The Fatal Fire by Terry Deary Page A

on you and kill you all.”
    Mary’s mouth was dry. She had heard about the executions. She didn’t want to think about the horrors of the ‘games’, as the Romans called them. It wasn’t much of a game being tied to a post while a bear tears off your flesh. She felt sick when a soldier walked past and gave her a hard glare.

    The street became quieter, and the old man stepped out onto the path and followed the mob. In front of them stood a massive, wooden arena.

    It had towering walls with dozens of doors to let the noisy crowd in.

    Street sellers had their stalls set up and were offering everything from food to clothes. Pans sizzled and steamed on small, wood-burning ovens.

    â€œSausages here! Get your sausages here!” came the cries.
    â€œThrushes, tasty thrushes!”
    â€œDormice, lovely stuffed dormice!”
    â€œSlice of wild boar, sir? Killed fresh this morning!”
    Mary’s mouth was watering. Servants never got to eat much meat – they got by on thin porridge, some dates, onions and cheese.
    The old man pointed to a sausage-seller’s stall by one of the dark doorways. “Stay here till the games are finished.”
    â€œHere?”
    â€œHere. You can’t expect to come in and watch the chariot racing. It’s not for the likes of you.”

    â€œBut is it safe outside? With all the thieves and the soldiers?” Mary cried.
    The old man pushed his crinkled face close to hers. “Who cares? You are a slave. A slave’s life is worth nothing. You are a girl. A girl’s life is worth nothing. So what are you worth?”
    â€œDouble nothing,” Mary muttered and sank to the ground. Her master disappeared into the arena. Then she crawled under the stall to escape the heat of the midday sun.

THREE
    In time, the street became empty and the food-sellers’ cries stopped. Everyone was inside the arena and the roar of the crowd told Mary that the races had begun. Even the street sellers had deserted their stalls to watch.

    Mary collected two ants from the dusty earth and set them to run. She would have her own races to keep herself amused.
    One ant raced out from under the stall and into the sunlit street. Mary lifted the cloth a little and that’s when she saw a pair of feet walking past. And she knew at once that all the dangers of Rome were just a cubit away from her frightened face.

    There was something wicked about those dusty feet in the dustier sandals. The crowd in the arena was roaring like a thousand lions, yet the feet seemed to be trying to walk on tiptoe. They took two steps and stopped. The ankles twisted as if the owner of the feet was looking around. Then they moved on, silent and snake-like.
    Mary pulled the cloth back further and blinked out into the glare of the street. The feet rose into hairy legs and the legs went into a tunic with a green belt. But the man was too tall for her to see his face… unless she pushed her head right out.

    â€œI’m not doing that,” she thought. “My life’s worth double nothing – but it’s the only one I’ve got.”
    Again the man twisted to look around. Then he leaned forwards and took a sausage pan from the top of the stove. He threw the fat from the pan onto the wooden wall of the arena.

    Then he took a wooden spoon, opened the stove door and scooped hot ashes into the pan. The hot ashes set the remaining fat alight.

    The man seemed to panic. He threw the burning mess at the wall and at once the sausage fat started to blaze.
    The sandals began to run back towards the city and Mary could see the man’s back now. She stuck her head out from the stall to see more clearly. The man stopped at the corner and turned. The serving girl saw the beard and the eye patch, and she gasped.

    The thief did a curious thing – he lifted the patch from his eye to get a better look at the arena. Then he gave a cruel grin and hurried out of sight.
    Mary