Ditherus Wart

by Alan MacDonald

  ‘Gauls, Excellency, yes. I’m told the army is on its way home now.’

  ‘Good, then we’ll have a victory parade. I’m very fond of parades. I could ride through the streets in my chariot, so people can cheer me. And we’ll throw a banquet for Caius. You know, conquering hero, that kind of thing.’

  Furius’s face darkened. ‘You are too generous, Majesty, but aren’t you forgetting something?’

  ‘What? A chariot’s too small? You think I’d look better on an elephant?’

  ‘No, I meant you’re forgetting that Wart is a traitor. Surely you’ve heard the rumours?’

  ‘Rumours?’ said Porcus.

  ‘That Wart is plotting to have you … removed.’ Furius drew a finger slowly across his throat.

  The Emperor turned pale. ‘You’re not serious?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Your Trembliness.’

  ‘But surely not Caius, he’s always been so loyal!’

  Furius shook his head. ‘Sadly, Majesty, the facts are only too plain. Remember last week his own son tried to attack you?’

  ‘Heavens yes!’

  ‘If I hadn’t been there, I dread to think what might have happened.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Porcus. ‘I might have been killed! Murdered even.’

  ‘Exactly, Highness, but there’s something that worries me more.’

  ‘More? Oh dear!’

  ‘Caius is returning to Rome with an army of ten thousand at his command.’ Furius gave the Emperor a long, meaningful look.

  ‘Is that bad?’ asked Porcus.

  ‘Very bad, Excellency. If he is plotting to have you removed.’

  ‘Oh by the gods!’ spluttered Porcus. ‘If Caius has an army … ’

  ‘Yes indeed, Your Anxiousness.’

  ‘He might try to … ’

  ‘I fear so.’

  ‘Marcus, this is terrible! What am I going to do?’

  This was the question Furius had been waiting for. He thumped his fist on the table. ‘CRUSH THE TRAITOR!’ he said. ‘Have him arrested, thrown in prison.’

  ‘But he’s our best general! If I have him arrested, who’s going to lead the army?’

  Furius leaned in to speak in Porcus’s ear. ‘Majesty, replace Wart with someone you can trust. Someone close to you.’

  Porcus frowned. ‘You mean … my wife?’

  ‘NO!’ roared Furius, losing patience. ‘I mean ME! ME!’

  ‘Well, all right, there’s no need to shout,’ said Porcus.

  Furius released the Emperor’s toga, which he seemed to have grabbed in his excitement. ‘Then you promise, Your Worthiness, I will be general?’

  Porcus was about to answer but he was distracted by a movement below. ‘Oh, look, the gates are opening!’ he pointed. ‘The next fight’s about to start.’

  Marcus Furius watched as the slaves cleared the arena. It was in his grasp now. Wart would be disgraced, branded a traitor, finally out of his way – and then nothing could stop him.

  Down below, Ditherus watched as the gates swung back. Tidio and another slave came hurrying through the gates, dragging a body between them. Ditherus didn’t go too close but it looked like Silvio the Great. He swallowed hard.

  ‘You’re on next, master. Are you all right?’ said Tidio, coming over.

  Ditherus nodded. ‘A little nervous. Well, a lot nervous really.’

  Tidio glanced across at Bladderax, who was waiting impatiently to be called. ‘Just try to keep out of his reach,’ he advised. ‘The first time he swings, go down and ask the Emperor for mercy.’

  ‘Isn’t that cheating?’ Ditherus frowned. ‘I’m supposed to fight him.’

  ‘Master, it’s your only chance. Maybe the crowd will take pity on you.’

  ‘Right. Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ said Ditherus.

  The trumpets blew a long blast, calling them to the arena. Ditherus took a deep breath.

  ‘Well, good luck, master,’ said Tidio. ‘Sorry I can’t stay.’

  ‘You’re not going to watch?’

  Tidio shook his head. ‘I wish I could, master, but Marcus Furius is with the Emperor. I think there may be a way to make him confess.’

  ‘Really? How?’ said Ditherus.

  ‘There isn’t time to explain. If all goes well, I’ll meet you back here. Just pray your mother remembers what to do.’

  ‘My mother?’ said Ditherus. ‘What’s she got to do with it? Is she here?’

  ‘Of course, master. She never misses the Games. She should be on her way to the Imperial Box now.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Ditherus.

  ‘To speak to Furius.’

  Tidio hugged him for a last time. ‘I’ll explain later. The gods protect you, master. You have the sword?’

  Ditherus touched the Nemesis at his belt. ‘Maybe the legend is true,’ he said hopefully. ‘As long as I have this nothing can hurt me. I’m invincible.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Tidio. ‘That’s the trouble with legends, you never really know.’ He hurried away, jangling a bunch of keys which Ditherus could have sworn belonged on Gutsius’s belt.

  Ditherus had no idea what Tidio was planning, but any scheme that involved his mother was bound to go wrong. In any case, right now he had enough worries of his own. Pulling on his helmet, he began to walk what seemed like a hundred miles to the centre of the arena, where Bladderax was waiting.

  His entrance was greeted with stunned silence. In the Imperial Box, Porcus Maximus checked his programme to see if this was the comedy part with the clowns. The pint-size gladiator who had just entered the ring wore a wobbly helmet and held an ancient sword which looked oddly familiar.

  ‘At least we’ll see some blood now,’ remarked Marcus Furius. So far the fights had been disappointing – one gladiator had sprained his ankle, one had trodden on his own trident, and two had collapsed with sunstroke. Furius had attended funerals more exciting than this.

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned round to see Hilaria, smiling at him in an odd way.

  ‘Marcus!’ she gushed. ‘How lovely to see you! Would you care for a walk?’

  A few minutes later they were following one of the dark passageways that led under the arena.

  ‘How much further?’ asked Furius.

  ‘Oh, not far now,’ replied Hilaria, who wasn’t exactly sure they were going the right way. Tidio’s instructions were to bring Furius to the animal cells by the west gate. But which way was west? Like right and left it was easy to get muddled. At first Furius had been reluctant to come, but Hilaria had cleverly invented a beautiful sister who was dying to meet him. Men were always interested in your beautiful sister.

  ‘You haven’t told me her name,’ said Furius.

  ‘Oh, her name … ’ Hilaria hadn’t actually thought of a name. ‘She’s called … um … Vanilla! Yes, she talks about you all the time.’

  ‘Really?’ Furius halted. He was finding this all a bit hard to believe. He’d never had much success with women. Things started off all right until he shouted or gave them an order, then they suddenly remembered they had to be somewhere else. ‘So what does she look like?’ he asked.

  ‘Well … ah … a bit like me,’ replied Hilaria.

  ‘Oh,’ said Marcus Furius, looking as if he wanted to turn back.

  Hilaria resisted the urge to poke him in the eye. ‘Well, obviously younger and more beautiful than me,’ she said. ‘And she admires you tremendously.’

  ‘Really? What about me?’ Furius had actually gone a little pink.

  ‘Oh, well, she loves your um … ’ Hilaria struggled to find something attractive about Furius. It wasn’t easy. He had blazing eyes, a cruel mouth and the face of an angry bulldog. ‘Your ears,’ said Hilaria.

  ‘She loves my EARS?’

  ‘Adores them. The way they stick out on either side of your head. And the shape of them – like little pink seashells. She says she could gaze at your ears all day.’

  Furius blinked in amazement. ‘But if she like
s me so much why haven’t we met?’

  ‘Oh, well, because … she’s so shy. Look, here we are at last!’ said Hilaria, with great relief.

  Marcus Furius looked around. They were in a dingy passageway with a horrible smell. It didn’t seem a very romantic place to meet. A slave was jangling some keys, unlocking a door to one of the cells. Judging from the roars and boos above them, they were close to the arena.

  ‘So where is she?’ demanded Furius.

  ‘Ah yes, where?’ Hilaria looked at Tidio for help. He jerked his head towards the cell. Hilaria stared at him blankly. He rolled his eyes and pointed several times to the door. Still Hilaria looked blank.

  ‘Oh, this is ridiculous, I’m going back,’ snapped Furius.

  Tidio groaned and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him back to the cell.

  ‘Oh, I see! In there!’ cried Hilaria, grasping it at long last.

  Marcus Furius peered through the barred door. ‘Are you sure? It’s pitch-dark.’

  ‘Well, I told you she’s shy,’ said Hilaria.

  Furius stepped inside the door. The scent was stronger here, almost animal, but then women these days wore all kinds of strange perfume.

  ‘Why don’t you call her?’ suggested Hilaria.

  ‘Vanilla? It’s me, Marcus!’ cooed Furius. ‘Don’t be shy, my dove!’

  A long, low growl came back in reply.

  Furius stepped back. ‘Great gods! What was that?’

  ‘I think she’s calling you,’ suggested Tidio.

  ‘Is she?’ said Furius.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Hilaria. ‘I’d know her voice anywhere. Well go on, don’t keep her waiting.’

  Furius went further into the cell, wishing he’d brought a candle. The floor was covered in filthy straw. At the far end someone – or something – was stirring in the darkness. Suddenly the cell door clanged shut, making him jump. He swung round, sensing too late that this was a trick.

  ‘Hey, you! Slave! Open the door!’

  Tidio turned the key in the lock and slipped it into his pocket. ‘That depends,’ he said, ‘on whether you’re ready to talk.’

  The hairs stood up on the back of Furius’s neck. Something was moving, coming towards him. Something large that padded on all fours. ‘Vanilla?’ he quavered. ‘Is that you … dear?’

  Very slowly he turned round and let out a whimper. The lion was looking straight at him – and it wasn’t admiring his ears.

  Chapter 11

  Fighting Bladderax

  Back in the arena, Ditherus tried to remember what he’d read. Look your opponent in the eyes – advice that didn’t help much when your enemy was seven foot tall. Bladderax did some impressive sword twirling and hurled his Titan Thunderbolt into the air, catching it one-handed. The crowd gasped in admiration. Ditherus tried a few wild swishes of his Nemesis and dropped it in the sand. Jeers and laughter rang out. Bladderax threw back his head and roared the barbarian battle cry, which woke up several spectators in the back row. He lumbered forward, eager to get on with it.

  ‘Run!’ urged a voice in Ditherus’s head. He wanted to run but his legs seemed to have forgotten how to do it. Instead he crouched behind his shield, as Bladderax bore down on him. ‘Move your feet. Keep your shield up. He’s just as scared as you are,’ Ditherus muttered to himself.

  The first sweep of the Thunderbolt sliced the plume off his helmet. The second smashed into his shield. By some miracle he met the third with a clash of steel on steel. This is great, he thought, I’m actually fighting. Like a real gladiator. It was as if the Nemesis knew where it wanted to go. Just as he was marvelling at this, the next blow battered his helmet and knocked him right off his feet.

  ‘OOOH!’ cried the crowd.

  Porcus Maximus clapped his hands. This was more like it. Next to an even fight there was nothing he liked better than a merciless slaughter.

  ‘What a pity Marcus isn’t here to see this,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Hilaria, who’d just sat down. ‘I think he’s a little busy right now.’ She craned her neck for a better view of the skinny gladiator getting to his feet. There was something faintly familiar about him.

  Bladderax had both arms raised in triumph. Some of the women in the upper tier were waving their hankies at him. He twirled a pigtail round his finger and waved back. Ditherus saw his chance. Running, he launched himself and leapt on to his opponent’s back. Bladderax bellowed like an angry bull and swung him round, trying to shake him off. Ditherus was getting dizzy, losing his grip. The next moment he was flying through the air and hit the ground in a cloud of dust.

  His eyes blinked open. The world was still spinning round. His hand groped for his sword, but it lay in the sand, just out of reach. An ugly, blue face peered down from the sky.

  ‘Now I kill you good,’ grunted Bladderax, raising his Titan Thunderbolt above his head.

  A second later Ditherus would have been split in half like a pea. Luckily, he rolled to one side just as the Thunderbolt came down. He snatched up his Nemesis and slashed wildly at his opponent’s belly. He missed – but not altogether. Bladderax’s leather belt dropped to the sand, neatly sliced in two. The barbarian’s mouth dropped open and he looked down. His tartan kilt had begun to droop, and was now sliding past his knees. The crowd gasped. Women in the balcony covered their children’s eyes. ‘Great gods!’ cried Porcus Maximus. He’d always wondered what barbarians wore under their kilts and now he knew.

  Blushing scarlet, Bladderax reached down to pull up his kilt. But those few seconds were all Ditherus needed. The point of his sword pricked his enemy’s throat. The fight was over and by a miracle, Ditherus had won.

  Bladderax hung his head, his pigtails drooping. ‘You beat Bladderax. Now you kill him dead,’ he said miserably. ‘Chop off his ears, chop off his necks.’

  Ditherus shook his head. ‘I don’t want to chop off anything,’ he said. ‘Ask the Emperor for mercy.’

  Bladderax scowled stubbornly. ‘I barbarian. Not beg like dog.’

  The crowd wanted blood; they had begun to chant ‘Kill! Kill! Kill!’

  In the Imperial Box Porcus Maximus beat his fist in time and joined in.

  Hilaria tapped him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Your Excellency, sorry to interrupt but I think they’re waiting for you.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. I’m the Emperor, aren’t I? Now is it thumbs-up or thumbs-down? I always get mixed up.’

  ‘Up for mercy, down for death,’ prompted Hilaria.

  ‘Splendid, splendid!’ Porcus held out his thumb and slowly turned it down.

  Bladderax saw the signal and sunk to his knees, baring his neck. ‘Now you kill,’ he said. ‘Split my throat.’

  Ditherus had turned rather pale himself. He didn’t wish to split anyone’s throat; it sounded messy. Out of the blue an idea came to him. ‘Listen,’ he whispered. ‘You’ll have to pretend.’

  Bladderax gazed up at him, puzzled. ‘Who is pretend?’

  ‘You know. Act,’ hissed Ditherus. ‘I pretend to stab you. You fall down dead. Pretend!’

  Bladderax widened his eyes. There was no telling if he understood but there wasn’t time to explain. The crowd were growing restless. Ditherus raised his sword and plunged it into the barbarian – or actually into the narrow gap under his armpit. Bladderax rolled his eyes upwards and toppled to the ground dramatically.

  ‘URGHHHHHHHHHH!’ he gurgled.

  Ditherus pulled out his sword. But Bladderax hadn’t finished dying yet.

  ‘Arggghhhhh! OOOHHHH! URRRKK! he moaned, rolling over and clutching at his belly.

  ‘All right, don’t overdo it,’ muttered Ditherus.

  Bladderax twitched a leg in the air and finally lay still. Ditherus raised his sword, the trumpets sounded once more and the crowd roared their approval.

  As the wooden gates drew back, Tidio came hurrying out to meet him. ‘Master! Are you all right?’

  Ditherus pulled off his helmet and grinned. ‘I told you I was invincible!
Now help me shift this great lump, before anyone notices he’s still breathing.’

  They took hold of the barbarian’s legs and began to drag him across the sand, grunting with the effort. Halfway to the gates, Bladderax opened one eye. ‘I big lump. I walk,’ he offered.

  ‘For Mars’ sake, shut up!’ hissed Ditherus. ‘You’re meant to be dead!’

  As soon as the gates closed behind them, Bladderax sprung to his feet and hugged Ditherus so tightly he could hardly breathe.

  ‘You plenty good friend,’ he burbled. ‘Save Bladderax life. I sorry try to squish you like flea. Now I your slaves for ever.’

  Ditherus struggled to free himself. ‘That’s OK,’ he said, ‘I already have one slave.’

  ‘Have two slaves.’ Bladderax pointed to himself and Tidio. ‘Big one and piddly one.’

  Ditherus turned back to Tidio. He’d just remembered something. ‘What about Marcus Furius?’ he asked. ‘You haven’t told me what happened. Where is he?’

  Tidio glanced back at the arena. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll be seeing him any moment now.’

  Chapter 12

  A Roaring Time

  No sooner had Tidio spoken than a heavy iron gate at the far end of the arena was raised.

  In the Imperial Box the Emperor clapped his hands. ‘Ah, splendid, the lions!’ he exclaimed. ‘My favourite.’

  Unexpectedly a man came flying out, running so fast that his feet almost scorched the sand. He was bare-headed, white-faced and his uniform hung in tatters. The Emperor gasped in amazement.

  ‘Great gods! Isn’t that Marcus Furius?’

  Hilaria shielded her eyes against the sun. ‘It does look like him, Majesty.’

  ‘But he never said he was taking part. His name’s not in the programme!’

  ‘No, Highness. Perhaps he wanted to keep it a surprise.’

  Down below them, Marcus Furius looked around in desperation. The lions had spilled out of their cell and were prowling after him. For the last ten minutes Furius had been fending them off with his sword but that had only sharpened their appetite. He looked up at the Imperial Box and waved his arms frantically.