Gladiator Clash. Chris Blake

off me! You smell of rotten vegetables,” Isis cried, batting him away.

      “Just keep still, Princess Bossyboots,” Tom said. He grinned as he tied back her long hair out of sight.

      Josephus ducked into a nearby cupboard and emerged with rattling chains. “Sorry. I have to put chains on you, like the others, otherwise the guards will think you’re trying to escape.” He shackled them both at the wrists and ankles and pushed them, clanking, down the colonnade.

      “What about my cat, Cleo?” Isis asked.

      “Animals aren’t allowed in the training ground. She’ll get killed if she stays here,” said Josephus. “She can stay in my quarters, where the other animals are kept. Don’t worry, I’ll look after her.”

      He steered Tom and Isis into a noisy room with a barred door. Tom saw that it was packed with chained prisoners, both young and old, chattering away in a variety of languages he’d never heard before. Some had pale skin, some had dark skin. Everyone wore different clothes. Clearly they came from all over the world. They were shovelling food into their mouths with their shackled hands.

      “You’re lucky – you’re in time for breakfast. Try to blend in,” Josephus said, looking doubtfully at Isis, as he carried Cleo off in his arms.

      Isis and Tom sat on the stone floor in silence, taking in their surroundings with wide eyes. Tom helped himself to a piece of bread.

      “I hope Cleo’s all right,” Isis whispered to Tom. “At least she can cuddle up to the other animals.”

      Just then a roar echoed around the barracks that made Tom shudder.

      “Oh no! What was that? It didn’t sound very cuddly,” Isis whimpered.

      One of the other prisoners leaned over. “That’s the wild animals,” he said glumly. “Sounded like a lion. Sometimes it’s tigers, bears… anything that can tear your toenails off with its teeth.” He stroked his stubbly chin thoughtfully. “I still can’t decide which is worse.”

      “What do you mean?” Tom asked, gulping.

      The prisoner shrugged. “Being killed by a gladiator’s sword or eaten by lions. What’s the better way to die?”

      “I don’t even want to think about it, thanks!” said Tom.

      The prisoner looked grim-faced. “Well, you should. Because none of us will make it out of here alive.”

      

      “We need a plan. We’ve got to find the amulet and leave this place before we have to fight anyone,” Tom said.

      Isis held up her hands and rattled her chains. “We can’t exactly go for a stroll, can we, Professor Smartypants?” she said.

      Tom scratched his head and tried to remember everything he knew about gladiators. “Look,” he said, “gladiators fight with swords and shields, or daggers and spears. They’ll make us practise so they can’t keep us locked up forever. At least the food is OK.”

      Isis peered down at the other prisoners’ plates and snorted. “Pah! Oats and beans? These Romans haven’t got a clue. Our Egyptian fighters were tough and lean. They fought with their hands and feet, not wobbling around with a sword and a belly full of porridge!”

      Tom shrugged. “So, any thoughts on where the amulet might be, oh warrior princess?”

      “I’ve no idea,” Isis said. “But I do have something that might help us. Look!” She waved her hand in front of Tom’s face.

      “I know, I know,” said Tom. “You’re not a mummy any more. But how does that help us?”