Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7 Marcus stepped slowly, clutching the basket. At first he didn't notice how people moved aside for him, how slaves bowed their heads. And then he understood: His disguise was working! Nobody guessed he was just a slave. None of the guards tried to stop him as he approached the front of the parade. Marcus saw the lanista, his chest puffed out. And there was Tata. The big guard was jabbing him in the back with a spear, laughing at Tata's pain. Marcus's blood boiled as he walked toward the lanista.

Closer… Closer… Closer… When he was just a few feet away, the lanista looked at him. Their eyes met, and Marcus saw the flash of recognition in the man's eyes. "Stop him!" the lanista bellowed, pointing to Marcus. But it was too late. Marcus tore the lid off the basket. He lunged forward. And with all the strength he could gather, he thrust the open basket toward the lanista, propelling the snake into the air. The cobra soared, a twisting, hissing arrow. The snake struck the lanista in the chest and then landed on the ground, coiling itself tightly. The lanista's womanly scream rose up over the crowd. And everything went still and silent.

People stared, hypnotized by the sight of the cobra. The creature lifted its head, rising, rising, rising, until it was as tall as a child. It flared its great

hood and then opened its mouth to expose its silky pink mouth and killer fangs. Hissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss! And then, as if Marcus himself had pulled a lever, the earth started to rumble, just as it had earlier. Stones crumbled and fell from the wall surrounding the barracks. A roar echoed from deep under the ground. "It's a curse from the gods!" someone shouted. The crowd erupted in panic. The lanista turned and ran, and his guards followed. Gladiators bolted. The snake slithered away. The horses screeched and reared up, tossing their riders to the ground. Marcus ran to Tata, who stared at him in confusion. "Tata!" Marcus said, tossing off his toga. "It's me!" Amazement lit up Tata's eyes, but there was not a second to spare. Tata grabbed Marcus's hand as though he would never let it go.

"This way!" Tata said, pulling Marcus to one of the riderless horses. It was a ragged white mare that looked a hundred years old. One of her ears looked as if it had been chewed off. Tata grabbed the reins and soothed the horse while Marcus climbed on. Tata climbed on in front of Marcus. "Hold on tight," he said, snapping the reins. Marcus doubted the old horse could even run. But she shot forward and was soon speeding them down the street. Marcus clung to Tata, his heart pounding in terror. He expected spears to fly after them, a dagger to stab him in the middle of his back. But the horse ran faster and faster; it seemed she was as eager to escape her life in Pompeii as they were. They moved so fast that Marcus felt as though they were flying. Closing his eyes, he imagined that this old white mare was the winged horse Pegasus, and that they were soaring through the clouds. When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to see they had passed through the city gates.

Tata raised his fist to the heavens and let out a Latin cheer. "Ecce!" They had made it.