the chariot is collected a retinue in festal array.  The competing chariots follow; after these are the effigies of deities, borne on platforms or on vehicles to which are attached richly caparisoned horses, mules, or elephants; in attendance upon them are the connected priestly bodies.  As this procession passes round the Circus the spectators rise from their seats, roar their acclamations, and wave their handkerchiefs.  When it has made the circuit, its members retire to their places, and the chariots are shut in their stalls.  Soon the president takes his stand in his box, lifts a large handkerchief or napkin, and drops it.  Immediately the bolts of the barriers are withdrawn, and the chariots dash forward towards the point marked A. The drivers, clothed in a close sleeveless tunic and wearing a skull-cap, all of their particular colour, lean forward over their steeds, and encourage them with whips and shouting.  At their waists you will see the reins gathered to a girdle, at which also hangs a knife, in readiness to cut them away in case of accident.  The chariot is a low and shallow vehicle of wood covered with ornament and as light as it can well be made, and it requires no little skill for the charioteer to maintain his footing while controlling his team.  Down the straight they rush, each endeavouring to gain an advantage at the turn, where the left rein is pulled, and the left horse—­the pick of the team—­is brought as closely round the end of the wall as skill and prudence can contrive.  It is chiefly, though by no means only, here that the accidents occur, and that the chariots lose their balance and collide with each other, or strike against the end of the wall and are over-thrown.  How readily collision might happen may be seen from the following diagram, where the courses of two chariots, A and B, are indicated.

[Illustration:  FIG. 85.—­THE TURN IN THE CIRCUS.]

Sometimes the teams get out of hand and general disaster may result.  Round and round they go, the spectators yelling in their excitement for the blue or the green, the red or the white, and making or revising their bets.  “Too far out!” “Well turned!” “The green wins!” “Well done, Hirpinus!” Shouts like these form a roar to which perhaps we have no modern parallel.  One by one the eggs and dolphins disappear from the wall; the chariots are reduced in number; the four or five miles are completed; and an enormous shout goes up for the winner, whose name—­of man and horse and colour—­will be for days in everybody’s mouth.  For his reward he will not only obtain the honour of the palm-branch; he will receive presents in money, gold and silver wreaths, clothes, and various articles of value.  Socially he may be but a slave or a person in base esteem; the occupation, however reputable in the Greek portion of the empire, is not for a free-born Roman; nevertheless, like the jockey who wins the Derby, he is the hero of the moment.

[Illustration:  FIG. 86—­CHARIOT-RACE.]