by Chris Blake
“You’re not having fun, are you?” He blasted them with his foul doggy breath.
“N-no!” Isis said, covering her nose with her tunic.
Anubis started to heave with unkind laughter. “You’ll be torn from limb to limb in the arena!”
Isis stood tall, fists balled and with her chin stuck out in grim determination. “My opponents had better train hard before they square up to this princess.”
“Ha! The young princess is deluded as usual! Two children against the best fighter in history? You don’t stand a chance.”
Tom’s teeth were chattering with fear as he thought about having to fight in the arena. “Can I just ask?” he said in a small voice, looking up at Anubis. “Why are you being so horrible to us? Why can’t you find your own amulets? You’re a god, after all.”
Anubis fixed Tom with his glowing red eyes. “She hasn’t told you, has she?”
Isis shook her head and blushed bright red.
“Told me what?” Tom asked.
He looked over at Isis but her large brown eyes were fixed firmly on her sandal-clad feet.
“Princess Isis tried to steal an amulet from me,” Anubis barked. “If I had my way, I wouldn’t let her into the Afterlife at all. But even gods have rules. If she has the payment, I must let her through.”
“So why don’t you?” Tom asked. “You know where the amulets are. Just let her through now. Surely trapping her in the statue was punishment enough?”
Anubis scowled, showing his razor-sharp fangs. “What would be the fun in that, boy? Who knows? If she survives the challenges, she may even learn her lesson. If you both survive, that is!” He started to laugh nastily.
The ground trembled again. Tom marvelled that the other prisoners didn’t even look round to see where the noise was coming from.
“Remember, Isis!” Anubis growled. “No amulets, no Afterlife!”
“I know! I know!” Isis said through gritted teeth.
“Now, I do hope you both enjoy Ancient Rome,” Anubis boomed. “Because if you don’t find the first amulet, you’ll be stuck here forever!”
“Imagine being torn limb from limb,” Tom said above the snoring of the other prisoners. He shivered at the thought. “Ouch.”
Isis yawned. “Go to sleep, Tom! Rufus will be in here soon enough.”
Tom propped himself up on his elbow. “Sleep? You’re joking, right? I can’t get Anubis’s words out of my head.” He sat up, hugging his knees to his body. “Do you really think they do that sort of thing?” he asked. “Surely they spare you if you surrender? Not that I would surrender, of course.”
In the gloomy light of the breaking dawn, Isis stuck out her chin. “Well, nobody’s tearing my limbs off. I waited five thousand years to get a body again. I’m not going to let some gladiator ruin it.”
Tom straightened himself out, feeling more determined. “If I die in that arena and Mum finds out, she’ll kill me!” he said. “You and I will just have to work as a team.”
“A team?” Isis squeaked. “Princesses don’t really do teams. By rights, you should just throw down your life for me.”
Tom tutted and shook his head. “Then how will you get your amulets? You might not like to admit it, but you do need my help. Plus, this is all your fault in the first place!”
“Oh, yes, of course, we’re in this together,” Isis said, quickly changing tack. “A team we shall be! Nobody beats Isis Amun-Ra and her trusty friend, Tom!”
Suddenly, there was a crash as Rufus flung open the barred door.
“Get up, you lazy lot!” he shouted, brandishing his whip. “Training time!”
Everyone in the cell started to stir and stretch.
Isis held her nose. “Ugh! I’d forgotten that prisoners smell so bad.”
Tom wrinkled his nose at her. “You don’t smell of flowers either, Your Royal Ponginess.”
When they had all gathered round, Rufus rubbed his shiny, bald head. He seemed excited.
“More news about the show!” Rufus said, grinning like a shark. “Hilarus will fight catervarii, which means he’ll fight on his own against a group of gladiators. We’ll be selecting five of you lucky lot to take on the famous Hilarus in person!”
All around, Tom heard groans coming from the men.
“It’s not fair!” one man cried. “Hilarus is too good.”
“How are we supposed to survive that?” another jeered.
“You’re not!” Rufus answered cheerfully. “Anyone matched against the great hero can expect to die. That’s what the crowds have come to see.”
Tom caught Isis’s eye and winked.
“This is our big chance,” he whispered. “You and me. We’ll get picked to fight against Hilarus and get that amulet, or danger’s not my middle name.”
“Is danger your middle name?” Isis asked, toying with her chains.
Tom shook his head. “No, it’s Nigel.”
Outside, Rufus stood on top of a wooden trunk full of weapons and clapped his hands together.
“Listen up! I’m going to hold trials to pick the five best fighters to face Hilarus,” he announced. “So pick your best category – you can only try out for one.”
Once again, a ripple of complaint moved around the prisoners.
Tom eyed a tall, skinny young man, who was standing close by, whispering to an older man. The older man had the biggest muscles Tom had ever seen.
“It’s too dangerous,” the young man said to the older man. “I really don’t want to get picked. What should I do?”
The older man leaned forward and whispered, “Pretend to be useless. The more rubbish you are with a sword, the less likely it is you’ll get picked.”
Tom nudged Isis and pulled her to one side. “We’ve got to do our best and really stand out,” he said. “It might not be so difficult if the others are trying to lose.”
As the prisoners were led out to the training ground after breakfast, Tom and Isis talked about what to try out for. It was obvious that Isis should try out as a sagittarius, or archer. But Tom wasn’t great at any of the categories. He couldn’t ride a horse, so it was no use trying out to be a mounted fighter. The scissors were just too heavy for him, and he’d kept getting tangled up in the net.
“I guess I’ll try out as a dimachaerus,” Tom said, not feeling very hopeful.
But he needn’t have worried. When the trials began, the other prisoners pretended to have forgotten everything they had learned. Tom watched in disbelief as most of the men spent the morning tripping over their own swords or just simply falling over. The first three places went to the fighters who were the least bad in their groups. Tom and Isis were still waiting to compete. As the minutes ticked by Tom felt more and more nervous. What would happen if they didn’t get chosen? How else would they get close to Hilarus?
At last it was time for the mounted archers to try out. Isis, who was already a dab hand with a bow and an excellent horseman, easily reached the final three of her group.
Rufus strutted back and forth in front of Isis and the two grim-faced men who were left. “I’m going to set a tricky test to decide between you three,” he said. “How about a little target practice?”
He tied an apple to the top of a pole and then turned to Isis and the two remaining men.
“The best shot on horseback from the opposite end of the courtyard wins their place in the fight against Hilarus,” he said.
The first man galloped up to the firing point. He aimed his arrow, stretched the string of his bow back and ping! The arrow sailed up through the air, down towards the apple… and missed by a whisker!
Tom let out the breathe he didn’t realise he’d been holding in. Isis looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.
The next man to try out wore a bandage around his head.
“Your turn!” Rufus said.
The man looked at him blankly.
“I said, your turn!” Rufus growled.
Grasping at his bandaged ear, the man frowned
at Rufus and then smiled. “Oh, sorry,” he shouted. “I can’t hear properly. I got hit on the head by a shield yesterday.”
“Good luck,” bellowed Isis.
“Eh?” said the man, swivelling around and clonking Isis in the face with his bow.
“Ouch!” squealed Isis, rubbing her cheek dramatically.
“Oh, stop being such a baby,” said Tom.
“Oops! Sorry, sonny,” said the man. As he clumsily climbed up into his saddle, a shower of arrows fell out of his quiver. One sharp point grazed the tip of Tom’s toe.
“Ow!” shouted Tom, hopping on one leg.
“Now who’s acting like a baby,” said Isis.
The man rode his horse to the far end of the arena. He bounced around in the saddle, looking like he was going to fall off. When he got to the end of the courtyard, he took his shot. The arrow whizzed through the air and landed with a clatter on the dusty ground several feet to the left of the apple.
Now it was Isis’s turn.
“Wish me luck,” Isis said as she patted her horse’s neck.
“You’ll be brilliant,” Tom said, giving her the most encouraging smile he could muster. He knew that if Isis missed, they would never get the amulet back.
“Well, giddy-up, horsey,” Isis said, digging her heels into the side of her mount and breaking into a gallop.
The horse’s hooves thundered across the arena, kicking up dust. Tom bit his lip nervously as Isis grabbed an arrow from her quiver and nocked it. She stretched the arrow back against the arch of the bow and released it with a twang! As the arrow flew through the air, time seemed to slow down. Was the arrow going a bit too far to the left?
Tom couldn’t bear to watch.
Thwunk! Isis’s arrow hit the apple, splitting it in two.
“It seems we’ve found our archer,” Rufus said. “This child will fight against Hilarus!”
Tom cheered and thumped the air. He gave Isis the thumbs up. The other trainees clapped and whistled. Some laughed and wiped their brows dramatically, as though Isis’s amazing performance had got them off the hook… for now.
“Your turn,” said Isis as she cantered back to Tom. “Good luck.”
Tom needed luck, but he thought he might have a secret move that he hoped would be enough to get him chosen as a catervarii. A dimachaerus fought with two swords, and Tom thought he might just have a chance.
Tom picked up two heavy swords, his heart beating wildly as he thought about what he had to do. His muscles immediately screamed with the weight, his arms were already tired. Tom started to spin around in a circle and the swords lifted up easily. Suddenly, he became just like the blades that whizzed around in Mum’s food processor.
“I’m the school champion at doing helicopters,” he shouted to Isis.
“What?” Isis asked, backing away. Tom slowed down and gradually came to a stop without even stumbling. “Spinning round,” he explained. “I never feel dizzy. I don’t fall over – even when I’ve been on a roundabout for ages.”
“Well, let’s just hope you don’t fall down now,” Isis said. “The winner is the last man standing.”
“Don’t worry, with my super spinning powers, the momentum will keep the swords in the air. Hilarus won’t dare come near me!” Tom smiled at Isis and strode purposefully up to Rufus.
“I want to try out as a dimachaerus,” Tom said.
Rufus towered above Tom. “You do, do you?” he asked, grinning. “You do know you have to have the heart of a lion, or be as mad as a goat to fight without any armour or a shield? Especially against Hilarus.”
Tom gulped. Wearing no armour would make fighting Hilarus even more dangerous. But he didn’t have a choice – this was his last chance to get picked.
“I’m serious,” Tom said. “Let me try.”
Rufus nodded and treated Tom to a nasty smile. “You’ll be a small but easy target. The crowd will love it!” He turned to the other trainees. “Any more of you stinking prisoners stupid or brave enough to try out as a dimachaerus?” he shouted to the group.
The others hung back in the shade of an archway and edged further into the colonnade. Before Rufus could force them, one other trainee came forward.
“I’ve heard prisoners who fight bravely are sometimes freed. Is that true?” the man asked.
“Only if the crowd decides they’ve fought like a hero. It hardly ever happens so I wouldn’t bank on it,” Rufus said.
The man looked into Rufus’s eyes. “Well, if beating Hilarus gives me a chance of being freed, I will try out,” he said.
Tom knew this man’s name was Marcus. He was young, but a grown-up and much taller and broader than Tom. Marcus stood in his grubby loincloth, with his hands on his hips and his strong legs planted firmly on the ground. Tom could see from the set of his jaw that he was just as determined to win as Tom was.
Tom could feel his heart sinking. This didn’t look good.
Isis ran over to his side. “Don’t worry, I’m going to help you,” she whispered into Tom’s ear.
“How can you possibly help me?” Tom asked, sighing.
Isis tutted. “You think you’re so clever with your modern science and inventions, Professor Smartypants,” she said. “But when I was in Egypt, I learned all about plants and herbs.”
“I don’t understand,” Tom said, running a hand through his dark blond curls. “Are you planning on luring Marcus into a garden to smell the flowers?”
Isis rolled her eyes. “You’re such a silly boy! No, there’s a plant growing up the fence. See it over there?” She pointed. “It’s got leaves that split into three sections. I know exactly what to do with it!
Tom looked where she was pointing and saw some weeds growing along the edges of the dry, dusty courtyard. He couldn’t see how they could possibly help him.
Isis’s eyes shone with mischief. Without saying another word, she walked over to the low fence and carefully picked a handful of leaves from the plant she had pointed out.
Tom watched as Isis ambled back across the arena, whistling as though she had just been for a stroll. Pausing near the weapons, she pretended to lace up her sandals. Tom saw her rub the leaves on the handles of two of the swords. She was so quick that nobody seemed to notice her.
“Don’t pick those swords,” Isis said to Tom, thumping him on the back and looking pleased with herself. Tom could feel her excitement prickle up his arms.
“Right, you two,” ordered Rufus. “Let’s get this fight over with. Get your equipment and let’s begin. The winner will be the last of the catervarii.”
Tom raced forward and chose the swords that Isis hadn’t touched. Marcus picked up his weapons and the bout began. Energy surged through Tom’s body. He raised the heavy swords, swiping the air as he looked around for his opponent.
“Watch out, Tom!” Isis cried from the sidelines.
Tom turned to see Marcus hurtling towards him with both his swords outstretched. He lunged straight for Tom’s throat with the sword in his right hand.
Tom leaped backwards, narrowly missing the lethal blade. He started to spin round and, sure enough, Marcus started to retreat.
Whacka-whacka-whacka-whacka. Tom spun his swords through the air just like the blades on a helicopter. They made a noise which Tom thought was the coolest thing ever but which Marcus, judging by the shade of green he was turning, found utterly frightening.
“Wheeheeee!” Tom shouted, spinning faster and faster on the spot.
Marcus swiped uselessly in his direction, but even through the blur, Tom could see his opponent was too scared to come closer.
“Go on, Marcus!” one of the trainees shouted. “Slit the boy’s gizzard!”
As if buoyed by the support, Marcus came at Tom with a frenzied attack, knocking him over. Their swords clashed at the hilts.
Tom gulped. Although he wasn’t dizzy, he was no match for Marcus’s superior height and strength. He could feel his sword hand giving way to the force of Marcus’s weapon. But then…
“Ow!” Marcus suddenly staggered away. “Ow, my hands! It’s unbearable!”
Tom stood and watched as Marcus dropped his swords and started to dance around, rubbing his hands madly against his loincloth.
“By the gods! It itches! Someone make it stop!” Marcus cried, scratching at the palms of his hands.
Tom watched in amazement as Marcus stumbled across the sandy arena to the sidelines. He dunked his hands into a trough of water meant for the horses. The man’s palms were bright red.
Tom looked over at Isis, who gave him a wink.
Rufus cracked his whip to get everyone’s attention.
“That settles it!” he said. “The boy has won. He will fight Hilarus!”
Tom punched the air and shouted, “YES!” But the smile slid quickly from his face when he suddenly realised what that meant.
Now he’d have to fight against a deadly gladiator, or be stuck in Ancient Rome forever.
“We need a plan,” Tom whispered to Isis. He’d read enough history books to know that you needed a strategy if you wanted to win a battle.
“How about if I distract him with my beauty, then you run in and steal the amulet,” Isis suggested.
Tom rolled his eyes. He thought for a moment. “Actually, distracting him isn’t a bad idea. How about if I try to make him dizzy with my spinning swords, so you can grab the amulet.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Isis.
“Come on, you two,” Rufus said. “You should have your costumes on by now. It doesn’t take all day.”
Tom and Isis were standing with the other trainees in a cool antechamber beneath the packed Coliseum. Everyone was strapping on armour, tightening their outfits and arranging the feathers in their helmets. The crowd roared in the seating above.
Isis pointed at Tom’s bare chest and loincloth. She started to laugh.
“Next to all these hulking great men in armour, you look like a baby in a nappy!” she teased.
Tom looked at Isis. On her head she wore a pointed helmet. She clutched her bow in her hand. Her quiver full of arrows was slung over her shoulder. She was wearing shiny body armour made from metal scales.