by Tim Collins
‘Er, I’m not Honorius,’ I said. ‘Sorry. I was just hiding there as a joke.’
The woman grabbed me by the ear. ‘Is that your idea of a joke? Pretending to be my dead son and hiding behind his grave?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’
The woman yanked on my ear ... really hard.
‘Stop!’ I shouted. ‘That REALLY hurts.’
Just then I noticed Cornelius. He was standing nearby with Gaius and Flavia, and they were all killing themselves laughing.
March XXIX
My leg’s healed now, although my ear still hurts from all the pulling. I need to get back to my training.
But Dad was really odd when I asked him. He didn’t agree to start my lessons again, but he WAS interested in what I was saying for once. Very interested, in fact.
He was reading in the atrium and ignored me as usual when I started telling him about my failed prank. But when I got to the bit about the two men I’d overheard, Dad threw his scroll on the floor and grabbed me by the shoulders.
He made me repeat what the men said over and over and OVER again. Then he told me what he thought the two men were discussing ...
It’s TOP TOP TOP SECRET.
It’s so top secret that I had to promise never to mention it to ANYONE, and not even write it here. So I’m going to have to stop writing right now ...
March XXX
Arggh! Not telling my secret is so annoying. I’m going to have to write about it here and hide this scroll behind my bed every night. Otherwise I’ll BURST.
Here goes ... Dad thinks I overheard a plot to murder Julius Caesar. ‘Baldy’ is the nickname some senators use for him because of the dumb hairstyle he shares with me.
According to Dad, Caesar has loads of enemies because he keeps making important decisions without asking anyone else. Some of Caesar’s enemies must have hired assassins to bump him off. But which ones?
I asked Dad what would happen if Caesar was murdered. He said that Rome would collapse into chaos, blood would run in the streets and we’d have to flee to the countryside where they don’t have any stuff like gladiator fights or chariot races. Boring!
So now Dad has me wandering around Rome until I find the men with the high and low voices again.
Will I find them? I doubt it. There are three-quarters of a million people in Rome. I can’t listen to ALL of them. But Dad won’t let me restart my training unless I try.
March XXXI
Well that was a MASSIVE waste of time. I wandered around for hours, dodging falling poo in alleyways all over Rome. I listened and listened, got some seriously odd looks from people who thought I was just being nosy, but didn’t hear the voices again.
When I failed, Dad went on and on about how much danger we’d be in if Caesar was killed. I said this was all the more reason to restart my training, which I thought was quite a clever way of bringing the conversation back round to what I wanted.
He told me to ask Mum if I could train again, and she told me to ask her chickens. Typical. This is the MOST important decision Mum and Dad need to make about my life right now, and they want to leave it to a couple of useless flightless birds. Are chickens going to decide EVERYTHING now?
April I
The Good News: The chickens ate their grain last night, so I was allowed to start my training again.
The Bad News: Mum heard an owl screeching, which she took as a bad omen, so now training is on hold again.
Hey, would any other birds like to comment on my life? Perhaps there’s a pigeon out there that doesn’t like my dress sense? Or maybe there’s a crow that wants to complain about my choice of friends?
That loudmouth owl had better stop hooting omens. If it tries it again, it will be the one heading for bad luck.
Why won’t Dad ever buy me what I want? He’s happy to let Mum buy countless sacred chickens and pigs. But whenever I want something, he pretends he didn’t hear me, or claims we’ve got no money.
We went down to the auction to buy a new slave today, and Dad insisted on buying the cheapest one.
There was a Greek kid called Linos who was my age and could speak Latin. I asked Dad if we could buy him so I could talk to him about my combat training, but he refused. He said it would be a waste of money as we already had plenty of slaves who could speak Latin. But we don’t have any my age, do we?
We ended up buying a woman who was about a HUNDRED years old. Dad thought he was getting a bargain, but he needs to think long-term. As soon as that woman works hard, she’s going to keel over and need replacing. Linos might have been twice the money, but he’d last FIVE times longer.
As we wandered home with our ungrateful new slave muttering to herself in Greek, I asked Dad what would happen to Linos.
‘He might end up working from dawn until dusk in a stone quarry, but he’d probably STILL prefer it to hearing your boring stories, Dorkius,’ said Dad.
Ha ha, I DON’T think.
April II
I went down to the public bathhouse this afternoon. I was just relaxing on a bench, enjoying the soothing steam, when I heard a couple of men chatting on the other side of the room.
At first I didn’t pay them much attention. But after a while their voices started to sound familiar.
‘Not long now,’ said a man with a very high voice. ‘Make sure you’re ready.’
‘It had better be soon,’ said a man with a very deep voice. ‘I’ve turned down some good torture work from the money-lenders for this.’
It was them. The men I’d heard in the graveyard were RIGHT HERE.
The room was too steamy for me to see anything, so I dashed over to where the voices had come from. Then I yelped in pain and rushed back. The floor was SERIOUSLY hot.
I put my sandals on and crossed the floor again. There was no one there. The men had gone, but they couldn’t have got far. I was going to find them and save Rome from disaster.
I searched all around the baths. I checked all the pools, gardens and massage rooms, but I couldn’t see them.
Just as I was about to give up, I heard the voices again. Two men were making their way out of the exit. This is what they looked like, just in case I forget them:
I ran after the men, and got outside just in time to see them turning into an alleyway. I wanted to keep going, but something felt wrong ... it seemed very cold for midday.
Oops. I’d left all my clothes in the changing room. The SHAME! I tried to cover myself up and sidestepped back to the baths. Even worse, Cornelius, Gaius and Flavia chose that exact moment to walk past.
April III
When I told Dad what happened yesterday, he said I should have chased after the men even though I had no clothes on. No way. I want to save Julius Caesar, but not if it means running around the streets of Rome stark naked.
Dad thinks it’ll be easier to find the men now I know what they look like, and he sent me out to look for them again.
It didn’t really make things any easier, of course. I knew one of them was short and the other was tall, but it didn’t narrow things down much. I spent all day looking for the men.
I DID see someone I recognized, though – Linos, the Greek kid. He works for the laundry now, and was carrying a huge pot of wee. It was really full, TOTALLY gross, and wee kept splashing over the sides on to his ragged clothes.
‘Sorry we couldn’t buy you,’ I said. ‘Dad never forks out for good stuff. I’ve been bugging him for a bronze model of a chariot for years, and he still hasn’t bought it.’
‘Never mind,’ said Linos. ‘Things could be worse.’
‘You’re carrying a massive pot of wee around,’ I said. ‘How could things possibly be worse?’
‘I’m learning a trade,’ said Linos. ‘I can already tell which wee will work best just from the smell. Besides, the other boy they bought has to stamp on the clothes in the washtub. Compared to that, this is luxury.’
April IV
I went to the amphitheatre this aftern
oon. Julius Caesar had some prisoners paraded in front of him. He scowled at them, then raised his hand. Executioners pulled ropes tight around their necks, and the prisoners choked and gurgled until they fell limply.
I thought it was all pretty gross, but the crowd rose to their feet and cheered.
Dad says Caesar always kills a few war prisoners if he’s worried he’s losing the people’s support, as he knows how much they love a good execution.
After that, it was time for the fights.
The Bad News: My new favourite gladiator, Flamma, was killed by one called Rutuba.
The Good News: Rutuba has a trident and a net just like Triumphus, so the mosaic on my floor is totally up-to-date again. I just need to change the name on it.
April V
Dad told me to lash one of the slaves tonight. He reckons Odius, one of our older slaves, has grown lazy and needs to be taught a lesson. Dad usually does it himself, but he was busy working on a speech for the senate.
I pretended I was too tired, but he told me to stop being a coward and face my responsibility.
‘Your brother loved beating slaves when he was your age. Sometimes he’d punish them just for looking at him in a funny way.’
Gaah! Brawnus does everything better than me. Dad reckons Brawnus’s first word was ‘battle’, whereas mine was ‘flower’, but I’m sure he made that one up.
It was time to prove Dad wrong. I grabbed the lash and called Odius into the garden.
Odius slouched over from the slaves’ quarters, chewing on a stale crust of bread and scratching his stomach.
‘I’ve been told you haven’t been pulling your rather large weight,’ I said. ‘So I need to beat you.’
Odius sniggered. ‘Good joke, Dorkius. You almost had me there.’
I cracked the lash to show him I meant business. Odius’s eyes widened and he dropped the bread.
‘Please don’t whip me. I promise I’ll try harder,’ he snivelled.
‘The time for excuses has passed,’ I said. ‘The time for ruthlessness has arrived.’
I’d love to tell you I whipped Odius, but I just couldn’t. I looked at his shaking hands and wobbling lip. He’d obviously got the message.
‘Alright,’ I said. ‘Just scream as loudly as you can, so it sounds like I’m whipping you.’
Odius screamed so loudly I had to cover my ears. It was the hardest I’d ever seen him work.
Afterwards, I returned the whip, and Dad said I’d done my duty well. At least he was convinced by Odius’s performance.
Now I’m worried I’m not ruthless enough to be a true Roman hero. Maybe I should start with something smaller, like stamping on a mouse. But what if it has baby mice who will be sad if it dies?
It’s not easy being ruthless.
April VI
Terrific news ... Dad is letting me restart training. He was so proud of me for whipping Odius he gave in. Stoutus has agreed to take me back, although he’s demanded extra money to make up for all the stress.
What stress? His body is covered with scars from fierce battles. What harm could I do to him?
Maybe he senses I’m going to be a mighty hero, and he’s frightened of unleashing my power.
April VII
Dad made me get up earlier than the slaves so I could go on another pointless search for the assassins.
But training made up for it. Stoutus let me fight him today. He insisted on wearing armour. What did he expect me to do with my wooden sword? Give him a fatal splinter?
Not that the armour gave him much protection anyway. His massive stomach pushed the two halves apart, straining the ties and hooks to breaking point.
Stoutus was very quick at first. With his first strike, he pressed his wooden sword into my chest and said, ‘Dead.’
I spun round, but he jabbed the sword into the small of my back and said, ‘Really dead.’
I tried sneaking up behind him, but he pushed the sword against my neck and said, ‘Really, really dead.’
After a while, Stoutus’s tunic got all wet with sweat patches and he slowed down. He paused to catch his breath, and I struck my sword into his stomach. NOT a small target, but I still felt proud of landing a blow on such a military legend.
Unfortunately, the force of the strike made Stoutus burp. GROSS!
It was like an inbuilt defence to blast attackers with rotten chicken-breath. I staggered backwards, my eyes streaming from the stench. Stoutus swung his sword into my chest and said, ‘This time you’re really, really, REALLY dead.’
April VIII
I killed Stoutus today.
Okay, I didn’t actually kill him, but I pressed my wooden sword right into his chest, which would have totally finished him off in a real battle.
Stoutus was very quick at first, but he soon grew slow and sweaty again. I whacked my sword into his with such force that it went spinning across the floor.
I shoved my sword through the gap in his armour. ‘This time YOU’RE the one who’s dead,’ I said.
‘It doesn’t count. My armour isn’t on properly,’ said Stoutus.
‘Of course it isn’t on properly,’ I said. ‘You’d have to cut out feasting for a month if you wanted to do it up.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Stoutus. ‘Anyway, it’s good to have a layer of fat to protect yourself in battle. Harder for swords to get through.’
Yeah, and you can always sit on your enemies, I wanted to say. But I decided I might really end up dead if I said it out loud.
April IX
Dad decided HE’D go and look for the assassins today, because I wasn’t doing it right. Not sure how he is going to recognize voices he has NEVER heard.
I, on the other hand, had my first ever riding lesson. As Stoutus led me into his stables to pick a horse, they all reared up and whinnied. I thought this might be a bad omen, but then I realized they were just worried Stoutus was going to sit on them and crush them.
One of the horses had a mane that swept forward over its head just like Caesar’s hair. I took this as a sign that he was a horse fit for a mighty hero.
‘That’s Candidus,’ said Stoutus. ‘Good choice. Hop on.’
I’d never been on a horse before, and I had no idea how to mount one. My face was level with its back. Was I supposed to leap as high as my head and land on top?
I hung on to Candidus’s back and tried to swing my legs up, but I just kicked him and made him bolt across the field.
Stoutus ran after the horse and brought him back. He tried holding on to one of my feet while I lifted the other over Candidus’s back. I flapped around, while Stoutus pushed up with all his strength. Finally, I stretched my leg over and clambered on.
At last, I was a noble rider in the cavalry. I was ready to charge into battle. Oh, I was facing the wrong way.
Stoutus pulled me down and said we’d try again tomorrow.
April X
Stoutus ordered three slaves to join us in the field today. One of them was very short, one very tall, and the other was normal height.
They crouched down next to Candidus, creating a set of weird human stairs for me to climb. Pretty embarrassing, but I was so excited about riding a horse I didn’t care.
I kicked my legs into Candidus’s sides, and we were off. Stoutus told me how to steer with the reins as we trotted around the field.
I rode round and round all day, as Stoutus chewed on a plate of goose livers. At the end of the lesson, he said I was a natural rider and I beamed with pride.
Every day I get closer to becoming a proper Roman hero. Now all I need to do is catch the assassins, save Rome, and grow as tall as my brother.
The slaves had to form the human steps again so I could get off. I apologized to the tallest one, but he said he didn’t mind.
He said Stoutus had stood on him to mount Candidus once, and he was so heavy it was like being trampled by a horse. Compared to Stoutus, I was pretty easy work.
April XI
I had a day off from sear
ching today and we went to a chariot race. Because of Dad’s job, we got to sit on marble seats at the front. Some people get up at dawn to queue for good seats, but we just strolled right in and got a great view.
The moment we sat down, the gates swung open and the chariots thundered out.
My riding lessons have given me a new respect for charioteers. If I find it hard just to get on a horse, steering four of them around those crazy bends in the circuit must be pretty tough.
We support the white team, but they never seem to win. I’ve asked Dad if I can switch teams, but he said proper chariot fans are loyal fans. There were twelve races today, and our team lost ALL of them.
We almost won the last race, but the blue team overtook right at the end.
Some of our fans accused the blue fans of putting a curse on our racer, and a fight broke out in the stands.
As a reward for winning the race, a horse from the blue team was sacrificed to the god Mars – a pretty strange reward. If I was one of those horses I’d WANT to lose.