The Pompeii Disaster Read online

“That guy is crazy,” David whispered in Luke’s ear.

  “I’m not sure about that,” Luke whispered back. “Maybe everybody here thinks that way. They don’t have science. All they have is superstition.”

  David leaned over toward Crustus.

  “Are you a slave?” he asked.

  “No. I am a criminal,” Crustus replied.

  “What did you do?”

  “I stole a man’s pig.”

  “Why did you do that?” Luke asked.

  “I was hungry.”

  “What about you guys?” David said to the other prisoners. “Are you criminals too?” They nodded their heads.

  “Arson,” one of them said.

  “Banditry,” said another.

  “Treason.”

  “Refusal to pledge loyalty to the emperor.”

  “Prisoner of war.”

  Luke and David looked at each other, more confused than ever. Why had they been separated from the girls and thrown in with these guys? Maybe they were being taken to a dungeon just for men. Or maybe they were being taken to be executed.

  “Are they going to kill us?” Luke asked Crustus.

  “You could say that,” Crustus replied.

  David sank back in his gloom, putting his hands over his eyes.

  “Look on the bright side,” Luke told him. “We got out of that dungeon. Now we’ll have a chance to escape and save the girls.”

  The wagon made its way toward the southeast edge of the town. David checked the timer. There were 85 minutes left. Still plenty of time to escape and get back to the meeting spot. The wagon turned a corner and the Pompeii amphitheater came into view.

  It was by far the largest structure in town. The boys recognized it from their previous trip. It looked pretty much the same, except that above the top row flags were flying.

  “Wow,” David marveled, looking up at the big building. “How do you think they built this place without machines and cranes and stuff?”

  “Probably with slaves and condemned prisoners,” Luke replied. “Maybe that’s why we’re here. Maybe they’re going to make us work here.”

  Outside the amphitheater, the wagon passed a line of statues of Roman gods and emperors on pedestals. It stopped there. People were waiting in a long line that snaked back and forth leading up to the entrance. The men, women, and children waiting in line looked excited to be there.

  “Hey, maybe they’re taking us to see one of those gladiator shows,” David guessed.

  “Oh, you’ll get to see a gladiator show all right,” Crustus told them. “You’ll have the best seat in the house.”

  “Do you mean . . .”

  It took a few moments, but finally the boys realized what was going on. They weren’t being taken on some field trip to be entertained at a gladiator show. They were going to be the gladiator show!

  “Oh, shoot,” cursed Luke.

  The wagon was wheeled around to the side of the amphitheater, where there was a large courtyard called the Palestra Grande. It was sort of like an open-air dressing room where the gladiators could train and practice while they were waiting for their battle to begin. Brick walls surrounded the area to prevent escape. Several grumpy guards stood in front of the gates with big swords and angry looks on their faces.

  “We gotta get out of here, man,” Luke whispered to David. “These people are crazy. They’re gonna make us battle to the death. That’s what they did in the old days. I saw it in a movie.”

  It was basically true. While all gladiators didn’t die fighting, a good many of them did.

  “I have an idea,” David whispered to Luke. “They gotta give us swords or something to fight with, right? As soon as they hand us our weapons, let’s make a run for the gate. If anybody tries to stop us, we use the weapons.”

  “Those guards will probably kill us the minute we try to escape,” Luke replied, “but we have no choice.”

  Fred the Red, who had brought the boys to the amphitheater in the wagon, came over with a large cloth sack. He turned it upside down and dumped the contents on the dirt—shin guards, shoulder guards, a thick leather vest with a picture of a horse on it.

  “Put these on, slaves,” he ordered.

  Then he handed each of the boys a helmet and a large square shield. The helmets were not like the bike or skateboard helmets you wear. They were big, heavy bronze helmets that some craftsman had clearly spent many days making. Luke’s helmet was embossed with a picture of an ostrich. David’s had a plumed peacock crest on it. The boys strapped on the armor and put the helmets on their heads.

  “What about our swords?” Luke asked, casting a sideways glance at David.

  “You will get a sword when you need a sword, Oceanus,” said Fred the Red.

  Outside the Palestra Grande, the crowd in the amphitheater could be heard. There must have been a lot of hoopla going on. People were laughing, booing, and roaring. It was like a pre-game tailgate party.

  Crustus, the toothless pig thief they’d met in the wagon, saw the boys standing in the corner nervously. He limped over to them.

  “Do not be apprehensive,” he said. “Your battle will be over in five or ten minutes. They never last long. The citizens are impatient for what comes next. I wish you fine gentlemen good luck.”

  “Same to you,” the boys said.

  “To what gladiator school did you attend?” asked Crustus.

  Luke and David looked at each other. There were schools for gladiators? Who knew?

  “I went to Tiger Schulmann Karate Academy, in Boston, Massachusetts,” Luke replied. Actually, Luke only took one karate class, when he was in first grade. Some kid hit him in the face and he ran out the door crying.

  “I have never heard of such a place,” Crustus said, and he walked away.

  On the ground next to the wall was a line of stretchers. It was obvious who they were for—dead and dying gladiators.

  The timer counted down: 81 minutes.

  A man came over wearing a hat with wings on either side of it. His shoes also had wings on them, and he was carrying a staff with what looked like a snake wrapped around it. It appeared to be some kind of a costume.

  “Gather around, gladiators,” he announced. “I am Mercury the messenger god, the son of Jupiter. Today you will fight for the honor of Rome. In all probability, you will die. It is my job to escort your soul to the Underworld.”

  “Excuse me,” David said, raising his hand. “May I ask a question?”

  “No!” shouted the guy dressed as Mercury. “I have a few simple instructions you must follow. You were brought here to entertain the citizens of Pompeii and to please the gods. If you die too quickly, the crowd will not be entertained. The same is said if it takes you too long to die.”

  “So what you’re saying is that we have to die in the right amount of time,” David said sarcastically.

  “That is correct,” Mercury said. “You are here to put on a show. Hold your shield up to protect yourself from the blows. Engage the crowd. They like that. Try to get them on your side. And when you have lost and it is clear that your battle is futile, you must die with dignity. Remember, you will be dying for Rome. For the gods. You who are about to die, we honor you!”

  “How about honoring us by letting us go free?” David suggested.

  At that point, Fred the Red came over. He was holding some papers.

  “I will need all of you to sign this legal agreement and to swear the sacramentum gladiatorium oath.”

  All the prisoners who were in the wagon lined up to sign the paper. It was written in Latin.

  “What does it say?” Luke asked. “I can’t read.”

  “It says you agree to submit to beating, burning, and death by the sword if you do not perform as required,” Fred the Red explained.

  “And what happens if we don’t sign?” asked Luke.

  “Then you will be put to death instantly.”

  “So in other words,” Luke said, “we’re going to die if we sign, and we’
re going to die if we don’t sign. So what’s the difference?”

  “The difference is that if you don’t sign, you will be sacrificed to the gods,” Fred the Red explained. “You will be stabbed one hundred times, and then your body will be dragged through the Gate of Death and hung upside down for the public’s amusement until you are eaten by vultures. Of course, the choice is yours.”

  “Where do we sign?” asked Luke.

  CHAPTER 12

  SOME DIE SOONER THAN OTHERS

  INSIDE THE AMPHITHEATER, IT LOOKED LIKE THE entire population of Pompeii had come out to see the gladiators fight. Every seat was taken, and some of the sections were standing room only.

  The first four rows were filled with political and business leaders, senators, and knights. The bigwigs sat in a gilded box and stood out in their white,purple-bordered togas. Some of them had personal slaves holding umbrellas over their heads to shield them from the burning sun.

  The rest of the crowd was separated by large stone tiers. Soldiers sat in a different section from civilians. Married men sat in a different section from bachelors. Women and poor people got the worst seats, up in the twenty-first row. One thing that everyone shared was excitement and anticipation. Going to the gladiator games was not a daily or once-a-week event. This was a special occasion.

  It should be remembered, reader, that there were no movies, TV, or internet to amuse the population in the year 79. This is what people did for fun. This was their entertainment.

  Gladiator games always came with pageantry. There were no marching bands, of course. But men with long, curved horns played something that slightly resembled what we call music. Somebody played a water organ, which was a primitive instrument that worked by forcing air through pipes of different lengths. Guys came out banging big drums that were strapped to their waists. Jugglers roamed the stands.

  These were the warm-up acts. Their job was to get the crowd in the mood for the main attraction. It was like the opening ceremonies of the Olympics.

  “Glory to Rome!” announced a man holding a big megaphone. “Glory to Emperor Titus!”

  “Glory to Emperor Titus!” the crowd shouted back.

  The tenth emperor of Rome—Titus Vespasianus Augustus—had only been in power for two months. So he wanted to win over the citizens of his empire. Loaves of bread and other goodies were tossed to the grateful masses. Perfumed water was sprayed on the sweaty crowd. For the children in attendance, little wooden balls called missilia were given out. Anything to keep the people happy—and the emperor in control.

  That’s why gladiator games were held in the first place, of course. They distracted the citizens from their everyday lives and gave them a way to blow off a little steam. The average Roman man may have led a hard life, but watching two other guys fight to the death made him forget about his own problems, at least for a little while.

  Vendors walked through the crowd selling food and wine. Children played with gladiator action figures made of clay. People waited patiently under the hot sun. But the crowd was starting to get restless. They wanted more than “pomp and circumstance.” They wanted blood.

  In the Palestra Grande next door, the gladiators looked away when Fred the Red approached. Nobody wanted to make eye contact with him. Nobody wanted to be chosen to go first.

  “I’m starved,” David said to Luke. “I wonder if they’re going to feed us anything.”

  “You should have had a few of those dormice when they offered them to you,” Luke replied. “That stuff was good.”

  Fred the Red walked directly over to Crustus, the limping, toothless pig thief.

  “You’re up first,” Fred the Red said simply. “Get ready.”

  There was a look of resignation on Crustus’s face. He closed his eyes for a moment to say a silent prayer. Two guards took him by the elbows to escort him to a stone archway with an iron gate that separated the Palestra Grande from the amphitheater. Before the guards could take him away, Luke and David went over to him.

  “Good-bye, Crustus,” David said, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

  “I will need it,” Crustus replied.

  A hush came over the crowd.

  “Citizens and free men of Pompeii,” bellowed the announcer through his megaphone. “Welcome to the most spectacular gladiator games ever to be presented, thanks to your great emperor Titus.”

  The crowd roared in approval.

  “Our first competitors,” hollered the announcer, “are Julianus the slave of Herculaneum . . . and Crustus the criminal pig thief!”

  The crowd roared again.

  “They will fight to the death. What shall be their fate?”

  “Death!” chanted the crowd. “Death! Death! Death!”

  One of the guards handed Crustus a sword and gave him a shove toward the iron gate. Two other guards pulled ropes on either side of the gate to slowly lift it up. Crustus walked through the stone archway. The gate was lowered behind him. There was another roar from the crowd as he stepped into the arena, and yet another one when his opponent entered the arena from an archway on the far side of the amphitheater.

  Luke, David, and some other gladiators edged forward to try to see the action through the bars, but the guards pushed them back. David didn’t really want to watch anyway. He never liked the sight of blood.

  “I don’t know how to fight,” David whispered to Luke. “What about you? Have you ever been in a real fight?”

  “No, but I’ve seen a million martial arts movies,” Luke replied. “And when I was little, me and my friends used to have pretend fights in the backyard. We used sticks as swords and garbage can covers as shields.”

  “Me and my friends fought with light sabers,” David said.

  Luke and David couldn’t see the action going on inside the arena. But they could hear it—the slash of one metal sword hitting another one, over and over again. The grunting and the cries of pain. People in the audience screaming and cheering.

  “Fight boldly for your life, Crustus!” a voice in the crowd hollered.

  With each clanging blow, David cringed. He could only imagine what was happening inside the arena. He knew his turn might be next.

  After a few short minutes, a gasp was heard, a roar, and then silence. The fight was over. The crowd clapped in approval. The musicians started playing again. David rushed over to Fred the Red, who appeared to be in charge of all the gladiators.

  “What happened to Crustus?” he asked.

  “He is dead,” said Fred the Red. “Next!”

  David sank to his knees.

  “He was a good man,” he moaned.

  “What makes you think he was a good man?” asked Fred the Red. “He stole another man’s pig.”

  “But he was hungry,” David said.

  “Hunger is not a justification for stealing,” explained Fred the Red. “The deviant criminal must be punished to show the citizens what happens when one breaks the laws of the land. There is no other way to sustain law and order.”

  “Is it fair to die just for stealing a pig?” asked David.

  “We will all die one day,” Fred the Red explained. “Some die sooner than others. That is the only difference. It pleases the gods.”

  There was no point in having a philosophical discussion about right and wrong with Fred the Red. David sneaked a peek at the timer. There were 69 minutes left. A little more than an hour. He ran over to Luke, who was off to the side, stretching his legs as if he was getting ready for a track meet.

  “Crustus is dead,” David told his friend. “We’re doomed, dude! We don’t know how to fight. Either we’re gonna die out there or the mountain’s gonna blow and—”

  “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 13

  THE 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.”