“Oceanus!” shouted Fred the Red.
All eyes turned toward Luke.
“What do you want?” the boy asked.
“What do you think I want?” hollered Fred the Red. “It is your turn to fight!”
CHAPTER 13THE ELEMENT OF SURPRISE
UP UNTIL THIS MOMENT, LUKE HAD BEEN PRETTY much holding it together. He had been hoping that with so many available gladiators, maybe his name wouldn’t get called. Maybe he would be able to find a way out of this situation without having to fight for his life.
“Come with me, Oceanus,” said Fred the Red.
“I don’t want to die!” Luke howled, backing away. “I didn’t do anything wrong! I don’t even know why I’m here!”
“Are you a coward?” Fred the Red asked, grabbing Luke by the arm. “Honor Emperor Titus and die like a man!”
“I’m not a man!” Luke shrieked, pulling away. “I’m just a kid!”
Fred the Red called two guards over. They grabbed Luke roughly while the boy struggled to get free of their grasp.
“You are strong,” Fred the Red told Luke. “You would be wise to save your strength. If you put up as much fight in the arena as you are putting up now, you will do fine. Let’s go! The citizens are impatient!”
Luke stopped resisting, and the guards loosened their grip on him. David came over and wrapped his arms around Luke. Tears filled their eyes.
“I love you, man,” David whispered.
“I love you, too,” Luke replied. “You are my brother from another mother. If some miracle happens and I survive this, I’ll meet you and the girls at the meeting spot.”
“I’ll see you there,” David said, trying his best to be positive.
Luke adjusted his body armor and picked up his shield.
“Here, take your sword,” said Fred the Red.
The word gladiator comes from gladius, which is the Latin word for sword. Most people don’t know this, but there were different kinds of weapons for different kinds of gladiators. The Romans liked to mix things up to keep the crowd interested.
The dimachaerus gladiators fought with two swords, one in each hand. The equites gladiators entered the arena on horseback. The essedarii battled from chariots. Luke was a thrax gladiator. He was given a curved short sword and a small square shield.
Fred the Red led Luke to the big iron gate under the archway leading into the arena.
“May fortune smile upon you, Oceanus,” he told Luke. “Perhaps the gods will favor you, and you will live to fight another day.”
Luke said nothing. There was nothing to say. He took a deep breath and gripped his sword tightly. The gate was pulled open. Any thought of making a run for it was gone. There was no place to run.
A huge cheer rang out when Luke stepped into the arena. The gate was lowered behind him with a heavy clang. He was alone out there.
“Our next gladiator,” announced the guy with the megaphone, “battling for his first time in Pompeii . . . is the slave . . . Oceanus!”
Luke turned around 360 degrees as the citizens applauded and stamped their feet for him. The arena itself was a large oval, smaller than a football field, but larger than a basketball court. On the walls of the arena were paintings of gladiators in combat. The ground was sandy dirt. Luke could see patches of blood and smell the rotting flesh of previous competitors.
This wasn’t all that different from a ballgame at Fenway Park in Boston, it occurred to Luke. It wasn’t that different from any modern sporting event, really. But instead of watching two teams compete to score the most runs, goals, or points, the crowd would watch two men try to kill each other. And instead of winning money or trophies, the victor was allowed to live—if he was lucky.
“He’s just a boy!” shouted a voice from the crowd.
Oh, good, Luke said to himself, maybe they’ll change their minds and let me go.
“Kill the boy!” shouted another voice.
“Are you going to fight like a man?” somebody else hollered.
Luke looked up at the crowd. It was like a circus. The Roman Empire wasn’t at war, so these fake gladiator wars were staged to amuse the population. People had brought their children with them. Kids were chanting, taunting, eating, and laughing. They had seen blood. Now they wanted to see more. It was disgusting.
These people are sick, Luke muttered to himself. Sweat was pouring off him. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
At the other end of the arena was another archway with an iron gate in front of it, where his opponent was about to emerge. The applause had to die down before the gate would be lifted, to build anticipation.
“Our next gladiator,” the guy with the megaphone finally announced, “all the way from Rome, is the criminal Vulcan, who committed the crime of criticizing Emperor Titus!”
“Boooooo!” the crowd shouted as the gate went up. “Boooooo!”
“I get it,” Luke muttered to himself. “It’s just like professional wrestling. We each play a character. He’s the heel and I’m the babyface.”
The gladiator named Vulcan came out. He was a big, ugly, bald guy, maybe 250 pounds. He had an arrogant scowl on his face, big muscles on his arms and legs, and scars from previous battles on his stomach. Luke cringed.
That guy looks like he takes steroids, he thought.
In the stands, money was changing hands. People were making bets on which gladiator would live and which would die.
Vulcan lumbered out to the center of the arena. Luke’s instinct was to run away, but he decided the only way to beat the big guy would be to use his wits. He walked out to meet Vulcan in the middle and put out his hand to shake. The big guy ignored it.
“This is all fake, right?” Luke asked Vulcan when they were face-to-face. “We don’t really go at it, do we?”
“Grrrr,” replied Vulcan. He shoved Luke with his shield, pushing the boy backward.
“Maybe you and I can work out a little deal,” Luke suggested. “I’ll hit you a few times. You hit me a
