The cries of the crowd urging the start of the competition became increasingly deafening, and to think that a few hours earlier, a supernatural silence reigned over the Circus Maximus. The horses huff inside the carceres, nervously scraping their hooves on the ground until the magistrate organising the games waves a white banner. From this moment on, the arena is pervaded by the deafening roar of the chariot wheels sprinkled with water by the sparsores, accompanied by the increasingly insistent cracking of the whips, until the sound of the tuba signals the end of the race.
