell of the senators sitting in the front seats, almost short of reaching the upper rows. Really, why would they? Plebs will cost!

Everyone was waiting for the sign of Ceionius, allowing chariots to take their seats at the start, but the consul somehow hesitated, causing a disgruntled murmur of the crowd.

“I heard that Geminas—favorite of Ceionius is participating in the races,” said Faustina of the mother of Marcus Domitia. He is from the Green Party.”

Faustina the eldest was excited today; she looked with interest at the rows, where the audience of her circle—notable patricians, their wives, people who once held the posts of magistrates and former consuls.49 Sometimes she nodded to acquaintances, sometimes, for the most part men, shot flirtatiously smiles. Today, Faustina was alone. Her husband Titus Antoninus did not like mass spectacles. A devotee of calm and silence, he retired to Lanuvia, where he had a large farm estate, to indulge there the joys of village life.

Soon, all found out the reason for the hitch with the start of the race. Vibia Sabina appeared in the imperial box and the whole Circus stood up to greet her.

“I didn't know Sabine was going to be there,” Faustina said. “They said she's been unwell lately.”

“Yes, she has terrible headaches,” Domitia confirmed. “We don't see each other very often now, but thank the gods, it still gives us protection at court.”

Marcus looked at the imperial lodge and saw Hadrian's lonely wife. From afar he could not see her face, but from the figure of Sabina, as it seemed to him, there was a deep sadness. She was alone, without Hadrian, cold and motionless, like the celestial Juno in the temple, for which there are no human squabbles, hopes, and experiences. Only clouds, only the sky, only the sun. And he, Marcus, was sitting among people, alive, noisy, and restless. It's easy to get lost in this gathering, but it didn't feel lonely. They act as one—the crowd and he, and Sabina apart from them.

But he saw her a year ago, when she was swimming naked with Domitia. She had not yet an old body, she had elastic breasts, a flat, taut belly and there were two Nubian slaves, always ready to serve. She was still alive, not of marble as she was now.