We stayed low and crawled through a mess of sandals, legs, apples, pears, and stomped-on stuff, no telling what food it used to be. We safely reached the end of the tables and sprinted for the large wooden double doors.
Fred grabbed a black iron ring to swing the door open.
“Book and home, here we come,” said Sam.
Fred looked back at the room full of yelling screaming food fighters. “See you later, gladiators.” Fred pulled the door. I could already almost feel the weird twirling feeling of the green time-traveling mist taking us home until ...
... the doors swung open and we ran right into Dorkius and a wall of armored bodyguards.
VIII
We bounced off the armored chests of the bodyguards and fell back. Dorkius took one look at the crazy scene in front of him and yelled a command. The bodyguards smashed their shield and swords together in a noise more horrible than twenty school fire drill alarms put together.
We froze. The food-fighting gladiators froze. Dorkius stepped forward.
“Gladiators!” he yelled. “What are you—nuts? Our emperor Titus honors you with the opening of the grand arena. And you cover yourselves with garbage. To the baths, and then to Rome!”
Everyone roared. I couldn’t tell if this was a happy roar or a mad roar. I didn’t have a chance to ask, either, because we were quickly pushed by the beefy guys with shields through the doors at the far end of the hallway.
The doors led down a hallway to an open exercise yard. From there the whole crowd of gladiators split off into heated rooms, dropping their clothes and jumping into different pools.
Fred, Sam, and I looked at each other. The Professor took off his loincloth and sat at the edge of a long tile pool. He and the other gladiators rubbed oil on themselves and started scraping it off with curved metal blades.
“What is this?” said Fred.
“This,” said Sam, “is a Roman bath.”
“I don’t see any bathtubs. And I don’t see any soap,” said Fred.
“They don’t use soap,” answered Sam. “You rub on the oil, then scrape dirt and oil off with that metal piece.”
“No way,” said Fred.
“You three, into the baths,” barked one of the bodyguards. “The carts leave for Rome as soon as everyone is clean.”
“Joe,” said Sam. “You’d better get us out of this right now.”
We put down our wooden swords. We slowly unlaced our shoes and took off our socks. No one else seemed to notice us. They were all busy getting in and out of the pools and rubbing and scraping themselves. We got out of our jeans and stood there in our underwear.
Sam gave me a very nasty look over his steamed-up glasses. “I mean it, Joe.”
We heard a loud commotion at the other end of the baths.
“It’s Horridus and his friends,” said the Professor. “Quickly, into the caldarium. The steam will hide us.”
We gratefully followed the Professor into a steam-filled room connected to the main pool
room. The four of us slid into the warm steamy pool so just our heads were above water.
“Ah,” sighed the Professor. “Whatever you say about the Romans, you must congratulate them on their baths.”
“How can you say that?” I asked. “Didn’t they make you a slave?”
“Of course,” said the Professor. “But they are still amazing engineers. Have you seen the aqueducts that carry water for miles? The bridges? The roads?”
“And check that out,” said Fred, pointing into the next room. “A five-seater toilet, with running water.”
“They rule the world,” said the Professor. “And when I win my citizenship, all of that world will be open to me. Do you know what that means?”
I looked at the Professor’s face through the shifting steam. I thought of Rome as the America of two thousand years ago. I didn’t know if I could ever understand it all, but I could see how important it was to the Professor.
The baths were suddenly filled with the noise of the bodyguards
bashing their shields again. “To the wagons! To the wagons! To the wagons!”
Everyone hustled out of the pools and into their clothes. We blended in with the crowd loading into the back of seven or eight big horse-drawn wagons. We sat on wooden benches in still slightly soggy underwear, nine or ten guys in each wagon. Before we knew it, we were bouncing down a rough stone road that cut straight through a warm countryside
of grass and tall pointed trees.
Fred looked over the edge of the wagon. “So what’s so special about the roads? They look pretty rough to me.”
“This is one of the most famous Roman roads,” said the Professor. “The Via Appia. The Appian Way. Built for the Roman army. Built to last hundreds, even thousands of years.”
We looked back down the road. The long low buildings of the gladiator school grew smaller in the distance.
“Good-bye Book,” said Sam between bounces. “Good-bye chances of getting home. And now I think I’m getting seasick.” The cart rocked from side to side. “I don’t even want to know where this is going to lead us.”
“Where all roads lead to,” said the Professor. “Rome.”
“Ohhhh,” moaned a sick-looking Sam.
“Maybe The Book is there,” I said. “It always seems to turn up in the most difficult place to get to. Remember the Hoboken Library?”
“Don’t remind me,” said Fred.
The Professor looked puzzled. “What is a Hoboken? And what is this Book that is so powerful?”
“A book that drags me into trouble no matter how I try to stay out of it,” said Sam.
“It’s a very old book of things that have happened in the past and things that will happen in the future,” I tried to explain without really explaining.
“Oh,” said the Professor. “Like the prophecies of the Sibyl.”
“Uh, right,” I said. I had no idea what the prophecies of the Sibyl were, but they seemed to answer the questions of the Professor. And that was good enough for me.
“Then we must find The Book and all win our freedom,” said the Professor.
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” said Sam sarcastically.
The warm sun, our huge lunch and bath, and the rocking of the cart lulled us into silently watching the country roll by. I closed one eye. The air smelled dry and freshly green. I closed both eyes. The sun flickered through the rows of trees. Sounds and smells and heat swirled. I stood before three massive gladiators. They were all armed with swords and shields and daggers and tridents.
I held up my wooden sword to protect myself.
My helmet slipped over my eyes.
I was blind. They attacked. I spun around, jumping, twirling, and chopping with my sword like Jackie Chan. I knocked out the gladiator with the short sword. I flattened the gladiator with the full shield. I pinned the gladiator with the net and trident. The crowd cheered.
Then something large and dark hit me from behind. I was down. I looked up at the crowd. Half of them held their thumbs up. Half of them pointed their thumbs down. I couldn’t tell who had more—thumbs up for citizenship and life? or thumbs down for death?
Thumbs up?
Thumbs down?
The crowd roared.
IX
The crowd roared. And I suddenly snapped awake. There really was a crowd roaring. Men, women, and children lined the road. Most wore long shirt-like things and sandals. Some threw flowers and chanted the names of their favorite gladiators.
“Horridus! Horridus!”
“Go Nefarius!”
“We want Doofus!”
It was Monday night TV wrestling brought to screaming life. The gladiators stood in the parade of wagons. They waved and flexed their muscles. The crowd cheered.
“Look,” said the Professor. “Rome.”
Just ahead of us rose a golden-colored city. Arched and columned buildings covered the hill-sides. Crowds of people wandered everywhere. We passed through a gate in a tall sto
ne wall.
“Check those guys out,” said Fred.
A row of Roman soldiers lined both sides of the gate. They were an amazing sight in red shirts, metal chest and shoulder plates, helmets, swords, daggers, and spears. One of the soldiers with a fancy brush on the top of his helmet held up his hand to stop our carts.
“He looks just like that alien who always fights Bugs Bunny,” said Fred.
“That’s Marvin the Martian,” said Sam. “And I think you’ve got it backwards. It’s Marvin who looks like this guy from two thousand years ago.”
The Professor looked at Sam like he was a Martian.
A blue chariot pulled by two black horses rumbled in front of us. It was quickly followed by a stream of people, most wearing something blue, running and cheering and chanting.
“On their way to more of the circus,” said the Professor. He looked like he didn’t approve of this part of Roman life. “Gambling away their money, their time, even their lives to fight for their team, Blue or Green or White or Red.”
“Sounds like a crazy fan I know,” I said, looking at Fred.
Fred whacked me with his hat.
We rolled into the city, through winding streets and surging crowds. Then we were suddenly in front of a soaring white stone stadium. Three rows of arches, one on top of the other, stood crowned by more columns and tall wooden flagpoles.
“The Colosseum,” said Sam in amazement.
“It is a colossus, isn’t it?” said the Professor. “It is called the Flavian Amphitheater, but I think Colosseum is a much better name.”
“Folks will probably agree with you in a few thousand years,” said Sam.
The stadium covered what would have been a good couple of city blocks. I saw statues in the arches, banners flying, the whole thing curving away on either side, the crowd pressing and cheering. Our carts rolled through one of the bottom arches into the cool darkness inside.
“Wow,” said Fred. “That was just like being in the middle of the Yankees World Series parade.”
“Yeah, just like it,” said Sam, “if the Yankees got to kill the Padres after they beat them.”
“What’s with all the arches?” I said.
“Seventy-six vomitoria allow the stands to be emptied in ten minutes,” said the Professor.
“Oh yuck,” said Fred. “You mean people go and puke up all their hot dogs in ten minutes?”
“No, genius,” said Sam. “Vomitorium is the Latin word for exit. Seventy-six exits get people to and from their seats in ten minutes.”
“They should try that at Madison Square Garden,” said Fred. “It takes forever to get out of there.”
Down under the great stadium everything still seemed like a weird mixed-up dream of going to a baseball game, a wrestling match, and maybe our own execution all together.
Stadium guards hustled us out of the wagons and shoved us down a maze of hallways. All around and above us we heard the yells of a giant crowd, a lion’s roar, an elephant’s trumpet. I looked down a hallway and I swear I saw a monster crocodile being loaded in a cage.
“Nice warm-up act,” said Sam.
Fred, Sam, the Professor, and I were all shoved into a stone holding room. A grubby looking guy in a brown tunic walked in with a round shield and a short sword. He held out a small silver coin with a picture of a man’s head on one side. “The emperor decides your fates. Capita or navia?”
“Pardon me?” said Sam.
“Heads or tails,” said the Professor.
“Heads,” said Sam. The guy flipped. A picture of a round building with columns, kind of like the one on the back of a nickel, turned up. It was tails.
“Heads,” said Fred. The guy flipped. Tails.
“Tails,” I said. The guy flipped. Heads.
“Losers all,” said the coin flipper. He handed the sword and shield to the Professor. “Thracian versus Three Convicts in a fight to the death.”
The door slammed and locked behind him.
Fred, Sam, and I stood together with our suddenly puny looking wooden swords. We looked at the Professor and his real sword.
“So let me guess,” said Sam. “You are the Thracian and we are Three Convicts with our wooden swords in a ...”
The Professor nodded grimly.
No one had to finish the sentence.
In the awkward silence we heard the crowd, a blast of music, and then the traditional greeting given to the emperor by the first group of gladiators in the arena.
“We who are about to die salute you.”
X
We looked at our wooden swords.
We looked at the Professor’s real sword.
I guess I don’t need to tell you things didn’t look good.
“Let’s break out of here,” said Fred, pulling at the thick wooden door.
“Let’s just hide in here,” said Sam, sitting in a dark corner.
“Maybe I can remember a spell,” I said. “Think of a trick.” I tried to think of anything I had seen about gladiators or escaping in The Book. My mind went blank.
The yells of the crowd rose and fell somewhere above us.
It was no use. I couldn’t concentrate. The Time Warp Trio was about to meet its end in front of 50,000 screaming people, done in by our own friend. I felt like I was trapped in a bad dream. A very bad dream. A very real dream.
Dream.
Dream.
“Dream” was the word that finally sparked my idea.
“I’ve got it!” I said.
A trapdoor opened above us, letting in a shocking blast of light, dusty heat, and scary crowd noise. We didn’t have a second to lose.
I quickly pulled Sam, Fred, and the Professor together. I laid out my plan just as our friend in the brown tunic burst through the door.
“The emperor awaits! Get out there,” said tunic guy. He poked us up the steps built into the side of the wall.
I used the Professor’s sword to cut off a piece of my T-shirt.
“Do you think it will work?” said Sam.
No one got a chance to answer because we were chased up the steps and out into the center of the wildest scene I’ve ever seen—the view from the middle of the packed Colosseum.
Like us, you have probably seen a baseball or football stadium on TV. You might have even been to one of those stadiums in person. Now imagine standing in the middle of the stadium. Now imagine the stadium packed full of people pointing and yelling at you.
That’s where we were—standing in the bloody sand of the Colosseum, blinking in the rays of the late afternoon sun, listening to fifty thousand people howling at us.
“Run ‘em through!” “Slay the criminals!”
“Attack!”
Those are just a few of the nicer things we heard the crowd yelling.
“Our only hope for your plan is the emperor,” said the Professor.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“There,” said the Professor.
We ran over to where he pointed, off to one side of the stadium where a group of guys sat in a kind of luxury box.
“Here goes nothing,” I said under my breath. Then I found the most official looking guy. The one with the crown of leaves on his head like I had seen on the coin. I raised my hand. “Hail, emperor. We who are about to ... uh ... wrestle, salute you! We bring you a special fight never seen before. Three against one. We call it the Time Warp Trio Blind Ninja Smackdown.”
The emperor raised his hand. He didn’t look all that thrilled.
The crowd quieted a bit.
I pulled out the ripped piece of T-shirt. “The one gladiator is armed,” I yelled. “But he is also blindfolded!”
I tied the blindfold over the Professor’s eyes.
The crowd went nuts.
“Unbelievable!”
“Impossible!”
“Never seen it!”
Fred, Sam, and I surrounded the Professor and drew our wooden swords.
“Spin in a circle with your sword out,” I half
-whispered so only the Professor could hear. “Then spin the other way.”
The Professor spun. Sam, then Fred, then I each let the Professor’s sword hit ours and knock us back. A few of the crowd’s jeers turned to laughs and cheers.
We jumped up and closed to attack again. The Professor spun blind the other way. We knocked swords and flung ourselves back. The crowd howled in amazement.
Just like in my dream, the Professor took on all three of us. We called out to him so only he could hear. He stabbed at the sound, and then we would flop back. The Professor was a natural performer. Better than the Rock, the Hulk, or anybody I’ve ever seen in the ring. He rolled blind somersaults and faked big sweeping sword slashes. He jumped and twisted and spun, knocking the three of us left and right.
We closed in on him for the finale. He looked trapped.
The crowd screamed.
He pulled in his shield, then dove on top of us, knocking all three of us into a pile below him. He stood over us and ripped off his blindfold, raising it in victory.
The crowd cheered and stamped their feet like it was the third out of the seventh game of the World Series. We stayed heaped in a pile, hot and scared and smashed in the sand. But I still got goose bumps.
Looking just under Fred’s armpit, I could see a lot of fans with their arms out, thumbs up. The emperor seemed to be just looking around, not making any signal.
“What’s happening?” asked Sam, sandwiched on top of me. “Did he like it? Do we live?”
The Professor held his pose like a true pro, working the crowd. “He’s not sure. The people like it. But there’s never been such a thing. He’s looking to the keepers of Vesta’s shrine. They have kept the eternal flame for hundreds of years. He needs a sign from them.”
For the first time I saw a group of six women dressed in white robes lined with purple. They had the best seats in the house, just down from the emperor. The six keepers of the shrine slowly extended their arms. I couldn’t bear to see if their thumbs were up or down or hidden. I closed my eyes tight.