Part 2
"Perhaps," said the woman, "this group doesn't feel so much like being martyred. Maybe they'll run around a bit more."
I could stand no more of this, and signaled Myers to move the field down toward the Roundheads. The idiots were still too far apart to be picked up and were talking together in that odd, seventeenth century English.
"What think you, Sergeant," said one fresh-faced youngster, "are we to be put to trial by those armored demons, yonder?"
"It may be, John," replied the individual addressed as Sergeant.
The young man sighed. "I feel the hand of the Lord strong upon me," he said. "None the less, had I but my claymore--"
"Fie, John Stowe," reproved the Sergeant. "Let not your mind dwell upon earthly matters. Look rather upon yon armed demons, with a mind to marking their true natures. See yon demon with the chased shield, which is surely Pride. And the other beside him, whom, by his lean and envious face I clearly read as Covetousness."
And the Sergeant went on giving names to the various gladiators, so that the other Roundheads became interested and drifted over. I was beginning to have hopes of snatching them up immediately when the Sergeant wound up his little discussion.
"And besides, John Stowe," he said. "If the Lord wisheth us to have weapons, He surely will provide them."
* * * * *
At this moment, an attendant of the Arena leaned over the stone parapet that encircled the field and dropped a bundle of swords and armor.
"What did I tell you?" said the Sergeant.
So they dispersed in the process of putting on the armor, and the chance was lost.
"What's holding things up?" boomed the voice of Myers in my ear.
"The battle," I snapped. "They're supposed to fight those gladiators."
"What!" yelled Myers. "Stop them. Don't let them do it. They've all got to get back alive."
"What can I do?" I asked bitterly. "It's up to the Roundheads."
And, indeed it was. There is no way of knowing how many lives were depending upon those Roundheads at that moment.
At any rate, there was a toot on a horn, or some kind of signal like that, and off they went.
"Do you take Pride, Stowe," said the Sergeant. "And so each of the rest of you pick out a cardinal sin. I, myself will take Covetousness." He lifted his Roman short sword over his head and shouted like a wild man.
"Now, LET GOD ARISE!" he shouted, and the Roundheads charged toward the enemy.
"I'm moving you back to Nero," said Myers' voice in my ear. "Maybe we can put pressure on him somehow."
I was swooped back to the royal box. But by the time I got there the situation was such that neither of us could think of anything to do. Nero was bouncing around like a fat toad, squeaking at the top of his lungs.
"Why--what--what--" he was squealing. "What are they doing? You Christians, stop it! Stop chasing my gladiators, do you hear me? Stop it! Stop it!"
Somebody blew that silly horn again, and the gladiators stopped, but the Roundheads went right on.
"Guard thyself, Pride!" the stentorian voice of John Stowe floated up to us in the Royal box. Beside Stowe there was a clang and a thud as the Sergeant decapitated Covetousness.
Gladiators were getting cut to pieces right and left. But not for long. Nero was ordering his own guard out of the stands, down into the Arena.
"I've got an idea," I called to Myers. "Drop me on the field."
"It better be good," he grunted. "Or you'll go the same way they're going!"
He dropped me. I came into sight of those Romans suddenly, and the shock of my appearance temporarily halted the Praetorian Guard. They looked from me to Nero and back again.
"To me!" I yelled, running over the field, waving my arms. "To me, Roundheads!"
Well, they looked up at the sound of my English voice and, to make a long story short, gathered around in short enough space for Myers to pick them up. The field faded around us....
* * * * *
_March 3, 65_: TO THE CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA: I thought I ordered you to produce Christians for slaughter! What devilish magic have you loosed upon Rome under the guise of Christians? I order you to capture those sixteen hell-spawned devils who murdered our gladiators. At once!
NERO, Imp.
* * * * *
_March 3, 65_: TO THE EMPEROR: My Caesar! I know not how the sixteen Christians escaped from the arena--replacing themselves with sixteen others. I have contacted Papirius, Captain of Police, and he informs me it must be a plot on the part of the Christians for an uprising throughout the City. I believe the missing sixteen are in hiding. My Guard will be ordered out at once to apprehend them.
(signed) Lictus,
CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA
* * * * *
_March 3, 65_: TO CAPTAIN OF POLICE: I have at hand information from Lictus, Captain of the Arena, concerning the plot of the Christians to overthrow Roman rule with today's events in the Arena as a signal for insurrection. Drastic action must be taken. Burn out every festhole in Rome where the Christians are massed. At once!
NERO, Imp.
* * * * *
_March 3, 65_: TO THE EMPEROR: Hail, Caesar! Your command has been obeyed. Even now the Christians burn in their catacombs!
(signed) Papirius,
CAPTAIN OF POLICE
* * * * *
_March 3, 65_: TO THE CAPTAIN OF POLICE: Are you mad, you fool? By whose authority have you put the torch to Rome? The flames are spreading throughout the city--underground--and already are at the arena dungeons! Send help to quench the fires!
Lictus,
CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA
* * * * *
_March 3, 65_: TO THE CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA: Don't call me a fool, you idiot! How was I to know the fire would spread through the catacombs! I can't send you any men. I'm appealing to the Emperor for help myself. The fires are getting beyond control!
Papirius,
CAPTAIN OF POLICE
* * * * *
_March 3, 65_: TO THE EMPEROR: Mighty Caesar! The Christians have turned the fires against us and our city is in danger of being consumed. What shall we do?
(signed) Papirius,
CAPTAIN OF POLICE
* * * * *
_March 3, 65_: TO THE CAPTAIN OF POLICE: You imbecile! I order you to burn out the Christians and you set fire to the entire city! Already my palace is on fire! Consider yourself under arrest! Report to me after you have the flames under control. Or perhaps you'd prefer throwing yourself into the closest inferno and cheat me of the pleasure of roasting you alive later!
NERO, Imp.
* * * * *
_March 3, 65_: TO THE EMPEROR: The city is engulfed, my Caesar! I shall die fighting the flames. But what of you, my Emperor? I shall pray to the Gods that you be spared my fate.
(signed) Papirius,
CAPTAIN OF POLICE
* * * * *
_March 3, 65_: TO THE EX-CAPTAIN OF POLICE: The Gods be damned--I'm getting the hell out of Rome!
NERO, Imp.
* * * * *
_April 1, 2631_: Dear Diary: Myers has seen to it for my transfer. Oh, he's clever and all that to keep the fact hidden that I used the time-grapple. But I can't see what all the fuss is about. We corrected the time stress before anything critical could happen. The way he carries on you'd think we did something (I, that is) that would go down in history. A ridiculous thought, but then Myers is a physicist and you know what suspicious natures they have.... I often wonder though how the games did turn out that afternoon....