Ditherus Wart

by Alan MacDonald

  *

  They took their bowls of watery bean stew and sat down in the shade of a tree to eat.

  ‘Master, might I suggest we leave as soon as possible,’ said Tidio.

  ‘Don’t worry about me, Tidio, I think I’m starting to get the hang of it,’ replied Ditherus. ‘Anyway, we’re safer here than in prison.’

  ‘Safer?’ said Tidio. ‘In three days’ time you could be fighting in the arena – against someone like that!’ He pointed to a gladiator sitting nearby with legs like tree trunks and a budding moustache. On a closer look, Ditherus realised it was a woman.

  ‘Anyway,’ Ditherus said. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I still have Brutalus’s sword hidden under the mattress.’

  ‘Even so, master, maybe you’re not cut out to be a gladiator. Maybe you’re a little … ’

  ‘What?’ demanded Ditherus. ‘Small? Weedy?’

  ‘No, just a little … sensitive.’

  Ditherus scowled – his mother was always saying he was sensitive. Just because he used to pass out every time he got a nosebleed. ‘In any case,’ he said, ‘this place is a fortress. How are we going to escape?’

  Tidio didn’t have time to answer. The gladiatrix had stepped into the practice ring. It looked like lunchtime was over since Gutsius was shouting again.

  ‘Gather round, I have a little TREAT for you! Some of our champion gladiators are going to show you how it’s done. Anyone MAN enough can step into the ring and challenge them. So who’ll fight VOLUPTA?’

  There was a silence, broken only by Tidio slurping his stew.

  ‘Step forward! Don’t tell me you’re scared of A WOMAN?’ boomed Gutsius.

  The recruits shuffled their feet and stared at the ground. None of them had any wish to fight a woman, especially one who looked like she might break them in half. Even Bladderax found he was suddenly interested in the state of his fingernails.

  Gutsius struck the sand with his stick. ‘One volunteer? I’M WAITING!’

  At the back of the crowd, Ditherus rose to his knees to get a better view. Gutsius spotted him and pointed with his stick.

  ‘You at the BACK! A boy with PLUCK, that’s what I like to see!’

  Ditherus blinked in alarm. ‘Me? No, I wasn’t … ’

  ‘Out here and stop BLEATING!’ roared Gutsius. ‘A HELMET for our brave challenger!’

  Ditherus felt Tidio tug at his arm. ‘Master,’ Tidio whispered. ‘She looks rather dangerous.’

  Ditherus tried to ignore the way Volupta was pawing the sand like a bull about to charge.

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s just a practice fight,’ he said, trying to sound more calm than he felt. ‘She’s not actually going to hurt me.’

  ‘But has anyone told her that?’ said Tidio.

  Volupta bared her teeth, which were mostly black. The crowd closed in around the ring, eager not to miss anything.

  Ditherus pulled on the heavy bronze helmet he’d been given. It was so big it kept slipping down so the eyeholes were level with his nose. He gripped his wooden training sword.

  Gutsius was bellowing instructions. ‘POINT your sword! Keep your SHIELD UP! Don’t BACK OFF!’

  Ditherus tried to obey but it was hard to concentrate on three things at once. He tried to recall what the books said about defending yourself. Attack was the best form of defence or was it the other way round?

  Volupta advanced.

  ‘Move your feet!’ advised Silvio’s voice from the crowd. Ditherus bobbed and weaved, keeping well out of Volupta’s reach.

  ‘For the love of Mars, stop PRANCING AROUND!’ roared Gutsius. ‘ATTACK her!’

  Ditherus made a rush at his enemy and lunged with his wooden sword. The point prodded Volupta’s iron stomach. She didn’t flinch. Ditherus heard a loud crack as Volupta plucked it from his hand and snapped it clean in half. He gulped. Tidio closed his eyes, unable to watch. Ditherus’s helmet had slipped down so far he didn’t even see the blow coming – but he felt it crash down on his head with the force of a sledgehammer.

  ‘OOOOOOOH!’ went the watching crowd.

  He took a step backwards before his legs buckled and he sank to the ground. Cheers echoed in his ears. Someone pulled off his battered helmet and Gutsius’s bald head swam into view.

  ‘Still ALIVE, chicken legs?’

  Ditherus nodded weakly. ‘Did I win?’

  ‘Not exactly. Fifty-eight seconds, that could be a record. Still you showed SPIRIT, I’ll give you that.’

  Chapter 8

  Pass the Bull’s Blood

  Two nights later, long tables were set out in the courtyard for the Feast of Heroes. The feast was always held the night before the Games and generously provided by Porcus Maximus IV. It was also a good way for the school to make some easy money. Gutsius had been selling tickets all day and crowds of curious sightseers were already gathering to watch.

  The tables groaned under the weight of all the food. Ditherus stared gloomily at the plates piled high with pigs’ trotters, calves’ livers, sheep’s eyes, ox tongues and hogs’ bottoms. Somehow knowing this might be his last meal on earth spoiled his appetite.

  Huge jugs of bull’s blood wine were passed round and by the time Gutsius rose to his feet, it had gone to a few heads. Bladderax and Omnibus were arm-wrestling across the table, while Ludicrus was face down with his head in a bowl of stew. Gutsius’s fist thumped down on the table, catapulting a plate of snails high into the air.

  ‘MEN, BROTHERS, FELLOW GLADIATORS,’ he roared, ‘GREAT NEWS! Our Noble Emperor, Porcus Maximus, has declared that the Games will be held in honour of our glorious victory in Gaul. TOMORROW AT NOON WE FIGHT!’

  The gladiators whooped, pumped their fists, and slapped each other on the back as if they’d just won the lotterium. Even Bladderax stopped crushing his opponent’s fingers to listen. Ditherus’s mind was racing. If the war was over, maybe his dad was at last on his way home?

  ‘When you go out into the arena walk out with pride,’ Gutsius went on, addressing the rows of eager, excited faces. ‘Remember the motto of our school – Nullus Amat Snivellum – No one likes a crybaby. I don’t want anyone FAINTING or asking to go to the TOILET. Fight like Romans and die like men. I raise my cup to you – DO OR DIE!’

  ‘DO OR DIE!’ the men chorused, echoing the age-old battle cry of gladiators.

  ‘But probably die,’ muttered Ditherus to himself.

  Gutsius drained his cup to the dregs and tossed it aside.

  ‘Now to the moment you’ve been waiting for,’ he roared. ‘The ROLL OF HONOUR.’

  He pulled a scroll from his pocket and began to unroll it. ‘As well as the usual man-eating lions, there will be THIRTY COMBATS. Which means LUCKILY some of you NEW BOYS will get your moment of glory.’

  ‘Oh, hooray,’ groaned Ditherus as he was deafened by cheering. By this point the gladiators would have cheered if Gutsius had ordered them to jump in a pit of scorpions.

  Tidio raised his hand. He was serving at tables tonight as Gutsius had decided he would never make a gladiator.

  ‘Yes?’ growled Gutsius.

  ‘Just a question, master. What if someone felt they’d rather not fight?’ asked Tidio.

  Gutsius’s face went dark as thunder. ‘RATHER – NOT – FIGHT?’ he choked.

  ‘Yes, I mean if someone felt they weren’t … quite ready … ’ Tidio’s words trailed away.

  Ditherus guessed he was talking about him. But excuses were useless.

  Gutsius barged his way through the crowd and seized him by the throat. ‘If I say they will FIGHT, you snivelling jug-eared JELLYFISH, they will go out and FIGHT! Do I make myself CLEAR?’

  ‘Crystal clear, master,’ croaked Tidio.

  Gutsius released him. ‘Now where was I?’

  ‘The Roll of Honour,’ prompted Silvio.

  Gutsius began to read out the roll, which listed the names of those chosen to fight in the Games.

  ‘Fi
rst round combats – SCABIUS will fight BEEFCAKE, SILVIO will fight OMNIBUS … ’

  The list went on, with the audience cheering every name. Ditherus listened with his heart pounding. He’d always dreamed of fighting in the Colosseum4, but now he wasn’t so sure he was ready. Mercifully the list was nearing the end and his name didn’t seem to be on it.

  ‘Bladderax the Barbarian … ’ boomed Gutsius and paused for dramatic effect, ‘ … will fight DITHERUS.’

  Loud cheers and hoots of laughter greeted this announcement. Ditherus looked at Bladderax opposite him, who was smiling wolfishly. The big barbarian leaned forward, scooped up a sheep’s eyeball from a bowl and held it in the palm of his hand.

  ‘I kill you good,’ he leered. ‘Plenty blood. I squish you like flea.’

  His fingers closed over the sheep’s eye and squeezed. There was a loud pop as it exploded. Ditherus felt he was going to be sick.

  Chapter 9

  Time to Escape

  As the feast went on into the night, Ditherus sank deeper and deeper into gloom. Bladderax of all people – why did it have to be him? The giant barbarian was already heavy-weight arm-wrestling champion of the entire school.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Tidio’s hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, master,’ he said, speaking softly. ‘Tonight we make our escape. And the gods are with us – look over there.’

  Ditherus looked behind him and to his amazement spotted his mother among the rows of spectators. When no one was looking he slipped over to see her.

  ‘Ditherus darling!’ Hilaria exclaimed in surprise. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  Ditherus wished she would keep her voice down – right now he didn’t want to attract attention.

  ‘There isn’t time to explain, Mum,’ he said. ‘I need your help.’

  Hilaria sighed. ‘Well, of course, pumpkin, but I do wish you’d tell me what’s going on. First you run off to prison, then you turn up here. And what have you done with your clothes?’

  Ditherus looked at what he was wearing, which wasn’t much more than a loincloth.

  ‘Mum, I’m a gladiator,’ he explained. ‘I’m fighting in the Games tomorrow.’

  Hilaria threw back her head and laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ asked Ditherus.

  ‘Well, you are, cupcake. Gladiators are big muscly fellows. You can’t just become one, it takes months of practice.’

  ‘Mum, that’s why I’m here. It’s a gladiator school.’

  ‘Well, I know that, darling. I must say that fair-haired one is quite good-looking … ’

  Ditherus could see it was going to be one of those conversations that might go on a long time. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to help us get out of here or tomorrow I’m probably going to be chopped into mincemeat.’

  ‘Well, of course I’ll help, poppet.’ Hilaria smiled, ruffling his hair fondly. ‘But I can’t see why you’re making such a fuss. I’ll just tell them I’m your mum and I’m taking you home.’

  Hilaria rose from her seat and Ditherus quickly pulled her back down. ‘No, Mum! It’s not that easy. We’re not allowed out – there are guards watching the gate. We have to escape without being seen.’

  ‘Escape? Goodness, how exciting!’ said Hilaria, pressing his hand and giggling. Ditherus closed his eyes. This was never going to work.

  Some of the spectators were starting to leave and he could see Gutsius at the gate, checking everyone who went out.

  ‘Anyway, pumpkin, it will be nice to have you home,’ Hilaria was saying. ‘You’ve no idea what a dreadful time I’ve been having.’

  ‘Really?’ said Ditherus, hardly listening.

  ‘Quite awful, darling. Ever since all this fuss about you stealing the Emperor’s sword … ’

  ‘I didn’t STEAL IT,’ sighed Ditherus.

  ‘Well, borrowed it, then. Ever since then I have the feeling everyone’s avoiding me. And all because of these silly rumours.’

  ‘What rumours?’ asked Ditherus.

  ‘Well, you know, that your father is plotting to become emperor.’

  Ditherus stared at her. ‘Dad? That’s ridiculous!’

  ‘That’s what I said, darling. He’d make a terrible emperor! You know how he hates dinner parties!’

  Ditherus frowned. Tidio had been right all along. Someone was behind all this and there was only one person it could be. ‘It’s Marcus Furius,’ he said grimly. ‘First he had me thrown in prison and now he’s out to get Dad in trouble. We’ve got to stop him!’

  Tidio came over to join them. ‘We need to hurry,’ he said. ‘If we join the crowd now, maybe we can slip through the gates unseen.’

  Ditherus shook his head. ‘Gutsius is watching. We’ll never get past him.’

  Tidio looked thoughtfully at Hilaria. ‘Mistress, forgive me, but may I borrow your cloak?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Hilaria. ‘It’s new.’

  ‘Please, it’s only for a moment.’ Tidio took the light blue cloak and draped it over Ditherus’s head, wrapping it round his face so that only his eyes and nose were visible. ‘There,’ he said, standing back to admire his handiwork.

  ‘Actually, pigeon, you do look rather sweet,’ said Hilaria. ‘The blue matches your eyes.’

  Ditherus scowled. ‘I’m not wearing this. I look like a girl!’

  ‘Exactly, master, so no one will suspect you,’ said Tidio. ‘Keep your head down and it just might work.’

  They joined the large crowd which was now edging slowly towards the gate. Keeping a firm grip on his mother’s arm, Ditherus tried to steer her into the middle of the throng. Tidio kept close behind them with his head bowed low. A few more seconds and they would be level with the gate. Ditherus had to shuffle along taking small steps as his ankles were chained together like all the other gladiators. The chain dragged along the ground, clinking whenever it hit a rock. He prayed that Gutsius wouldn’t look down as they passed.

  Just as they reached the gate, a gap opened up in the crowd ahead of them and Gutsius stepped out in front of them. Ditherus resisted the urge to run.

  ‘Ladies!’ said Gutsius, bowing low.

  To Ditherus’s horror, Hilaria stopped as if she wanted to strike up a conversation. ‘Thank you, a most interesting evening,’ she said, dropping a few coins into the gladiator master’s hand.

  ‘And this must be your daughter?’ asked Gutsius, looking at Ditherus.

  ‘Daughter?’ said Hilaria, frowning. Ditherus pinched her arm. ‘Ow! Yes, of course, my daughter. This is Dizzius … Diana!’

  ‘Charmed to meet you, mistress,’ said the gladiator master with a wink. Ditherus was alarmed to see Gutsius smiling at him in a roguish sort of way. If they hung around much longer, he’d be asking for a kiss. He pulled his cloak up higher and tried a girlish laugh, which came out like a nervous squawk.

  ‘Well, we must be going, goodnight!’ said Hilaria.

  They walked on quickly. A few more paces and they were past the guards and passing through the gate. Ditherus could feel Gutsius’s eyes following him and couldn’t help glancing back. The gladiator master was staring after them with a puzzled expression. His eyes were fixed on Ditherus’s ankles and the heavy chain dragging between them. Slowly the truth dawned on his face and he let out a roar of fury.

  ‘RUN!’ yelped Ditherus. There were shouts behind them as the three of them broke into an ungainly run. They might have escaped, but running with your ankles chained together is like trying to run in a three-legged race. Eventually you are bound to stumble or fall over. Ditherus fell over. The next moment hands pulled him roughly to his feet and the cloak was torn from his head.

  ‘So, chicken legs,’ growled Gutsius. ‘Not planning on LEAVING US, were you?’

  Chapter 10

  Enter the Gladiators

  Ditherus stood in the shadow of the massive Gate of Life, waiting his turn to go on. Through a crack he could glimpse the arena and the faces of the cro
wd. In the tunnel behind him several of the other gladiators were limbering up. Some of them were doing stretches while Silvio danced around, practising his footwork. Personally Ditherus felt if he jumped about too much he might be sick. His stomach felt like a volcano about to erupt.

  Bladderax was the only one who looked relaxed. He was amusing himself skewering passing flies on the point of his sword. It was easily the biggest sword Ditherus had ever seen – a Titan Thunderbolt with a curved blade that looked wickedly sharp. The barbarian swung it around as if it was as light as a cucumber. (Ditherus wouldn’t have minded fighting someone armed with a cucumber.) In honour of the Games, Bladderax had daubed his face and chest with blue woad. His mane of red hair was braided into plaits which gave him the look of a Viking raider. Below the waist he wore a tartan kilt held up by a wide leather belt with a skull’s-head buckle. Ditherus looked down at his own skinny frame and wondered where he was when the gods were handing out muscles. He was sweating now, partly due to the heat but mostly because he was about to fight a mad barbarian armed with a meat cleaver. He wished Tidio was here to calm his nerves.

  High above the ring, Porcus Maximus IV lay back on a mound of cushions and waited for the next fight to begin. His only duties at the Games were eating and waving – both things which he did superbly well. Occasionally he had to decide the fate of a gladiator by giving a thumbs-up or thumbs-down – but luckily he could do that without having to get up.

  Sitting next to him, Marcus Furius leaned in closer to speak.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Your Excellency … ’

  ‘Really?’ yawned Porcus. ‘Thinking always gives me a headache.’

  ‘Yes, Majesty, but I was thinking about Caius Wart,’ said Furius.

  ‘Wart?’ The Emperor glanced idly at his programme. ‘Is he fighting today?’

  ‘No, Majesty. Caius Wart, general of your army.’

  ‘Ah yes, Caius, splendid fellow. I gather he beat those girls in the end.’ Porcus paused to help himself to a plate of larks’ tongues.