He’d finally had enough. “OUT!!” he raged. “Get out, the lot of you! I don’t care what Hadrian says – I’m not training a bunch of nincompoops!!”
Suddenly, there was the clacking sound of wood whacking against wood, punctuated by low growls and rasping grunts. Everyone stopped in their tracks and turned round to see where it was coming from.
“MILUS!” gasped Julius.
“Well, well,” said Septimus, clapping his hands with glee. “One of the circus freaks seems to know what he’s doing!” He strode up to Milus and put his arm round him. “Now, perhaps you wouldn’t mind explaining to your friends the importance of the pole training, too!”
Milus grabbed Septimus by the toga and pulled him right up to his face. “They are NOT my friends.”
“Now, wait a minute!” said Cornelius, storming up to Milus. “NOT YOUR FRIENDS? If it weren’t for Julius, you’d be an archer’s pincushion, or have you forgotten already?”
“I do not work with zebras,” growled Milus, sitting down on the arena steps. He glanced at the other animals. “And I especially do not work with antelopes.”
“Well, how rude,” said Felix. “Maybe I don’t want to work with a stupid lion, either!”
“Look,” pleaded Julius, “NONE of us is pleased to be here! Do you think I’m happy being a thousand miles away from home? Well, I’m not.” He glared at Milus. “If we’re going to have any chance of getting out of here alive, we should stick together. Which means you might have to start thinking a bit more like a zebra. As my mum told me just before half the herd was eaten by crocodiles, ‘We must stick together, or divided we fall!’”
“Pah!” spat Milus, staring deep into Julius’s eyes. “And how well did being a zebra work out for you? The last I saw, you ran off like a big coward and your herd abandoned you. Some plan!”
Julius stomped off. He knew that Milus was right, but he didn’t want to let on.
Just then, little Pliny the mouse dashed into the arena. “All right, gang! I heard you all survived. Good work! I knew you’d have it in ya!”
“Zebra, Barbara, Bob, who cares? You’re all going to be GLADIATORS! I am WELL jels! You’ve made some enemies, though. Old Victorius ain’t none too pleased at being beaten by a horse.” Pliny swaggered over to Milus. “So what’s the plan, then, boss? You going to give this lot some extra training to get them buffed up for the party?”
“Come on, Mr Milus!” squeaked Pliny. “You could teach ’em all your fancy tricks, just like you did me! It’ll help you get away from this place. Many hooves make light work and all that.” With that, he jumped onto Milus’s scraggy mane and gave him a noogie. “I can help as well! I know lots of things. All I do all day is watch the fighting.”
“OK,” Milus sighed under his breath. “But when we get out of here, I never want to see any of you again. And if we do meet, I’m going to eat you, just like I would eat any other zebra or crocodile. Deal?”
Julius let out a nervous gulp. “Deal.”
My first day of training started with me taking the famous GLADIATOR’S OATH, pledging my life to the Familia Gladiatoria – the Gladiator Family!
I’m not sure how keen any of us were on taking this pledge seriously. Cornelius, Felix and I had our hooves crossed behind our backs, which meant we didn’t mean it. But don’t tell Septimus!!
My first actual lesson was all about the Ancient Art of Poking. This is when you position yourself side-on to your enemy, holding your shield at chest height, and then POKE with your sword! Simple! Cornelius and I took this VERY SERIOUSLY.
Septimus told us that poking is the most effective and safest technique for attacking your enemy. It’s been used by Roman soldiers for hundreds of years. He also said what you DON’T want to do is wave your sword around, slashing the air, because this leaves you WIDE open to your enemy’s attack.
The next big thing we learned about fighting is NEVER take your eyes off your opponent. EVER.
In fact, we were taught that in one-to-one combat
you MUST NEVER BLINK in ANY circumstances.
It’s a tough trick to master and some of us are better at it than others…
Well, kind of…
Cornelius, Rufus and I are really getting stuck into our training. We’re desperate for a chance to win our freedom, and nothing is going to stand in our way!
We also have loads of after-school tuition from Milus and little Pliny, who are teaching us to use our natural animal skills and attributes alongside the ancient techniques. (Me – speed and agility; Cornelius – brains and speed; Rufus – very long limbs).
Felix and Lucia never really show any interest in the art of hand-to-hand combat.
Felix is more interested in his rocks.
And Lucia, well, who knows what she gets up to. She never seems to be at training, that’s all I know.
Come to think of it, Rufus isn’t always
at training, either.
We are also causing a bit of a stir among the proper gladiators in the school.
Victorius, my rotten opponent in the amphitheatre, is the ringleader, of course! It turns out that none of the ugly brutes took kindly to my calling them “juggling monkeys” – nor to their big leader, Victorius, being beaten by a “stupid horse”. They are dead set on making all our lives a misery!
They trip us up, push us into puddles, shout horrible insults at us and mock us when we practise…
But we soldier on, ignoring them as best we can. The harder we practise, the more likely we are to win our freedom!
It isn’t the greatest place to live. The beds are hard and the food is DISGUSTING!
(Unless, of course, you’re Felix.)
But we’re grateful still to be alive and we all really want to win our freedom so we can see our families and friends again!
After weeks of intense work, we are beefed up and ready for our first fight!
CHAPTER TEN
BATTLE READY
The school’s noisy cockerel woke up Julius and his fellow trainee gladiators, just as it had every sunrise for the past month. But today, instead of the usual resistance to getting out of bed, there was a great sense of nervous excitement and urgency in their small barracks.
Felix was so distracted he didn’t even bother giving his rock collection its morning polish.
They scoffed down their porridge as if it was the tastiest breakfast ever. Even happily chomping on crunchy beetles, as if they were juicy raisins sweetening the gruel.
Today was the big rehearsal, designed to show Hadrian they would be ready for his birthday bash. It was also the first time they would get to fight actual proper gladiators! No more poking swords at wooden poles, or having to do twenty star jumps for forgetting their nappy. This was the REAL DEAL!
After gulping down their breakfast, they rushed into the school arena, and lined up for inspection.
“RIGHT! YOU STINKY HERD OF HOOVED WEIRDOS!” bellowed Septimus, striding over, while his two assistants dragged a large wooden trunk behind him.
“BE QUIET! THAT STILL MAKES YOU A WEIRDO!” Septimus barked. “So! Finally the day has arrived when we discover whether a flea-ridden bunch of no-good ratbags, such as yourselves, are worthy to bear the name GLADIATOR!”
Septimus strolled out in front of them with his hands behind his back. “Of course, you won’t be entering the arena with training swords and shields. Oh no! You’ll be needing PROPER weapons, weapons such as the gladius sword – SCOURGE of the Roman army. Or, perhaps, the trident and net – befitting the more nimble among you––”
Before he could finish his sentence, Septimus was barged to the floor in a cloud of dust, as the animals raced to get to the trunk first.
“THIS ISN’T SOME CHILD’S DRESSING-UP GAME!” screamed a furious Septimus. “LINE UP IN THE CENTRE OF THE ARENA IMMEDIATELY!”
“Now you listen to me, you detestable collection of goons!” raged Septimus, dusting himself down. His face contorted like a lion chewing twenty angry wasp
s. “This isn’t some hilarious joke! You’re not here as some kind of MONKEY CIRCUS ACT!” He thrust his finger into Julius’s face. “Hadrian himself will be watching you this afternoon AND I DEMAND DISCIPLINE!!!”
Suddenly Julius’s face also began to contort – his eyebrows twisting and his lips pouting. “Ooh!” he hooted, just like a monkey. “AGH! OOH! OOH!” And he flung his arms around, scratching his armpits and his belly.
Then all the other animals started hopping about and hooting like mad monkeys, too.
“RIGHT! THAT’S IT!” shouted Septimus. “NO ONE MAKES A MOCKERY OF ME! I’M CHUCKING YOU ALL IN WITH THE LIONS. I DON’T CARE WHAT HADRIAN SAYS!!”
“A-ANTS!” spluttered Julius, desperately trying to scratch his back. “B-B-BITING ANTS!!”
Septimus strode over to the trunk that had held the gladiator equipment, only to find it swarming with red insects. “WHO DID THIS? WHO PUT THESE ANTS IN HERE?!”
From the first-floor gallery came the unmistakable sound of giggling and guffawing. Septimus whipped round to see Victorius and his fellow gladiators chuckling and slapping one another on the back.
“Well,” said Victorius, stifling a laugh. “They were all itching to start, so we thought we’d help them along a bit!”
“GAH!” cried an exasperated Septimus, throwing up his arms and marching out of the arena. “Hadrian will be here in half an hour. I haven’t got time for this CHILDISH NONSENSE!”
He came back with two big buckets of water and gave them to his assistants. “Wash the ants off these idiots and the equipment. I want everything ready by the time the Emperor arrives! QUICK, QUICK!”
Julius was FUMING! Not only was he covered in very itchy red bites, but he was soaked to the skin in freezing cold water, too! This was meant to be an exciting day to show off their new skills and now it had been RUINED by those muscle-headed berks!
Victorius leaned over the balcony and shouted at the shivering Julius, “Who are the dancing monkeys now, eh?! Ha ha ha!”
Julius spat out a mouthful of cold water and drowned ants, shaking a wet hoof angrily at Victorius. “It was JUGGLING monkeys! JUGGLING!”
One thing was certain: Julius was not going to forget this in a hurry…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FIRST BLOOD
The small school arena was soon bustling with important dignitaries and curious spectators. All were excited finally to see the famous zebra and his fellow beasts in action. Unbeknown to Julius and his friends, Rome had been talking about little else since his fight with Victorius.
Tickets, normally free for such events, were passing hands for very high prices – with the cost of some seats equalling a whole year’s income for a shopkeeper!
In the barracks, little Pliny the mouse was giving the gang a big pep talk. “Now remember what you’ve been taught! Keep those bodies behind the shield, don’t swing your sword wildly and NEVER blink! Don’t EVER take your eyes off the enemy, or you’ll be DONE FOR!”
Milus was sitting on his bed, carefully cleaning his trident. “We must be cautious,” he muttered. “Today is just a showpiece for Hadrian, but these gladiators will be aiming to hurt us. They may be regarded as the lowest of the lows in Roman society, but gladiators are very proud of their sport and we are the unwelcome beetles in their porridge.”
Julius had a sudden wave of nerves. “What if they completely thrash us?” he gulped. “We don’t stand a chance in the Birthday Games if we can’t win a rehearsal! We’ll be dog food for CERTAIN!”
Felix stood up. “Listen, guys, I vote that if we lose we try and make a run for it. I’m not hanging around knowing I’m going to be bashed to a pulp.”
There was a ripple of agreement – but Pliny was furious. “OI, OI ,OI! There’ll be no escaping on my watch! Just put on a good show to impress Hadrian; that’s all that matters today. We’ll worry about the Birthday Games later. Trust me!”
The nervous animals trooped out to a barrage of trumpets and wild cheering. The air was filled with a confetti of petals and flowers.
“Wow. They really love us!” Julius whispered to Cornelius, while waving back to the crowd.
But as they cheerfully paraded around the arena lapping up the applause, from the opposite end strode out the gladiators – also to a great roar of approval.
“We aren’t the only popular ones…” replied Cornelius.
They all took their places in the front row of the arena, right next to one another.
On the opposite side, Hadrian sat in his specially decked-out viewing box, furnished with all sorts of splendid silks and gold. He was deep in conversation with Septimus, who was by his side looking quite nervous and agitated.
The trumpets blew again and Septimus quickly stood up. He thrust his arms into the air. “Citizens of Rome! You are about to witness a unique exhibition of gladiatorial combat!
“For the past month, we have taken these lowly beasts and, at Hadrian’s bidding, trained them to the highest level!
“So, prepare yourselves for MAN VERSUS BEAST! LET THE GAMES BEGIN!”
Both groups of gladiators moved into position and faced each other.
A man sporting a white tunic with two red stripes running down the front marched in, holding a long stick. It was the Summa Rudis – the referee.
He welcomed the spectators.
“Gregatim? What’s that?” whispered Julius.
“He means he wants a group fight,” Cornelius explained. “We’ll probably be acting out some ancient battle. The Romans love that kind of thing.”
“Over 150 years ago,” continued the Summa Rudis, “our glorious leader, Julius Caesar, conquered the barbarian hordes of Gaul at Alesia! A historic event which will be recreated today before your VERY EYES!”
The trumpets blew and the Summa Rudis waved the two groups off to opposite ends, where they each found a costume box.
“I knew it!” grumped Cornelius, rummaging through the trunk and pulling out a big lump of matted hair.
“We DO have to wear stupid moustaches!”
Pliny sneaked over to give them a last boost of morale. “Good work, lads. You look magnificent!”
“And don’t worry,” Pliny continued. “This group fight makes no difference to your training. Keep your body shielded and your eyes on the enemy. Ain’t no way you can fail! Show Hadrian what you’re made of!”
As they turned round to make their way back to the centre of the arena, they discovered it had been hastily transformed into a makeshift battleground, with fake trees and rocks and wooden ramps disguised as grassy hillocks.
“Oh, come on, misery guts!” huffed Rufus. “We may as well enjoy ourselves. Let’s give this crowd a good show!” And with that, he leapt into the centre of the arena, swinging his sword around and hopping about on his lanky legs as if he were fighting an invisible enemy.
The crowd rose to its feet and cheered at the prancing giraffe. This was what they’d come to see! What peculiar but wonderful animals! The rest of the gang ran to join him and began warming up with their own little routines. And when everyone caught sight of Julius, they were in raptures!
Julius didn’t disappoint. He twirled his sword into the air, throwing the crowd into even greater thralls of excitement. “Ha ha! Maybe we can do this!” he shouted confidently.
A burst of trumpets heralded the start of their fight.
Milus quickly gathered everyone around him. “Keep tight,” he said. “Don’t let them pick you off. We’ll be stronger if we stay together.”
Out of the silence came a sudden loud thumping sound, which reverberated around the arena. CLUMP! CLUMP! CLUMP! CLUMP!
Felix could barely cope with the suspense. “By the gods! That’s them, isn’t it?! They’re coming! THEY’RE COMING!! WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!”
“STAY CALM!” commanded Milus, keeping his gaze focused ahead.
“Anyway, we’re NOT all going to die,” piped up Cornelius, also fiercely fixing his eyes on the enemy. “Hadrian still want
s us for his birthday bash, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, but whatever happens it’s definitely going to hurt!” whimpered Felix, now a gibbering jelly of a wreck.
“Well, there is that,” conceded Cornelius.
“ARGH!” he cried out suddenly, clutching his face.
Julius quickly turned to his friend, fearing the worst. “Are you all right? Have you been hit by an arrow?!”
“No, no. It’s this blasted moustache. It keeps falling off!”
“This is it!” said Milus. “Here they come!” He clenched his trident just that little bit tighter.
“I-I-I can’t do this…” gibbered Felix. “I’m not a gladiator, I’m an ANTELOPE!” He was shaking so hard that his helmet fell over his eyes.
“Hold it together,” said Rufus. “It’s not like us giraffes are cut out for this sort of thing, either.”
“EXACTLY!” spluttered Felix. “We normally RUN at the slightest sign of trouble! Even a gust of wind whistling through a bush sets us off!”
“HOLD YOUR PLACE!” roared Milus.
Suddenly, the row of Romans let out a great roar and charged at the nervous troop of animals.
“NOT ME, I’M OFF!” screamed Felix, chucking his sword and shield in the air and legging it straight out through the exit.
“GAH! FORGET THAT CRETIN!” raged Milus. “BRACE YOURSELVES! BRACE YOURSELVES!!”
Julius Zebra Page 4
