 Over the course of his chariot racing career, Gaius Apolaus Diaclis won almost 60,000 pounds of gold. What did he do with it? Who knows? Gaius Apolaus Diaclis knew his jump. He didn't need to win. He just had to survive. 7 laps, 12 competitors. That was it. Whatever happened next could determine whether he would race another day or lose his life. Gaius Apolaus Diaclis entered the arena from an underground holding area. He'd made this walk dozens of times before, but it never got easier. It was easy to get lost in the spectacle of it all. Thousands of screaming fans, dust whipping around the sun-bleached earth, horses grunting in disapproval while assistants tightened ropes and raided equipment. Gaius spotted a young racer to his right, someone he'd never seen before. This kid was lost in the moment, staring in awe at the crowds. Gaius knew better than to be distracted by the pageantry. A veteran charioteer, he had learned that paying attention to anything but the race itself would mean injury or death. Instead, he placed his faith in his skills and prayed to Mercury, the God of Luck, confident he would watch over him just as he had for hundreds of races before. Thunderous applause enveloped Diaclis as his name was announced and his feet left the ground, climbing onto the unstable platform of his chariot. But the crowd noise barely registered with him. Instead, he went through an exhaustive mental checklist where his legs pressed against the wooden side rails of the chariot to keep his balance in the turns. While he set his feet, where the rain's taut did the horses look relaxed, everything felt comfortable, except for a bothersome dull aching in his right arm. That was to be expected after racing five times earlier that day, but it bothered him nonetheless. The charioteer pushed the worry aside. Unnecessary thoughts had no place here, and before he could concern himself with anything else, the flag dropped in an instant. A plume of dust filled the air as horses gained their traction. The chariots rushed past him into the first corner, precisely as expected. Quick starts were for the foolish, or those with the death wish, and Gaius was neither. Instead, he hung behind the pack for as long as possible, waiting for the shipwrecks to emerge. Mangled amalgams of flesh and wood as chariots lost their balance and crashed into the ground, he leaned hard into the corner, willing his horses to move left with him in the hopes they would avoid a fallen chariot. The force caused the leather reins to dig into the flesh of his hands, enough to make anyone wince in agony. But Diocles knew that any distraction could result in a crash, and did his best to retain his composure. A distant dust cloud on the strait signified another competitor had fallen. The chariots in front of him swerved in an attempt to get as far away from the wreck as possible. Diocles knew this was a risky move, attempting a quick change in direction might work, but it would likely spook his horses, if they bucked, or failed to obey his command he was done for. He closed his eyes for a moment that felt like eternity. Having a quick prayer, everything went dark. Gaius couldn t help but wonder if he had perished, and this was his path into Elysium. Before he could fully process what happened, the light of the stadium jarred him back to reality. Gaius realized that he was not only alive, but still racing. Glancing back, he saw the young charioteer from the beginning of the race laying motionless in the dust, tragic but expected. Emerging from the dust, he realized there was nobody behind him and just three chariots to beat. The rest had lost control or retired. It was time to make his move. These banked inside, passing third with relative ease. First and second jockeyed for position, splinters of wooden wheels whirring past his head. These two are so absorbed in each other that they don t even realize we re on the final straight, he thought. Whipping the reins as hard as he could, Gaius willed his horses ahead for one last surge on the inside. The other two didn t even see him gaining, Gaius steeled his nerves, his muscles aching from the tension he was putting on them. One last push, a few final seconds. He willed his body down the final straight, so focused on the moment, he didn t even register that he edged ahead. Gaius' teeth clenched until it felt like a blood vessel would erupt, then release. The charioteer glanced left, then right, realizing he d crossed the finish line first. The crowd erupted, chanting Diancleese s name. He was a hero, but all he felt was relief. Another race down, another one survived. It was time to head underground once more. The next race waited for him in a few hours. In a sport where the average racer would be lucky to win a racer to each season, Gaius Apollaeus Diancleese racked up 1,462 wins and placed in an additional 1,438 races over the course of his 24-year career. He also became mind-bogglingly rich, the richest athlete of all time. At the end of his chariot racing career, Diancleese had earned $35,863,120 cestresses, enough money to pay the salaries of 29,885 Roman legionnaires for a year. He could have had his own army if he wanted. Historical accounts state that Diancleese earned 26,000 kilograms of raw gold by the time he retired, worth $12.7 billion in today's money. And yet Diancleese has largely disappeared from history. How did the richest, most accomplished athlete of all time fail to cement himself in history? Born in 104 AD, in a region which is now Portugal, Diancleese was firmly in the middle class, relatively well off by the standards of your average Roman citizen. It would have been expected for young Gaius to follow his father into the family shipping business, but he instead started racing chariots, competing in his first race at the age of 18. We know that his style of racing was exciting, and this led to rapid provincial success. It wasn't long before word spread of the captivating young charioteer. In 122 AD, Diancleese was invited to Rome to begin racing at the Circus Maximus, the summit of charioteering in the empire. We know that Diancleese didn't experience immediate success upon arriving in Rome. In fact, it would take him two years before he earned his first one in the Roman leagues. The aggressive style that caused him to win in Portugal didn't lead to success against more accomplished racers. However, at the age of 20, things changed. Diancleese altered his style entirely, and with it came wins, a lot of them. The vast majority of charioteers were slaves, forced into competition much like gladiators. Naturally, this gave Diancleese an edge. His social standing allowed him to be well-fed, well-rested, and better prepared than the majority of his competition. But this wasn't enough to make a difference on its own. Wearing just simple leather helmets, shin guards, and basic chest protectors, it wasn't uncommon for charioteers to lose their lives during a race when turning a corner or swerving to avoid a competitor. Rather than hold the reins in their hands like the Greeks did when racing, the Romans would tie them around the charioteer's wastes. This allowed the driver to have free hands to better steer their horses, but also meant that in the event of a crash, they would be dragged around the course until they were dead or the horses became tired, sometimes both. As a result, drivers carried a curved knife exclusively for the purpose of cutting their reins in the event of a crash. But even then, it was routinely known that should a chariot crash, the driver would likely be seriously injured or killed. So, in a sport where you rarely survive a few months, how did guys stay alive for over 24 years? Whether through providence, skill, or blind luck, Diocles managed to survive. Little is known of his post-racing career. Estetra was erected in his honor at the Circus Maximus and Diocles settled in the small town of Palestrina in what is now the Lazio region of Italy where he raised the family and retired. It said he remained extremely popular and wealthy until his death, but little else is known. Or maybe Diocles wasn't as good as this that show. There is evidence to support the idea that Diocles wasn't so much good as he was a survivor. We know that Diocles won a lot and historians have told us that his style captivated the empire, but the charioteer might have stumbled upon a way to break the sport in his favor. Accounts of Diocles on the track note that he routinely trailed in races, sometimes lagging in last place, only to surge ahead on the final straight, routinely snatching victory from defeat and ruining everyone else's day in the process. This made for incredible drama, which caused the crowds to fall in love with him, but Diocles' racing style also meant he was largely able to avoid the fray in front of him. When everyone else had to deal with wreck chariots, he had more time to react. What if Diocles wasn't the most dominant racer every time he took the track, but rather the veteran who simply managed to survive, Fuscus, a famous charioteer managed to win 53 races by the age of 24 when he died, presumably on the track. It's believed that Fuscus began racing the same year as his death and the history books record him as the only charioteer to win his first career race. If we extrapolate out Fuscus' career to a span of 24 years, he would have won 1,272 races, almost on par with Diocles. We also need to take into account how often Diocles raced. Chariot racing in the ancient world is most akin to modern Formula One, but these were exceptionally short races compared to modern sport. Races involved seven one-mile laps around the Circus Maximus, with 12 chariots in each race. Careers and lives hinged on the 10 to 15 minutes spent on the track. There wasn't room for error. One mistake and a race would be over for a charioteer. It was routine for charioteers to race multiple times per week, sometimes in a single day during holidays. Diocles averaged between three and four races a week for the length of his career. Porphyrios the charioteer, arguably the most decorated charioteer in Roman history, had 374 wins attributed to him. While that's a far cry from Diocles, he did something Diocles didn't, win the Diverseum. This entailed winning for one team, then changing teams midday and winning again, this time racing for the team in last place. It was considered the highest honor in the charioteering world and Porphyrios was hailed for doing it twice in a single day. So while Diocles was the most prolific charioteer in history, at least in Rome, he wasn't regarded as the greatest. Diocles was a volume charioteer, which was difficult in its own right, but didn't earn the same level of greatness ascribed to others. Still, with his incredible feat, Diocles managed to become the wealthiest athlete in sports history and you may be wondering what happened to all that money. We have very clear ideas on what someone could spend billions on now, buying companies, real estate, material goods, vacations, but in the Roman Empire, the prospect of spending as much money as Diocles earned was far more difficult. There was the concept of land ownership for sure, but wealth was more of a social status indicator than something to be spent. In order to become a member of the Roman Senate during the Imperial era, a prospective senator would, borrowing intervention from the emperor, need to be of senatorial class, i.e. be the son of a senator and have one million saysterces on hand. Generally speaking, this was the pinnacle of aspirations for a Roman citizen, but unless Diocles somehow managed to find favor with the emperor, it was out of his grasp, despite his wealth. Instead, he largely escaped the public guy after retiring from racing and retreated into seclusion on his land in Ladium. But why did he disappear from history? Born into a wealthy family with no record of siblings, it would have been expected for Diocles to take over his father's shipping business. This would have been an extremely comfortable life compared to that of the average Roman citizen. Instead, he left for the capital to compete in one of the empire's most dangerous sporting events. This isn't the story of an athlete using sport to improve their station in life. Rather, it reads like someone actively looking to throw their life away for the possibility of glory. Imagine for a moment that Diocles was the family's black sheep and it explains many of his motives. This was a life defined by doing the opposite of societal norms from competing as a charioteer in the first place to quietly retiring in the Italian countryside to raise a family in fairly meager surroundings, leaving very little on the historical record, outside the knowledge that he was the winningest charioteer of all time and a small memorial at the Circus Maximus, a painting with a small inscription and nothing more. He apparently didn't desire a world of high society. He could have funded an army if he wanted to. He could have bought huge tracts of land or been a patron for the arts. He could have commissioned epic poems to be written in his honor. He could have ordered lavish sculptures and statues to cement his place in history and ensure his legacy resonated through the centuries. But he didn't. The real story of Guy's Epileus Diocles is lost to history. Perhaps that was the plan all along.