See You Later, Gladiator Page 2

  I ran for the wooden door out of the arena before Dorkius could change his mind. Sam and Fred followed. But if we had known then what we know now, we would have begged Dorkius to flunk us and keep us right there in Ludus Gladiatorius.

  IV

  We ran down the hallway next to the arena, laughing and shouting and whacking the walls with our wooden swords.

  “Dorkius? Can you believe the guy’s name is Dorkius?” I laughed.

  Fred hacked a stone column with a quick left-right-left sword attack. “We were incredible out there. And now we’re going to graduate as real gladiators.”

  “Right,” said Sam, adjusting his glasses with one hand, trying out his sword with the other. “Very impressive. But now I would suggest we find The Book and get out of here before things get worse like they always do.”

  Fred jabbed Sam with his sword. “Ah, what are you so worried about?”

  Sam blocked Fred’s jab and returned one of his own. “Oh, maybe gladiators with real swords, gladiators with real tridents, gladiators looking to really rip us into little pieces!!”

  “Sam’s got a good point,” I said, interrupting his list of terrible things that might happen to us. “But where do we start looking for The Book in all of ancient Rome?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Sam.

  “Now we’re really in trouble,” said Fred.

  “The Book almost always ends up being in the most obvious place, right?” said Sam, ignoring Fred. “So where is the most obvious place for a book in a gladiator school?”

  The three of us stopped and thought. I scratched my head with my sword. “A gladiator library?” I guessed.

  “Exactly,” said Sam. “So all we have to do is find the—”

  Suddenly Fred looked up. “Wait a minute! What is that?”

  Sam and I flattened against the wall. We heard the faint sound of clanking metal, voices, and growling. It seemed to be getting closer.

  “A whole army of gladiators coming to fight us?”

  “A whole pack of wild tigers and lions coming to eat us and the army of gladiators?”

  Fred lifted his nose and shook his head. “No, no, it’s ... food! Come on!”

  And before we could protest or argue, Fred charged down the hall. We chased him around a corner and right into a huge room full of guys eating, drinking, laughing, and yelling.

  Imagine the craziest lunch hour you’ve ever seen at your school cafeteria. Add about one hundred pounds of muscle on each person. Dress everyone up in loincloths, leather belts, some arm and leg armor and not much else. Then turn up the volume and the number of people smacking each other around. Then you might begin to imagine this gladiator lunch.

  “Perfect,” said Fred.

  “What about our plans to find The Book in the gladiator library and green mist out of here before we get ripped into little pieces?” said Sam.

  “This is perfect,” said Fred. “Free food, and while we eat, we just casually-like ask where the library is.”

  Sam and I looked at each other. We realized that for maybe the first time in his food-loving life, though probably just by accident, Fred had a good idea. We made our way through the mess of large guys chowing down. It might have sounded like our school cafeteria, but the heaping table of food was like nothing I’ve ever seen at school lunch. We tucked our swords in our belts and piled our plates with olives, eggs, meat, some kind of stew with little chickens in it, apples, grapes, and honey cakes.

  I led us over to the calmest looking table I could find, hoping no one would notice three pretty scrawny guys in jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers crashing their meal. We sat down. Luckily the two guys already sitting there barely looked up from slurping down their food.

  We hunched over our plates, doing our best to look as mean and tough as everyone else.

  “Uhmmmph,” said Fred with a mouthful.

  “Mrrumruh?” asked Sam.

  “Blawawa,” I agreed.

  We stuffed down handfuls of grub. We used our fingers. We didn’t wipe our mouths. We dropped food everywhere, and basically broke every rule of polite dining we could. We were doing a fantastic job of looking nasty until the gladiator sitting next to Sam let loose a sudden belch.

  Sam, Fred, and I all had to laugh.

  Fred leaned forward and popped out a nice “bruuup!” of his own.

  The gladiator looked up. One eye was sliced through with a scar that went from the top of his head down to his upper lip. He fixed his one good eye on Fred, and barked a huge three-part “buur urrrp-cburf!”

  Fred shook it off. This guy obviously didn’t know that he was messing with our school belching champion. Fred took one deep breath, paused like an ace relief pitcher at the top of his wind-up ... then released a five-second sonic-boom “BUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRF!”

  The burping gladiator locked his one scary eyeball on the three of us. I got the feeling that we had somehow managed to get ourselves in trouble ... again.

  V

  The one-eyed gladiator rose slowly from the table. He stood towering over the three of us. He looked down, and you’re not going to believe it, but he nodded and almost smiled.

  “It is right to follow the ways of nature,” he rumbled. “Be free in releasing your winds.” Then he went off to load up on seconds.

  Fred, Sam, and I sat frozen for a second, then cracked up.

  “Freak Fred, your new Monsterweight Belch Champ,” said Sam, raising Fred’s arm in victory. We laughed and slapped Fred on the back.

  The other gladiator at our table smiled and spoke. “A fellow believer in the body’s natural functions.” This other gladiator was a smallish guy, looking more like somebody who would work in an office, if they had that sort of thing in ancient Rome. “But laugh now. Because soon we will all be part of a most unnatural circus.”

  “Circus?” said Sam.

  “Great,” said Fred. “I’m an excellent juggler.”

  “I don’t think he means that kind of circus,” said Sam.

  “It has been declared a national holiday to last one hundred days. The opening of the new amphitheater built to hold fifty thousand citizens.”

  “You gotta be kidding,” said Fred. “I think Yankee Stadium holds sixty thousand.”

  “The great writer Juvenal puts it best I think.” The thoughtful gladiator looked up for a minute, remembering the exact words. “‘The people who once made rulers, armies, and all else, now want just two things—bread and circuses.’” He swept his arm to take in the whole roomful of gladiators feasting and laughing. “Ten thousand of us—of little more importance than the ten thousand animals who will go to slaughter before us. We are that circus act.”

  “Well that’s a pretty depressing kind of circus,” said Fred. “Why don’t you guys just go out there and put on a good show?”

  “The emperor has promised that for these opening ceremonies, any gladiator who wins his match will be freed and granted citizenship. The crowd also can spare the life of a good fighter with their thumbs up. Thumbs down means you die.”

  “On second thought, I’d rather not graduate,” said Sam.

  “Who are all of these guys?” I asked.

  “Criminals, slaves, losers in the lottery of life. Each one now is a gladiator. Each one fights in one of the gladiator styles:

  “Those three hitting each other are called bestiarii. They fight the animals.

  “The hairy fellow there fights with long shield and short sword.

  “There is the round-shield-and-dagger man. Called a Thracian. A good omen for him perhaps—the emperor Titus favors Thracians.

  “The ugly fellow fights with full shield and long sword.

  “That one over there uses the trident and the net.”

  “Brutus,” I said.

  “Yow,” said Fred. “How do you know all this gladiator stuff? Are you a gladiator teacher?”

  The sad-eyed gladiator gave a little bow. “I am called the Professor. I was a teacher in Carthage,
a city far across the sea. I was captured and sold into slavery. My only chance for freedom is this—defeat my opponent and win my Roman citizenship.”

  “How do you plan to do that?” said Sam. “These guys look pretty big, not to mention mean.”

  “Ah, they don’t look so big,” said Fred. “Man, if I had a crack at these fakers I’d give ‘em a left.”

  Fred punched left.

  “I’d give ‘em a right.”

  Fred punched right.

  “I could take any one of these guys and throw him and pin him and—”

  “Fred—” I tried to interrupt him.

  “I’d grab him like this handful of slimy chicken bones—”

  “Uh, Fred—” I tried my best to stop him.

  “—and throw him right over my shoulder like—”

  Fred tossed a sloppy handful of chicken crud over his shoulder to demonstrate. Unfortunately the chicken mess didn’t drop harmlessly on the floor. It splattered on the very large, unbelievably hairy chest of a gladiator standing right behind Fred and listening to every word.

  I pointed behind Fred.

  The Professor whispered his name, “Horridus.”

  But it was way too late.

  The gnarly gladiator grabbed the back of Fred’s jeans with one ham-size fist and held him up like a sack of doughnuts.

  The gladiators all around us laughed and roared.

  I wasn’t sure what Horridus planned to do next. But I didn’t think he was going to show us his gladiator library card. And I knew he wasn’t going to congratulate us on following the ways of nature.

  VI

  But before Fred, Sam, and I get any deeper into Time Warp trouble, I want to make sure you are getting the real picture here.

  When I say this gladiator was “large” and “hairy,” I don’t mean he was as tall as your dad and had a few hairs growing out of his nose like your uncle Bob. I mean this guy was huge. Huge like if he wanted to sit down, he would have to use three chairs.

  And hairy?

  I mean hairy like your dog’s fur on his shoulders and all down his arms right over the back of his hands. Hairy like paintbrushes coming out of both nostrils and ears. One monster eyebrow thick as a black headband. Clumps of toe hair you’d need a lawn mower to cut. That’s the kind of hairy I’m talking about here.

  I’m sorry you probably don’t feel like eating lunch anymore, but I’m glad you get the real picture.

  So this huge, hairy gladiator picked Fred up. He flipped Fred head down, pinning his arms to his sides in a giant two-handed grip. There was no way Fred could even wiggle.

  “Yikes,” said Sam. “He’s going to slam him in a Piledriver. We’ve got to do something Joe.”

  I didn’t think this was the time to try any more Pig Latin. I knew this wasn’t the time to match force with force. Then the answer came to me. Judo. Redirecting force. Using your opponent’s greater force against himself.

  As I think about it now, I’m surprised I didn’t even stop to worry that Horridus could squash me like a little bug. But that’s the kind of friend Fred is. I know he would have done the same for me. I just knew I had to do whatever I could to save him from getting dropped on his head two thousand years or so before he was born.

  I jumped on top of the table. I stood in my ready stance, perfectly balanced.

  “One-on-one? Ha! That’s nothing,” I sneered, trying my best to look tough. “I challenge you and anyone you choose to beat me two-on-one.”

  “Yeah,” yelled Sam, pumping his fist. Then he thought about what I had just said, and his mouth hung open and froze.

  Horridus turned in surprise.

  Even Fred, upside down, looked a bit shocked.

  Horridus laughed. “And who are you? Crazius? Scrawnius?” He turned Fred sideways and tucked him under one arm like a loaf of bread. He palmed the top of my head with one large and hairy hand like I was one of those miniature souvenir basket-balls.

  For some reason, I suddenly thought of the phrase “Do or die.”

  “I’m Joe the Show,” I said ducking out of his grip. “Put Fred down, and I’ll beat you and any other gladiator in a test of strength.”

  “Oooooh,” said the group of gladiators beginning to form a circle around us.

  “Ohhhhh,” moaned Sam, holding his head.

  Horridus set Fred down. “Only two of us?” He laughed with his buddies and turned to pick a friend.

  The Professor at our table pulled me to one side. “I didn’t tell you,” he whispered. “Horridus is the toughest of them all. He’s won all his matches for five years in a row. But he returns every year because he loves to fight.”

  “Great,” said Sam. “Out of all these mugs, we have to insult the all star of the All Stars. Say, you don’t happen to have a thin blue Book with silver designs, do you Professor?”

  “It’s all about forces. Redirecting your opponent’s forces,” I said, more to convince myself than anybody else. And I almost had myself convinced. Then Horridus’s friend stepped forward.

  “Brutus,” said Fred. And that’s exactly who it was. Fred jumped up on the table to stand next to me. “Let’s get out of here, Joe.”

  Brutus bowed and smiled a classic bad-guy smile. “No wooden swords now. Prepare to do battle with real weapons.” He held up a real trident.

  “Perfect,” I said. I jumped off the table and put an empty plate on the floor. “This is your target. I will stop you two from hitting it with the trident.”

  Horridus and Brutus looked at me like I was crazy.

  Fred and Sam looked at me like I was dead meat.

  I held the trident above the plate, pointy side up. I had Horridus and Brutus grab as close to the top as possible. I crouched down near the handle a foot or so above the plate.

  “Okay, tough guys. Hit the plate with the trident. Give it your best.”

  The two gladiators pushed down with half strength, expecting to smash the plate. I pushed the handle sideways so it bounced harmlessly off the floor.

  “Yeah!” yelled Sam, seeing what I was up to. “Joe the Show!”

  Horridus frowned. “We weren’t really trying.”

  “Try again,” I said.

  The two beefy gladiators jammed the trident down. I knocked it sideways so it missed the plate.

  The gladiators could have tried all day and never hit the plate. The secret of judo and karate is never to meet a force head on. A small force from a sideways direction can easily redirect a greater force.

  “Joe the Show! ” cheered Fred.

  Brutus growled. “Now we really try.” The two gladiators pushed down with all of their strength. I batted the handle to the side. The trident hit the floor, flew out of their hands and under the table. The plate sat there untouched.

  “Joe the Show defeats Horridus and Brutus in the Two-on-One Showdown!” yelled Fred.

  The circle of gladiators around us laughed and cheered.

  Sam and Fred each held up one of my arms in victory.

  But when we turned and found ourselves face-to-face with the pointy end of the trident, our raised-arm victory pose quickly turned into something more like surrender.

  “Hey, Joe won fair and square,” said Sam.

  The guy holding the other end of trident was, of course, Brutus. He didn’t look happy. And like those bad-guy wrestlers who smack other wrestlers with folding chairs after the bell, he didn’t look like he really cared about being fair and square.

  VII

  Brutus jabbed at us with his trident. “Now we try my test of strength. One of me will try to stick all three of you.”

  Fred, Sam, and I backed against the table. We held up our only protection—our wooden swords.

  “Now just one minute,” said Sam. “Joe won. If you want a rematch, you’ll have to ask the World Gladiator Foundation.”

  That stopped Brutus for a second. He actually looked like he was thinking about it. Then he answered Sam’s challenge the way bad guys always answer after they lo
se. He attacked.

  Sam fell back and planted his hand right in a plateful of food. I saw his face light up with an idea like a giant cartoon lightbulb going on over his head. Sam grabbed a handful of grapes and pitched them at Brutus. The little round missiles bounced off Brutus, Horridus, and the gladiators at the next table.

  Horridus picked up six bread rolls in one hand and fired them back at us.

  We ducked.

  The rolls bonked off the heads of six rowdy gladiators behind us. They jumped to their feet, looking for whoever had hit them.

  Fred picked up on Sam’s plan and smiled a huge smile. He scooped up two handfuls of leftovers. He yelled at the top of his lungs, “Food fight!” Then he sprayed the room with olives, figs, chewed-on drumsticks, and fish bones.

  In five seconds, the whole room exploded. Food and bodies flew back and forth. It looked like a classic Three Stooges food brawl.

  Fred, Sam, the Professor, and I ducked under the table to dodge the rain of garbage.

  “Wow,” said Fred.

  “Quick thinking,” said the Professor.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said.

  “Right,” said Sam, his brain already working on the next part of the plan. “Professor, where would they keep books or manuscripts here at the gladiator school?”

  “I’ve seen scrolls that Dorkius keeps in his villa,” said the Professor.

  “That must be where The Book is,” said Sam.

  “Can you take us there?” I asked.

  A whole chicken plopped on the floor and slid between us. Fred grabbed it and chucked it back into the fight.

  The Professor looked at us. I’m sure he was trying to decide what good it would do him to look for a book with three strange kids.

  “If we find our Book, it will help win you your freedom,” I said. It just popped out of my mouth. I didn’t really think about it or know how it was true. I just knew it was true.

  The Professor looked me in the eye. He knew it was true. “Follow me,” he said.