“ALL RIGHT!” shouted Julius. “I GET IT!” He dusted himself down with his hooves. “We’re all going to die and no one will remember us. I understand! HAPPY NOW?” he sobbed.
“Thank you, Pliny,” sniffed Julius. “But the name is Zebra, not Barbara.” And he moped off to sit down.
“That’s what I said! Cor, touchy, ain’t ’e?”
Suddenly, the cell door swung open and a huge barrel of a man stood in the doorway. “RIGHT, YOU LOT! YOU’RE ON!” He cracked a whip.“AND THAT MEANS YOU, TOO, BARBARA!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
VENATIO!
The animals were hustled out of their cell into the murky, stinky corridor, where more scruffy-looking barbarians cracked the air with their whips.
Little Pliny the mouse ran out to give them a big wave goodbye. “GOOD LUCK! YOU SHOW THEM ROTTERS WHO’S BOSS!” he shouted.
Soon they found themselves corralled into a tiny cage – so tiny they barely all squeezed in.
Slamming the door of the cage shut, the Dungeon Master shouted, “Shut yer moaning! All of ya! You’ll be out in the lovely fresh air any minute now.
“These people have worked hard all week, so let’s give them a show to remember, eh?”
With the handle of his whip, he rapped the side of the cage twice. There was an almighty creaking, groaning sound and slowly it began lifting off the floor, bumping and scraping against the stone walls.
The cage came to a shuddering halt. Everyone was too frightened to say a word.
A trapdoor was opened above them and Julius shivered as a gust of icy air pierced through the bars. They were met with a blinding light, a bamboozling chorus of horns and another almighty roar from the crowd.
Then the cage door swung open.
“COME ON, BARBARA! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!”
“Wait!” shouted Julius. But it was too late – everybody had bolted into the unknown.
Bewildered by the dazzling sun, Julius was barged and bumped from left, right and behind. He could just make out shapes rushing about in a panic.
Voices echoed all around him.
“RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”
“LOOK OUT!”
“MUMMY!”
Then something whizzed past his ears.
“BARBARA! WATCH OUT!” cried Lucia as she dived forwards and skidded in the dirt.
“Oi! Who’s firing pointy sticks at us?” screamed Julius.
Another arrow thudded into the ground, inches from his hooves.
He looked up to find a giant shadow looming over him.
“Ooh!” it said. “A stripy horse! You’ll make a lovely rug. My wife will be pleased!”And, brandishing a massive, pointy club, it cried, “Say goodnight, horsey!”
Only Julius’s speedy zebra guile saved him as he nimbly jumped out of the way.
Seconds later, Julius spotted Cornelius running off into the distance being chased by a man with a big, shiny stick. “CORNELIUS!! THE LION WAS RIGHT! THIS ISN’T A JOLLY CIRCUS!!”
One thing is certain, Julius thought. We have to get out of here and we have to get out FAST!
But before he could work out how, just in time he spied the same dark shadow falling in front of him.
The big man was getting a bit grumpy now. “Stop leaping out of the way, stupid horse. I want your lovely, stripy hide!” And he struck at Julius again.
“Wait,” said a voice. “This one is mine!”
The man lowered his club and stepped away. “Yes, of course, Victorius. The stripy one is all yours.”
Now a short, stocky, heavily armoured man stood in front of Julius. His face was hidden behind a visored metal helmet, and he was holding a big, sharp, shiny stick. He pressed Julius against the arena wall.
“Now, look,” Julius stammered nervously. “First, I’m not a horse, I’m a zebra. Nothing like a horse. At all. Secondly, I was promised juggling monkeys and I LOVE juggling monkeys, so I don’t know why you’re so upset, because I was paying you a COMPLIMENT!”
Victorius leaned forward. “You talk too much, horse.” And he smashed his sword into the stone wall next to Julius’s head.
As Julius scampered away, he spotted something glinting in the sand. He squinted, realizing immediately what it was – A SHINY STICK!
One of those nasty boneheads must’ve dropped it, he thought, dashing to pick it up. What luck! He held it up to have a good look. Now, how do I use this flipping thing?
He didn’t have to wait long to find out!
“Ha ha!” laughed Victorius. “See how the beast wields a sword. He thinks he’s people!”
Victorius held aloft his own sword for a final thrust. “What a curious creature you were, horse.”
But Julius pulled himself up. “When will you people listen? I’M NOT A HORSE…”
Victorius lay on the floor, dazed. He looked at the big new dent in his shield. “You … you HIT ME!” he stammered. “You, a simple animal, ACTUALLY hit me!”
Julius stood looking at his pointy stick, not really knowing what had just happened. “I-I’m really sorry,” he whimpered. “I don’t know what came over me… Please don’t kill me!”
Meanwhile, all around the arena the audience were on their feet, chanting, “Zebra!”
Even the other gladiators had stopped chasing the rest of the animals. No one had ever seen anything quite like it before: an animal fighting back against a gladiator with a sword.
Even the Emperor Hadrian, in his gold-and-marble box seat, had woken from his slumber wondering what all the hoo-hah was about.
“No animal bests ME!” screamed Victorius.
“You’ve had your fun, beast. Made a little name for yourself for five minutes.”
A huge roar of “BOO” went up around the arena. The whole audience were still on their feet, waving white hankies and shouting angrily at the gladiator.
Ignoring them, Victorius raised his weapon, ready for the final blow. But the crowd went into a frenzy!
The women in the higher seats wailed and cried; rocks were thrown, as well as food.
Some began shouting at Emperor Hadrian, taunting him for such a despicable show!
Not wishing to have trouble on his hands, Hadrian finally stood up.
A great hush fell over the crowd as the Emperor raised his hand.
“Citizens of Rome!” he cried. “What we have witnessed today is a show of bravery that cannot be ignored!”
The crowd rose to their feet and exploded into cheers.
“This poor creature has unwittingly shown us the true path of our glorious Roman Empire. Fate decrees that we must STAND UP against the odds!”
Down in the arena, an exhausted Cornelius ran up to his flummoxed friend. “Huff! Good work, Julius! Phew! You’ve brought the Colosseum to a standstill, saving all our skins! You’ve even got the Emperor worried – you nearly started a riot back there!”
The warthog looked Julius right in the eye. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were a complete loser, an idiot. Rarely had I met such a dunce.”
“Yeah, all right!” blurted Julius. “Don’t get carried away.”
“But,” continued Cornelius, “I was wrong about you. You’ve got a lot of guts for a funny little horse. And I think your heroics have done you quite the favour.”
Julius was touched. He’d never been called heroic before. Bravery was normally left up to his mum or his brother, while he stayed hidden at the back.
Up in the gold-and-marble box seat, the Emperor Hadrian hadn’t quite finished. “It is customary in these situations to grant freedom to those the audience take pity on…” he said, looking directly at Julius.
Julius let out a whoop of appreciation.
“But,” continued Hadrian, “I see a different path before you. A path of glory. A path showered in fame and riches. A path such as no other zebra has ever walked upon!”
“Thirty days hence is my birthday. A birthday on which the whole of Rome will celebrate our gladiatorial champions,” Hadrian bellow
ed.
“Gladiators from all over the Empire will gather here, in this, the greatest amphitheatre ever built, and do battle till only ONE remains. And that champion of champions will WIN HIS FREEDOM!”
Julius gulped. Where is he going with this? he thought.
“And YOU, zebra,” cried Hadrian, pointing directly at Julius, “the new People’s Champion, will be there fighting for your freedom, too! Fame and wealth you have never dreamed of could be all yours!”
“WHAT!??!” screamed Julius. “That’s not a path to fame and glory – that’s a path to me getting my head lopped off. I DON’T STAND A CHANCE!!” Julius started sobbing into his hooves.
The sympathetic crowd started booing again and throwing food towards the Emperor. No one upset THEIR champion!
The Emperor waved his arms to calm the people. “OK! OK!” he said. “Then you shall have the best training Rome can offer – alongside heroes and champions – at our world-famous Gladiator School … Ludus Magnus!”
A teary-faced Julius peeked out from behind his hooves. “I-I guess that makes up for it a little bit … sniff…”
“Um…” said Cornelius. “Don’t forget you called all those gladiators hairy gorillas…”
“Oh, yeah. So I did.” And he began sobbing quietly into his hooves again.
At that moment, the Dungeon Master entered the arena and grabbed Julius. “Right, come with me, Barbara. I’ll escort you to your new home.”
“Good luck, Julius!” called out Cornelius, waving him goodbye. “You’ll be a brilliant champion!”
This isn’t right. I can’t leave my friends behind, Julius thought. After everything we’ve been through!
He pulled away from the Dungeon Master and ran up to the imperial box. “WAIT, Mr Hadrian! Sir!” Julius shouted. “Can I bring my friends, too? They’d make great gladiators!”
Hadrian raised his left eyebrow. “What, even the lion?”
“Well, maybe not the lion…”
“OK, the lion, too!” stammered Julius.
“Of course!” Hadrian said and waved them away.
In truth, Hadrian saw no harm in sending Julius and the other animals for gladiatorial training. As far as he was concerned, he was only delaying their inevitable grisly deaths by a few weeks, while at the same time shutting up his disgruntled citizens. It was win-win.
Victorius was OUTRAGED! He threw his helmet to the sand-covered floor like a spoilt child. “For many years I have trained to be a gladiator. It is an honourable profession. These wretched creatures would only serve to humiliate such a noble calling!”
“Hush, Victorius. If you fear the flailings of a whimpering zebra, perhaps you ought to seek a safer, nobler art, like flower-arranging?” And with that, the Emperor turned his back on the arena and retired to his palace.
CHAPTER NINE
FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL
“WHAT’S WITH ALL THE WILD ANIMALS?! GET THEM OUT OF HERE!”
“Uh-oh,” said Cornelius. “He must be the Lanista.”
“The who?” asked Julius.
“The Lanista, the boss. He owns this place and all the gladiators. I’m guessing no one’s told him about your shenanigans yesterday.”
“I GO AWAY FOR TWO DAYS AND THE PLACE IS OVERRUN WITH VERMIN!”
The Dungeon Master lumbered over to the Lanista.
“WHAT?! Does he not have a zoo to keep his playthings in? Am I not busy enough with the Birthday Games without having to babysit his PETS?”
Julius decided he’d be helpful and explain the situation. “What it is, right,” said Julius, striding up to Septimus, “yesterday I won us all a chance to fight in Hadrian’s big birthday bash!”
Septimus looked Julius up and down. “IF THIS RIDICULOUS-LOOKING DONKEY DOESN’T GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, I WILL PERSONALLY KICK HIM FROM HERE TO THE FORESTS OF GERMANIA!”
“Well, that’s just rude, ” said Julius as he skulked away. “I was only trying to help…”
The Dungeon Master tried to calm Septimus down.
“WHAT?! TRAIN?!! Hadrian has finally lost his mind. Gallivanting around his Empire, doing Jupiter-knows-what, then turning up and seemingly knowing MY business better than I do!”
Septimus felt a little tap on his back. He spun round, but no one was there. Then he heard a little cough.
“Hello! I’m down here,” squeaked a voice.
“Um, just a quickie,” said Cornelius, producing a big pair of flannel pants from behind his back. “These nappies … do we all have to wear them? It’s just that this warm weather really does give me the most awful chafing…”
Septimus stomped over to Felix and Rufus, who were having a little scrap with wooden swords. He grabbed the weapons out of their hooves and threw them into a nearby chest. “STOP TOUCHING THE GLADIATOR EQUIPMENT! IT’S NOT FOR YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
Julius was now twirling a big trident.
Septimus strode over to him and kicked him hard up the bottom. “AND THAT MEANS YOU, TOO, DONKEY!”
“Careful!” blurted Julius. “That thing is pointy. You nearly had my eye out!”
Septimus had heard enough.
Once again the Dungeon Master sidled up to Septimus, who was red with fury, and whispered in his ear, “Hadrian is paying you 20,000 sestertii for every animal you keep alive until the Birthday Games begin…”
“Twenty thousand sesterstii?” beamed Septimus, rubbing his hands together gleeflully. “Well, why didn’t you say so before? That would keep me in aromatic bath oils for YEARS!”
“QUICKLY! QUICKLY!” he barked.
He began pacing in front of them, looking each one up and down and, every now and then, right in the eye.
“So…” he said. “You all want to be gladiators, eh?”
Julius put up his hoof. “Um, I don’t.”
Septimus spun round on his heels. “Oh, you don’t…?”
“No. In fact, I’d like to go home, please.”
“OH! You’d like to go home, would you?”
Julius nodded his head.
“And would anyone else like to go home too, hmm?”
“Well, congratulations!” Septimus shouted joyfully. “You’re all in LUCK!”
The animals looked at one another, very confused.
Septimus continued. “This magnificent school – where you will learn the noble arts of combat and DEATH – is already your home.”
Julius put up his hoof again. “So, let me get this right, we can’t actually go home to our real homes?”
Septimus leaned right into Julius’s face. “NO!” he bellowed. “YOU WILL LIVE HERE AND YOU WILL DIE HERE. THERE WILL BE NO ESCAPE!” Septimus straightened up and walked back to the centre of the arena. “And if anyone is caught escaping they will be executed immediately.”
Felix the antelope put up a hoof. “In that case, may I have a shelf for my rock collection?”
“Rock collection?” spluttered Septimus.
“Well, obviously I haven’t brought my collection with me, but I’m often picking up interesting rocks and stones and they always look very nice sitting on a little shelf.”
“Now, listen to me, you useless lot,” Septimus shouted, wagging his finger at them. “Being a gladiator is a TOUGH business. Your whole life is concerned with FIGHTING and trying not to be KILLED – and that takes a lot of SKILL.” He paused for a moment, looking at them very sternly. “This is no place to make friends, either. One day you will most likely face one another and have to fight to the DEATH!”
Felix turned to Julius. “I promise I won’t kill you,” he whispered.
“I promise I won’t kill you, either,” Julius whispered back.
“Pinky swear?”
“Pinky swear.”
A large, muscular, bearded man entered the arena and began planting big, long poles into the ground. Meanwhile, Septimus strolled over to the chest full of wooden swords and started lobbing them at the animals.
“Take these,” he commanded. “Grab a shield from the other
chest behind you, and then each of you stand in front of a pole! COME ON! HOP TO IT!!”
“Now!” boomed Septimus. “These poles represent your ENEMY!”
“What? We’re only fighting big sticks? That’s a relief,” said Julius. “I thought we would be up against actual gladiators. This is going to be a breeze!”
“No, you fool!” blasted Septimus. “These are PRETEND gladiators!”
“Pretend?” Julius was puzzled. “But they don’t even have any arms or legs! Call this a gladiator school? You don’t even know how to make a pretend gladiator!”
“I’ll have you know that practising with a pole has helped train Rome’s glorious army and gladiators for centuries!” thundered Septimus. “We have conquered the ENTIRE known world thanks to the principle of pole training. If it’s good enough for ROME, then it should be good enough for YOU!”
Felix raised a hoof to speak. “How about if we paint faces on them? That might make it a bit easier to pretend they’re people.”
“Look, over here!” shouted Cornelius. “We could use this pot of paint they’re whitewashing the walls with!”
“NO! NO! THERE’LL BE NO FACES ON MY FIGHTING POLES!” Septimus wrested away the paint pot and brushes and threw them out of the arena.
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