Frankie vs. the Rowdy Romans

by Frank Lampard

  “This should be easy,” said Max, scampering toward the ball. “The other side hasn’t even shown up!” Suddenly a trumpet blared, and Max froze.

  “Welcome the Rowdy Romans!” cried the bald announcer at the Ref’s side.

  The gates opposite Frankie and his team burst open in a cloud of sand and dust, and two figures entered. They couldn’t have looked more different. One was a skinny, bare-chested man who must have weighed about the same as Frankie. He wore a helmet, a studded belt, and a kind of leather skirt. Clutching a long, pronged trident in one hand, he dragged a net in the other.

  Next to him stood a giant: a man over seven feet tall. His helmet was big and shiny on his head, while his chest and arms were clad in thick, dented armor. He carried a heavy club.

  “Beware Snatcher and Brutus!” yelled the announcer. The crowd cheered. “And their leader …” he continued, “Captain Lasher!”

  The cries became wilder as a horse charged into the arena, scattering the servants who’d opened the gates. The horse pulled a chariot in which stood a tall woman wearing tight-fitting leather armor and cracking a whip in the air. At the center of the arena, she pulled back sharply on the reins, and the chariot skidded to a halt. Behind it, the dust settled.

  Captain Lasher turned her steely gaze on Frankie and his team and smiled. “This shouldn’t take long,” she said.

  “We’re toast,” said Charlie. “Even if we do have one more player than they do.”

  “They’re not that scary,” said Louise, throwing a glance toward Brutus. “Remember when we played Kennedy Elementary? They had a big defender, too.”

  He didn’t have a club, though, thought Frankie.

  The Ref blew his whistle and the announcer turned over a large hourglass filled with sand. “Let the battle commence!”

  Frankie and his teammates ran for the ball. At the same time, Captain Lasher sent her horse forward with a whipcrack. She also appeared to be holding something at waist level with her other hand, while balancing perfectly in the chariot.

  What’s she up to? Frankie wondered.

  THWANG!

  Frankie saw something spinning by the side of her chariot, and realized too late what it was. A slingshot!

  A ball of wood the size of his head hurtled toward him. Just before it hit, a shape leapt to his side. Charlie caught the ball in his gloves and it thumped into the sand.

  “Thanks!” said Frankie.

  THWANG!

  Another ball shot out, this time heading straight for Max. The little dog froze.

  Charlie dove across to stop the shot, catching it in midair.

  “Great save,” called Max. “I was almost a fur pancake!”

  “That’s a foul!” cried Louise.

  Captain Lasher drew her chariot alongside the ball and scooped it up in one hand.

  “And that!” said Louise. “Handball!”

  Frankie looked up hopefully at the Ref, but he was sitting now, hardly paying attention: One servant was fanning him with a huge plume of peacock feathers; another was offering him a goblet and a platter of grapes.

  Captain Lasher cackled. “Silly girl! There aren’t any rules in the Colosseum!” She tugged hard on the reins and began steering her chariot toward the goal.

  Frankie knew he couldn’t catch up to a galloping horse. His eyes landed on one of the wooden balls. Without stopping to think, he grabbed it, spun around, and hurled it with a grunt. If I can just distract her …

  The wooden ball landed right in the chariot’s path. Captain Lasher pulled hard at the reins to avoid it, and the chariot tipped as one wheel left the ground. “Aaah!” she cried, as it toppled sideways.

  Frankie winced as she spilled out onto the dust. The soccer ball rolled loose and Louise was quickly on it.

  Captain Lasher climbed to her feet and began to right her fallen chariot. Frankie was glad she wasn’t hurt. “You won’t get away with this!” she yelled.

  But the crash had broken her slingshot. Now to win the game. “Louise! Go!” Frankie shouted, pointing to the goal. His friend turned and began to run. But Brutus was now lumbering into her path.

  “On the wing!” called Max. “Pass it! Pass it!”

  Louise looked up, saw Max, and went to pass. But then a net landed silently over her head, and tangled up her feet. She fell headlong in a heap.

  “Gotcha!” said Snatcher, the gladiator with the net. He speared the ball with his trident and held it up.

  “Give me ball!” said Brutus.

  “I want to score,” said Snatcher.

  Brutus raised his club. “You score always. Goal-hogger. My turn.”

  Snatcher’s face twisted in disgust, but he flung the ball toward the massive, armored gladiator.

  Frankie saw his chance as the ball flew through the air. He sprinted to get there first. Brutus saw him coming and swung his club. Frankie dodged before it cracked his skull, and took the ball, leaving Brutus spinning around dizzily.

  A few feet away, Max was busy trying to tug the net off of Louise. Charlie was making his way toward their goal, just in case he had to make a save. It’s up to me, thought Frankie.

  Brutus now raised the club and charged like a bull. “Me squash boy!”

  You’re too slow! Frankie thought, just like the defender at Kennedy Elementary. But, just then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed with a shock that Snatcher was approaching from the other direction, stabbing the air with his trident.

  Time for a new plan.

  Frankie lifted his foot and blasted the ball at Brutus. It struck his leg, making him stumble.

  The crowd sucked in a breath as one: “OOOH!”

  The ball bounced back to Frankie, and he took aim and fired again. This time, the ball slammed into Brutus’s helmet, spinning it around on his head so he couldn’t see.

  “AAAH!” gasped the spectators.

  Brutus had righted himself and was now swinging his club wildly, getting closer still. Frankie booted the ball hard and this time it hit the club, sending it flying out of the gladiator’s hand.

  The crowd didn’t say anything, which surprised Frankie. Then he turned and saw why.

  Captain Lasher was in her chariot again. And she was thundering straight toward him.

  Captain Lasher twirled her whip over her head, her eyes gleaming with anger. The horse snorted wildly. The ground shook under Frankie’s feet.

  “Run!” yelled Louise.

  But Frankie knew that if he turned and ran, the chariot would catch him easily. He held his ground.

  “Crush him like a grape!” cried Snatcher. Frankie saw him hopping up and down gleefully.

  Sand sprayed up from under the horse’s hooves and from the churning wheels of the chariot.

  “Grind his bones!” growled Brutus.

  When Frankie was close enough to see the patterns on Captain Lasher’s armor, he bent his legs and dove sideways. He felt the hot breath of the horse and a rush of air as the chariot shot past.

  Frankie rolled over and found his feet again as he coughed and blinked in a huge cloud of dust. Squinting, he tried desperately to see out of it.

  “Did I get him?” Captain Lasher was shouting. “Did I squash the boy?”

  “Where’s Frankie?” yelled Charlie. “Frankie!”

  “I’m here!” called Frankie, glancing around. “Where’s the ball?”

  “I see it!” barked Max. The little dog dashed into a patch of swirling sand, just as Snatcher rushed in from the other side.

  “Grrrr!”

  “Ouch!”

  “That’s mine!”

  “Get off me, you little —”

  “Foul!”

  “That’s my leg!”

  Max scampered out from the dust cloud, poking the ball with his nose. As the dust settled, Frankie saw Snatcher squirming on the ground, tangled in his own net.

  “You fool!” screamed Captain Lasher.

  Max dropped the ball between his paws and passed it to Louise. The chariot turn
ed and headed toward her. Louise kicked the ball over the horse and it dropped to Frankie. There was nothing between him and the goal.

  Nothing other than seven feet of muscles and armor: Brutus.

  “Come, boy!” Brutus said. “You not get past me now.” He spread his trunk-like legs and tossed his helmet aside. He was bald on top, and his head looked like a misshapen potato, but even dirtier. He didn’t seem to have a neck at all.

  Frankie simply dribbled the ball between his legs.

  “Nutmegged him!” shouted Charlie.

  The goal was wide open in front of Frankie. Just keep calm, he thought.

  Twenty feet away, he lifted his foot to shoot.

  SPLAT!

  Something wet hit Frankie’s cheek and he stumbled. The ball rolled away.

  Frankie felt his face. Urgh! It was slimy. Then his eye fell on a rotten apple on the ground.

  SQUISH!

  A moldy cabbage landed at his feet and the spectators jeered.

  “What’s going on?” Frankie muttered. As he looked up, half of a loaf of moldy bread sailed through the air toward his head.

  A gloved hand batted it away. “Looks like the home crowd is turning against us,” said Charlie. “Look out!”

  He reached past Frankie’s face and caught a mushy carrot. Now things began to rain down from every side: rotten fruit and vegetables; stinky fish heads; sandals; even a pottery flask that smashed into shards, showering their legs with sharp bits. Frankie skipped from side to side, ducking and jumping, while Charlie did his best to stop as many missiles as possible. But there were too many, even for him, and soon the whole goal was filled with garbage and old food.

  Frankie and Charlie backed off toward the center of the field, leaving the ball. Only Max braved the downpour, to snatch up what looked like a large bone.

  A piercing whistle cut through the crowd’s boos and all eyes went to the Ref. Frankie saw that the sand in the hourglass timer had run out.

  The Ref whispered to the announcer, who then rose to face the arena. “Friends, Romans, boys and girls!” he proclaimed. “Listen up! Normal time has ended, and the Ref is getting tired. The game will be decided by sudden death. The next team to score will be the victor.”

  “I wonder what happens to the losers,” said Charlie.

  “You’ll be back in the dungeon for a long time,” said Captain Lasher.

  “But we’ve got school on Monday,” said Louise. “I’ve been studying for a math test.”

  “Well, you can count the rats down there,” Captain Lasher replied.

  * * *

  As Frankie’s teammates lined up alongside him, servants cleared away the garbage from the goal area. Brutus dragged Snatcher to his feet and they took their places behind their leader’s chariot.

  Frankie realized for the first time that he was afraid. Not of being run over by a chariot, skewered by a trident, or bear-hugged by a giant. Scared of failing his friends.

  “I’m sorry I brought us here,” he said.

  “It’s not your fault,” said Charlie. “It was Max who jumped into the portal.”

  Max looked up from his bone, ears drooping. “Don’t blame me – I was just trying to get the ball. I’m a dog. I fetch.”

  “It’s no one’s fault,” said Louise. “And we’re not going to lose.”

  “It’s not fair,” grumbled Snatcher. “They’ve got one more player than us.”

  Captain Lasher grinned. “Not for long.” She cracked her whip and the ground in front of her chariot opened up.

  “A trapdoor!” said Charlie. “Cool!”

  The crowd began mumbling a word, but Frankie couldn’t hear what it was. As the chant got louder, he realized they were saying “Ferox! Ferox! Ferox!”

  From the trapdoor in the arena floor emerged a huge, shaggy head of tawny fur.

  “Um … not cool,” said Louise.

  A lion padded into the arena and the crowd went wild.

  The lion looked around, and his black eyes settled on Frankie.

  “I guess that’s Ferox,” said Charlie with a gulp.

  Opening his mouth, which looked like a red chasm, the lion roared. Frankie saw gleaming white canine teeth as long as his fingers. Slingshots, whips, hooves, nets, clubs, and tridents, thought Frankie. And now teeth and claws. Can this match get any tougher?

  The whistle blew.

  Ferox prowled forward and stood over the ball.

  “Anyone want to try tackling him?” asked Frankie hopefully.

  Louise and Charlie shook their heads.

  Ferox began to walk slowly toward their goal, with the ball under his paws.

  We need a distraction, thought Frankie. He turned to Max. “Better give me that bone, Max,” he said.

  “No way!” said the dog. “It’s mine. Finders keepers!”

  “If you don’t hand it over,” said Louise, “it might be all you have to eat for a long time. I don’t think the catering in the dungeons is five-star.”

  Max grumbled, but tossed the bone to Frankie.

  Frankie picked it up. “Hey, Ferox!” he called, holding the bone aloft. The lion turned his head and sniffed. “I’ve got a treat for you!”

  Ferox left the ball and ran toward Frankie, who hurled the bone back over his head and watched the lion sprint after it.

  Brutus reached the ball at the same moment as Louise. She bounced off the mountain of muscle and landed on her backside.

  “Pass it!” called Snatcher.

  Brutus set off toward the goal in lumbering strides.

  “To me! To me!” shrieked Captain Lasher.

  Brutus didn’t even look up from the ball.

  He wants the glory for himself, thought Frankie. We’ll see about that.

  “Charlie, get out on the wing,” he said, dashing after Brutus. “Hey, big guy!” he shouted.

  Brutus looked up, grimaced, and swung his club. Frankie dropped into a slide, skidded beneath the club, and managed to get his foot to the ball. He looked for Charlie and saw him moving toward the goal. Frankie passed the ball and watched it fly straight to his friend.

  “Great pass!” yelled Louise. “Shoot, Charlie!”

  Charlie managed to control the ball. He slammed it toward the goal.

  Frankie raised his arms to cheer….

  SMACK!

  The ball stopped dead as three metal prongs stabbed it into the ground.

  “It’s not over yet!” Snatcher cried. As Charlie chased after the ball, the gladiator swished his net across the ground, flicking sand into Charlie’s face.

  “Hey!” Charlie said. “I can’t see!” He staggered back and forth, trying to wipe the sand out of his eyes.

  “Take your gloves off!” shouted Louise.

  She might as well tell Max to take off his fur, thought Frankie, turning as he heard pounding hooves and rattling wheels.

  Captain Lasher was heading for the ball, and Charlie stood right in her path, stumbling blindly. Frankie started running toward his friend.

  “Move left!” yelled Louise.

  Charlie sidestepped.

  “No, my left!” she cried. “Your right.”

  Charlie went the other way.

  Captain Lasher was closing in on him. “He’s mine!” she said.

  Snatcher was twirling his net, ready to throw it over Charlie’s head. “No, he’s mine!”

  A plan came to Frankie’s mind. “Stand your ground, Charlie. Get ready!” He put on an extra burst of speed.

  “I’m … I’m always ready!” said his friend.

  Frankie reached Charlie a split second before the chariot. Snatcher’s net fell like a shadow overhead. Frankie slammed into his friend, knocking him out of the way.

  “Move it!” screamed Captain Lasher.

  “Stop!” yelped Snatcher.

  Frankie and Charlie landed in a heap. Looking back, Frankie saw Snatcher being dragged along behind the chariot, his net tangled in its wheels. Captain Lasher was hanging on to her reins as the horse gallo
ped around the arena.

  “Fools!” roared Brutus. “You let th ― ARGH!” He didn’t finish his sentence as he was sent spinning by the chariot as it charged past him.

  Louise tugged the trident free of the ball. “Let’s finish this,” she said.

  But as they turned toward the goal, something very big, very hairy, and very fierce filled the space between them and the goalposts. It ran its tongue down one of its tusklike teeth. “You forgot about me, didn’t you?” Ferox said.

  Charlie, finally able to see again, joined Frankie and Louise. “Any more bright ideas? I don’t want to dribble the ball around those claws.”

  Frankie was about to volunteer when Max trotted up and nosed the ball. “Well, if none of you are brave enough …”

  As Max the dog walked toward the goal, Ferox the lion strode out to meet him.

  “I don’t want to look,” said Charlie.

  When they were a couple of feet apart, Ferox roared, blasting Max’s fur like a hurricane.

  Max sat back on his haunches, his front paws tucked under the ball.

  Frankie began to understand what he was up to – they’d practiced this trick in his backyard last Sunday.

  “Aren’t you scared?” asked Ferox.

  “Why would I be scared?” Max growled.

  “Because I’m a lion,” said Ferox. “And you’re a puny little dog. I wouldn’t even have to chew.”

  Frankie saw Max quiver and edge forward.

  “I know that,” said Max. “But the thing is …”

  “Yes?” growled Ferox, drool spilling from his lips.

  “The thing is,” said Max, “I’m just causing a distraction.”

  Max suddenly sprang up, flicking the ball high in the air. Ferox jerked his body to follow its arcing path … right to Frankie, who lifted his right foot, twisted his hips, and connected perfectly.

  The ball flew between the posts.

  Frankie’s teammates piled on top of him.

  “SUPERGOOAAALL!” shouted Louise.

  “Even I would have struggled to stop that,” admitted Charlie.