“Grrrr . . .”
Vulcan shoved him again, harder this time. Luke stumbled and fell backward. He was sitting in the dirt.
Okay, this is real, he said to himself. Vulcan looked angry. It wasn’t clear if he even spoke a language.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the bloodthirsty crowd chanted as one.
Luke stood up.
“And what if I refuse?” he shouted, throwing down his sword.
“Boooooo!” the crowd shouted.
“The boy is too timid to fight!” somebody yelled. “He is a coward!”
“Why are you reluctant to die?” yelled somebody else. “The gods will honor you.”
“Die with honor, Oceanus!”
“Coward! Coward! Coward!”
“Sacrifice the boy to the gods!”
The iron gate at the far end of the arena opened again. Another man came out dressed as Mars, the Roman god of war. He was carrying a long iron stick. It was the length of a sword, but it wasn’t sharp. The tip was glowing bright red-orange, as it had just been taken out of a fire.
“Those who lack the enthusiasm to fight must be persuaded!” shouted Mars. The crowd cheered.
“Burn him!” somebody shouted as Mars advanced toward Luke with the red-hot poker.
“Okay, okay!” Luke said, picking up his sword. “I’ll fight.”
The crowd cheered. This is what they had come to see. Mars retreated, and went back to where he came from.
Luke and Vulcan circled each other slowly in the middle of the arena, sizing each other up, swords at the ready, looking for an opening. Luke tried to remember all those martial arts movies he had seen.
“Oceanus! Oceanus! Oceanus!”
Vulcan charged forward like a boar and took a wild swing with his sword, but Luke dodged sideways and scampered out of the way. Luke lunged with his sword, but Vulcan blocked it with his shield.
“Vulcan! Vulcan! Vulcan!”
Luke didn’t have any real fighting experience, but he could see that Vulcan was slow and clumsy. Luke could run around him, using his speed to confuse and torment the big man. He remembered reading how Muhammad Ali did exactly that to win the heavyweight championship as a young man.
Vulcan flailed at Luke again, and only the boy’s lightning-fast reaction time prevented a serious injury as the sword whistled inches from his ear. Luke launched a counterattack, slashing back, and his sword clanged against Vulcan’s sword as it was pushed out of the way.
They went back and forth like that with a flurry of overhand blows. The crowd was on its feet and cheering, but Luke barely heard it. He was in the moment. He had forgotten all about Mount Vesuvius erupting. Right now, the only thing that mattered was protecting his vital organs.
The sword was starting to feel heavy. Luke had to swing it with two hands like a baseball bat, sometimes hitting Vulcan’s shield and sometimes hitting his armor. He knew that if he didn’t do some damage fast, he was going to lose. Every time a blow landed, there was the sound of a trumpet blast from the musicians who had been entertaining the crowd.
But even as he tired, Luke was gaining confidence. It didn’t seem possible for him to stand toe-to-toe with a man the size of Vulcan. But in a life-or-death situation, we call up a hidden reserve of untapped strength. There are stories of women who have picked up a car when their baby was trapped underneath it. It’s like having temporary superpowers.
“Oceanus! Oceanus! Oceanus!”
It actually looked like Luke was winning as he traded blows with the bigger man. He stood firm as he planted his leg and lunged at Vulcan the way he had seen it done in countless movies. But that’s when he made a crucial mistake. He got a little too close, and Vulcan’s sword nicked him on the arm. Luke looked down and saw blood.
“Owww!” he shouted.
Vulcan pounced. He charged toward Luke, ramming his shield against the side of the boy’s head and denting his helmet. Luke’s ears were ringing. Caught off balance, his knees buckled and he stumbled, landing on his back. When he hit the ground, he lost the grip on his shield. Vulcan thundered forward, standing over Luke, his sword poised to plunge into the boy’s exposed throat. It was a desperate situation.
The crowd roared in approval. They were on their feet now.
“Vulcan! Vulcan! Vulcan!”
For a gladiator who was about to be killed, the proper etiquette was to beg for mercy by dropping his sword and raising one finger. The victor could then choose to back off or—more commonly—kill his opponent and put him out of his misery.
But Luke didn’t know anything about gladiator etiquette. He just knew he had no shield and Vulcan was about to slice him open.
The crowd was going crazy, screaming, waving handkerchiefs, and making thumbs-up or thumbs-down signs to indicate what Vulcan should do to Luke.
“Iugula!” shouted half the crowd. “Kill him!”
“Mitte!” shouted the other half. “Let him go!”
“Grrrr . . .”
By all rights, reader, this is where the story of the Flashback Four must come to an end. The timer counted down: 59 minutes. Less than an hour left. But that didn’t matter. Luke was about to be killed. The rest of the team was in captivity and sure to be wiped out along with the rest of Pompeii.
But you’ve probably noticed there are quite a few pages left in this book. So let’s continue.
Luke was on the ground, on his back, with Vulcan looming over him and poised to plunge his sword into the boy’s carotid artery. Luke had only one option, and it was the oldest trick in the book. Fortunately, the book hadn’t been written yet.
“Behind you!” he shouted at Vulcan, pointing over the big man’s head. “Watch out!”
The element of surprise. It’s a marvelous weapon.
When Vulcan turned around to see what was behind him, Luke jumped to his feet and swung his sword as hard as he could. Vulcan saw a blur of movement from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t react in time. Luke’s sword caught the big man flush on the side of his helmet. Vulcan was knocked sideways,
