didn’t believe it all and thought I was exaggerating a bit, perhaps to amuse you. Above all, you must remember to control yourself, clench your teeth and never be angry with a superior. We’ll go there together. Perhaps I can give you some advice.”
As we walked through the city to Mars field, Barbus remarked sadly, “I should really have the right to bear the insignia of an under-centurion, the mural crown, if only I hadn’t been so given to fighting after drinking. Even the chain I received in memory of Tribune Lucius, that time I swam across the Danube between the ice floes with him bleeding on my back, ended up in pawn in some wretched barbarian inn in Mesia, and I never got it out again before we were moved on. But we could go and look in some weapon shop and buy a secondhand souvenir chain. Perhaps you’d be better treated if your companion was wearing one round his neck.”
I said that he had sufficient insignia of honor on his tongue, but Barbus insisted on going in and buying a triumph badge of copper on which the inscription was so worn that one could not discern who it was had once given them out to his veterans. But when Barbus fastened it at his shoulder, he said he felt more secure among all the cavalrymen.
On the great field there were about a hundred young knights practicing for the centenary equestrian games. The stablemaster was a big churlish man who laughed loudly when he read the certificate I had received from the quaestor at the Noble Order of Knights.
“We’ll soon find a suitable horse for you, young man,” he shouted. “Do you want a big one or a small one, a wild one or a quiet one, a white one or a black one?”
He led us to the stable of available horses. I pointed to one and saw another which I liked, but he looked in his papers and said coldly that they were already taken.
“It’d be safest if you had a quiet horse which is used to the exercises and the noise of the circus and which knows the horn signals, if you’re thinking of taking part in the centenary parade,” he said. “Have you done any riding before?”
I admitted modestly that I had practiced a bit in Antioch, for Barbus had told me not to boast, and I added that I thought all cavalry horses were used to horn signals.
“But I’d be glad to take an unbroken horse and break it in myself,” I dared to suggest. “However, I realize that I’d not have time to do that before the festival.”
“Excellent, excellent!” cried the stablemaster, almost choking with laughter. “There aren’t many youngsters who know how to break in a horse. So help me, Hercules, to keep me from bursting. Professionals do the breaking in here.”
One of the professionals came up at that moment and looked me over from head to foot.
“We’ve got Arminia,” he suggested. “She’s used to the circus racket and stands still even if you drop a sack of stones in her saddle.”
He showed me a large black mare who turned in her stall and gave me a look of distrust.
“No, no, not Arminia,” said the stablemaster in horror. “She’s much too sedate for such a young man. She’s so handsome and yet as gentle as a lamb. We must keep her for some old senator who wants to ride in the parade.”
“Naturally, I had not thought to receive a horse for nothing,” I said, “just with a certificate. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to try this horse.”
“He wants to try it and pay for it as well,” said die breaker-in delightedly.
After a few protests, the stablemaster finally agreed.
“It’s much too quiet a horse for a boy like you,” he said, “but get your boots on and your riding kit. Meanwhile I’ll have the horse saddled.”
I told him that I had nothing with me to wear, but the stablemaster looked at me as if I were mentally deficient.
“You weren’t going to ride in parade costume, were you?” he said. “The State pays for your practice clothes.”
He took me to the equipment room and helpful slaves laced the chest harness so tightly that I found it hard to breathe. I was given a battered helmet and an old pair of short boots. They did not give me a shield, sword or spear, but told me to be content with testing my ability to ride the first time.
The mare trotted cheerfully out of the stable and neighed grandly, but at a command from the stablemaster stood absolutely still. I mounted with the reins in my hand, and asked to have the stirrup straps adjusted to the right length.
“I can see you’ve ridden before,” said the stablemaster approvingly.
Then he bawled out in a thunderous voice: “The knight Minutus Lausus Manilianus has chosen Arminia and is thinking of riding her!”
The riders out on the exercise field scattered to the edges, a trumpet blew the signal to attack, and immediately a game began which more by good luck than skill I managed to survive unscathed. I barely had time to hear a warning from the stablemaster to spare the mare’s tender mouth and not pull too hard on the reins-but Arminia seemed to have a mouth of iron. Reins and bit were completely unknown to her. To begin with, she jerked backward in order to throw me over her head. When this did not succeed, she began bucking and rearing and then set off at a wild gallop, employing all the tricks an experienced circus horse can find to throw an inexperienced rider. I realized only too well why the others had scattered and fled to the edges of the field when Arminia was let loose.
I could do nothing but hang on with all my strength and keep her head at least turned slightly to the left, for she rushed straight at the fence around the field and then stopped suddenly, trying to crush my head against the posts. When despite her efforts I remained on her back, she went quite mad and took great leaps over the obstacles on the field. She was in truth an overwhelmingly powerful and cunning horse, so that when I had recovered from my first fright, I began to enjoy the ride. I let out one or two wild yells and kicked her flanks with my heels to let her work off her rage and tire herself out.
Astonished, Arminia tried to look back at me and obeyed the reins just sufficiently for me to guide her straight at the stablemaster and the breaker in. They hurriedly stopped laughing and scuttled behind the stable door. The stablemaster shouted an order, his face scarlet with fury. A trumpet blared, a troop formed into line and began to trot toward me.
Hut Arminia did not swerve away, however much I pulled at the reins. Spluttering lather and swinging her head, she carried me at full gallop straight at the closed ranks of riders. I was sure I would be thrown, but either the leading riders lost courage or they must have deliberately opened the line at the last moment to let me through. But each one who could reach tried to sweep me out of the saddle with his wooden spear or hit me over the back as the furious Arminia took me, biting, leaping and kicking, right through the group of riders without my receiving more than a few bruises.
This vicious and deliberate attempt to frighten me made me so angry that I mustered all my strength and managed to turn Arminia in order to try to unseat some of the riders myself. But at the last moment I remembered Barbus’ advice, controlled myself and instead rode past them shouting, laughing and waving a greeting.
When Arminia had worked off her rage, she at last calmed down and became irreproachably obedient. When I dismounted in front of the stable, she did try to bite my neck, but I think it was mostly in fun and I contented myself in return by butting her with my elbow under her muzzle.
The stablemaster and the breaker-in looked at me as if I were a monster, but the stablemaster pretended to be angry.
“You’ve ridden her into a lather and torn the mouth of a valuable horse so that it bled,” he said reproachfully. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s my own horse and my own business how I ride it,” I answered.
“You’re quite wrong,” he said angrily. “You can’t ride her at practices because she won’t stay in line and doesn’t obey orders. She’s used to being ahead of the others.”
Several of the riders had left their horses and had gathered in a circle around us. They encouraged me and cried out that I was a good rider and they all agreed that the stablemaster had allotted me the horse by shouting it out for all to hear.
“Don’t you see it was a joke?” the stablemaster finally had to admit. “Every recruit has to try Arminia the first time, if he’s not too feeble. Arminia is a real warhorse and no miserable parade nag. She’s even fought with wild animals in the amphitheater. Who do you think you are, you insolent boy?”
