CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION ~ The Hall of Heroes
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
~ Living in Rome
CHAPTER 3
~ Life as a Gladiator
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
~ Gladiator Types
CHAPTER 6
~ A Day at the Games
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
~ Origins of the Gladiators
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
The Hall of Heroes is a museum all about warriors throughout history. It’s full of swords, bows and arrows, helmets, boats, armour, shields, spears, axes and just about anything else that a warrior might need. But this isn’t just another museum full of old stuff in glass cases – it’s also haunted by the ghosts of the warriors whose belongings are there. Our great grandfather, Professor Blade, set up the museum and when he died he started haunting the place too. He felt guilty about the trapped ghost warriors and vowed he would not rest in peace until all the other ghosts were laid to rest first. And that’s where Arthur and I come in…
On the night of the Professor’s funeral Arthur and I broke into the museum – we knew it was wrong but we just couldn’t help ourselves. And that’s when we discovered something very weird. When we are touched by one of the ghost warriors we get transported to the time and place where the ghost lived and died. And we can’t get back until we’ve fixed whatever it is that keeps the ghost from resting in peace. So we go from one mission to the next, recovering lost swords, avenging deaths, saving loved ones or doing whatever else the ghost warrior needs us to do.
Fortunately while the Professor was alive I wrote down everything he ever told us about these warriors in a book I call Warrior Heroes – so luckily we do have some idea of what we’re getting into each time – even if Arthur does still call me ‘Finn the geek’. But we need more than a book to survive each adventure because wherever we go we’re surrounded by war and battle and the fiercest fighters who ever lived, as you’re about to find out!
CHAPTER 1
“Well chaps,” said the Professor cheerfully. “What do you know about gladiators?”
Arthur’s eyes nearly popped with delight, and even Finn, normally so anxious at the start of a new mission, could not disguise his excitement.
“We who are about to die, salute you!” Arthur chanted, thumping his chest with one hand and holding the other out in front of him, thumb raised.
“The most highly skilled hand-to-hand warriors of all time,” said Finn. “Trained in all sorts of combat styles just to entertain the public in Rome.”
“Very good,” said the Professor, laughing. “So you do pay attention to some of what I tell you. Mind you, thumbs up, you live, thumbs down, you die is probably a myth, and the ‘we salute you’ thing only happened once. But yes, they were specially trained to put on a show and fight in public.”
“But I suppose they weren’t real warriors,” Finn mused as he looked around the Professor’s study at the familiar military items that decorated the walls. “They were part of a public show all about fighting. Just like this museum is really. It was just a show wasn’t it? Not the real thing.”
“Well it was a sport, yes, but the fighting was real – often to the death in the early days.”
“Of course they were real warriors!” Arthur cut in. “What about Spartacus? Wasn’t he a gladiator?”
Finn looked at his brother, amazed that he knew who Spartacus was.
“What?” said Arthur noticing his brother’s shocked expression. “I do know some things you know.”
The Professor ignored the boys’ squabbling and carried on, “Spartacus certainly was a real warrior. He led a whole army of escaped gladiators in an attack on Rome itself and very nearly won! Of course what he was escaping from was slavery. All the gladiators were slaves really – they were owned and traded, they were just treated better than other slaves because they were so valuable.”
“But weren’t they heroes as well?” Finn asked. “I thought that they were celebrities, like… footballers today.”
“Quite a lot like footballers actually. They had short careers, earned huge sums of money, had crowds chanting their names from the stands of the amphitheatre, while they slugged it out in the arena at the centre. They were still slaves though, and Spartacus realised that an army of highly trained soldier-slaves who wanted to be free would be a formidable force. They were defeated eventually,” the Professor sighed. “And most of them were crucified to set an example to other slaves, but they went down as heroes at the same time. The fact we all know the name Spartacus two thousand years later is proof enough!”
“And is that how our next warrior died?” Finn wondered out loud, a worried expression spreading across his face as he realised he and Arthur would soon be thrown into their next mission.
“Not at all. I don’t know why he is not at rest. We think he was quite a celebrated gladiator actually. He died peacefully as far as we can tell, probably years after earning his freedom. But we’ll find out soon – any minute now by the look of it.”
Sure enough the atmosphere in the study had changed, just as it always did when one of the ghosts was about to enter. The lights flickered and the clock stopped ticking, the temperature dropped and all sound and motion ceased.
Arthur and Finn glanced at each other nervously, unsure what was about to enter the Professor’s study, and dreading the worst. A dark shadow appeared as the door creaked slowly open. The warrior who strode in looked every bit the perfect fighter – a tall, muscular, fierce-looking man with a spear in his hand, a sword in his belt, and a plumed, shining helmet tucked under his arm. Yet despite his straight back and broad shoulders, something in his eyes seemed defeated.
He looked slowly around the room until his troubled gaze lighted on Arthur and Finn.
“I was a gladiator,” he began. “A gladiator who fought mostly at the Flavian Amphitheatre in Rome. My name was Marcus and I was an equite.”
“Gladiator on a horse,” Finn whispered to Arthur.
“My brother…” Marcus went on, and Finn guessed silently that this would be another mission to avenge someone’s death. “My brother died with Spartacus, you know.”
“Your brother and thousands more besides!” said the Professor. “You have our sincere sympathies, although I doubt that we will be able to reverse the outcome of that particular war…”
“No, it is true,” said the gladiator. “They were destined to lose but I would not change any of that. My brother died fighting for a principle – for freedom. I had the chance to fight for the same thing and I ignored it. I chose to stay when he escaped and I fought on in the arena. I earned my freedom eventually, but along the way I killed many people as a gladiator. I was not fighting for a principle, I was fighting to save my own skin, and to entertain the crowds.” Marcus paused here and gripped the side of the open door, with his head bent low.
“As soon as I heard of my brother’s death I wished that I had escaped with him and fought alongside Spartacus. If there had been more of us things might have been different…”
“And what is it that you would change about your life if you could?” asked Finn.
“I would take the chance to fight for something real, the chance to show nobility, that is all…”
Finn and Arthur exchanged another nervous glance. This was a less specific request than usual and might be hard to get right. However, Marcus had no more to say and in two long strides had crossed the room and placed a hand on each boy’s shoulder. The air in the room shifted, and seemed to fill with mist, drifting at first and then whirling faster and faster around them until the study could not be seen
and it felt to the boys as if they were spinning through the sky…
CHAPTER 2
“You’re going to get a beating boy! I said stand up!” Arthur heard the words as if he were listening through a thick wall. As he slowly opened his eyes and began to take in his surroundings, he became sharply aware of a terrible stench filling his nostrils. Looking up, he saw that he was lying in a narrow alleyway, hemmed in by tall buildings on either side. The stench, he soon realised, came from the mounds of rotting food and sewage that muddied the ground.
“Where am I?” Arthur groaned to nobody, pushing himself up on his elbow and blinking up at a dusty, orange sky.
“You’re on my patch, boy,” a harsh voice replied, and Arthur twisted round slowly to see a rough, scarred, street-wise looking teenager glaring down at him, slapping the end of what seemed to be a well-used club into the palm of his hand. “I’m Festus. And that’s all you need to know. Now get up and tell me why you’re here or by Jupiter I’ll crush your skull before you say another word.”
Suddenly, Arthur didn’t feel so blurry-eyed. He dragged himself quickly to his feet and held his hands up, noticing for the first time that a gang of similarly menacing boys stood behind Festus.
“I… I’m new here. I don’t know where I am,” Arthur spluttered, still slightly confused and trying to buy time. He held out little hope of out-fighting or out-running the gang.
“You’re on my patch, boy,” Festus repeated with a sneer. “This is Rome. Welcome to the greatest city in the world,” he added sarcastically.
“Er… Thanks,” said Arthur, stepping forward warily. “Now if you’ll just let me past I’ll be on my way and get off your patch.”
Festus stood motionless. “What do you think lads?”
“Let’s teach him a lesson,” one of the gang called back, and the rest began cheering. Arthur’s heart sank. He tried to think of a way out of this situation. Only one idea came to mind and it was risky, but he had to find a way out of this mess. Taking a deep breath and puffing out his chest, he glared at the gang.
“Cowards!” he shouted, and the cheering stopped instantly. Festus’ face darkened, and he stepped a little closer to Arthur.
“You think we’re cowards? We’ll see who’s begging for mercy in a minute shall we?”
“Well if you’re not a coward then let’s make this a fair fight,” said Arthur, praying that this challenge would work. “Me against the best you’ve got. One on one. No weapons. Unless you only fight in packs when your victim can’t fight back of course…”
“You don’t know what you’re doing boy,” Festus growled. “But you asked for it and you’re going to get it. I’ll fight you and by the time I’ve finished you’ll wish I’d set the whole gang on you.”
“We’ll see,” said Arthur, raising his fists. “But if I win, that’s it. You let me go.”
“Agreed.” Festus nodded. “You won’t win though. And we won’t fight here in an alley – we need some space.” He turned his back on Arthur and pushed his way back through the gang. “Bring him to the arena,” he barked. Arthur had just a moment to realise that his plan had worked before he found himself being frogmarched along the alley, surrounded by Festus’ gang.
* * *
Some distance away Finn sat up in an empty alley and rubbed his eyes, wincing as a foul smell and a loud, metallic banging sound assaulted his senses. Like Arthur, it always took him a few minutes to remember where he was and why he was there when he first woke up in a new time. Looking around for clues Finn noted that the stinking alley ran between two dismal-looking apartment blocks, at one end of which there seemed to be a lighter, busier, more open space.
He stretched, pushed himself to his feet and cautiously made his way along the alley, emerging into a very shabby market square. The sides of the square were lined with tables, benches and grubby wooden shacks most of which seemed to serve as shops. Others, judging by the raucous voices of the men at the tables, were bars.
Cautiously, Finn began walking around the perimeter of the square, staying in the shadows and trying not to draw attention to himself. He took a closer look at the men’s tunics and instantly remembered what he was there for. Rome! The gladiator! Freedom! The satisfaction of remembering the mission was quickly overtaken by a feeling of surprise. This wasn’t how Finn expected Rome to look. It looked too – modern. Behind the shops that lined the square, the apartment blocks rose five or six stories up to tiled rooftops.
“Prepare the arena for Festus!” someone shouted, interrupting his thoughts. An arena? Finn glanced around in confusion, looking for anything that might resemble a gladiator’s arena. Some of the men at the tables began cheering and laughing. From an alley on the opposite side of the square Finn saw a gang of teenagers spilling out past a bar and into the middle of the square. Where’s the arena? Finn wondered, and then he groaned as he saw a smaller boy being marched along, held tight by two of the gang members. Arthur.
“How does he do this every time?” Finn hissed to himself, furious that his brother had yet again damaged their chances of success by getting into trouble and making a spectacle of himself within minutes of arriving. He watched, dismayed, as Arthur was pushed along into the middle of the square, the gang calling over to the men to join them as they formed a human circle around him. Several of the men put their cups down and obliged. Finn guessed that the ‘arena’ for this gang just meant any piece of ground where they could fight.
“And who do we have here?” one of them shouted.
“This little runt challenged Festus to a fight!” one of the gang replied. Challenged? Finn’s stomach tightened with worry and anger.
“Still fighting lambs eh Festus? You’ll make a great gladiator one day!” the man jeered, and his friends chuckled. It seemed that Festus was not held in very high regard by the men, Finn mused.
A tough-looking, scarred teenager stepped forward from the circle and turned to face the men. “Lamb or wolf,” he growled, swinging a club menacingly. “No one challenges me on my patch and gets away with it!”
“No weapons,” Finn heard Arthur call out. “We agreed. Or do you only fight when you have an unfair advantage?” Finn began to see what had happened. Maybe Arthur hadn’t been so stupid after all. Nonetheless, Finn didn’t fancy his brother’s chances against this thug. Scanning the sides of the market square, Finn began to think about how he might help Arthur escape. He noticed a grizzled giant of a man standing alone in the shadows, observing the gang silently. Something about him seemed too dangerous to Finn and he decided against asking him for help. Maybe the drinkers were a better bet. He sidled up to stand next to the man who had taunted Festus and hoped he would agree to help him.
* * *
“Come on Festus,” one of the gang cheered. “Teach him a lesson.”
Arthur looked over at the men who were watching, grinned and then bleated like a lamb, sending the men into fits of laughter. The more people he could get on his side the better. Festus hurled his club to the floor and charged at Arthur without warning. Calmly, as if he had known it would happen, Arthur stepped to one side, leaving a foot trailing so that Festus tripped and tumbled to the ground. The men cheered and Festus sprang, snarling, to his feet. Arthur could see that his opponent was much stronger than him. His only hope was to keep Festus so enraged that he couldn’t think clearly. As the thug advanced more carefully towards him, Arthur began dancing sideways around the circle as if he were in a boxing ring, bleating even more comically. Glaring malevolently, Festus crouched low and circled with him, waiting for his chance.
Arthur could see real hatred in the boy’s eyes now as Festus prowled, feinting with mini-lunges now and then but never breaking eye-contact. The cheers and laughter of the spectators faded as Arthur focussed all his attention on the fight. When the next attack came it was far more controlled. Festus stepped forward, feigned as if to punch Arthur in the stomach and then dropped to one knee, grabbing hold of Arthur’s ankle and giving it a vicious twi
st. Arthur tumbled to the ground and Festus pounced, pinning him down with an arm across his chest and punching him hard on the chin.
Ignoring the pain in his bruised chin, Arthur twisted his head one way and the other trying to dodge the blows until Festus pulled his arm right back to deliver the killer punch.
Sensing that the weight across his chest had lightened slightly Arthur slid a few inches to one side and snapped his head out of the way just as Festus brought his fist down with all his weight behind it. The blow glanced off the side of Arthur’s head and thumped into the mud, drawing a cry of pain from Festus, whose momentum sent him sprawling. Seizing his opportunity, Arthur rolled out from under his opponent and leapt to his feet, aiming a swift kick at Festus’ ribs just as the older boy pushed himself up.
Festus howled with anger and crashed forward once more, throwing another massive punch. Arthur weaved to one side, grabbed Festus’ wrist in both hands and twisted as the punch carried the older boy forwards and past Arthur. Now Arthur was in complete control, standing behind Festus and twisting his arm up behind his back. He curled a foot in front of Festus and pushed, sending him crashing to the floor. This time Arthur went with him, still holding Festus’ twisted arm and landing on his back so that the older boy could not move.
The men clapped and cheered as Festus’ gang looked darkly on.
“It’s over Festus!” said the man standing next to Finn, laughing. “You took on the mighty lamb, and the lamb won!”
Arthur looked down at his opponent. “Are we done?”
Festus nodded, grunting in the mud and Arthur rolled away.
* * *
Swallowing his nerves, Finn tapped the man next to him on the arm. “Excuse me sir,” he said.
“What is it boy?” the man barked, glancing at Finn for the first time. “You want a go too?”
“No!” Finn replied hurriedly. “I’m no match. But this lamb-boy put up a good fight didn’t he?”
The Gladiator's Victory Page 1
