The barbarian hurled Patrick upward with a mighty heave.
Patrick raised his arms. His fi ngers caught the beam holding the protective netting around the emperor’s box. He hung for a moment, his legs dangling in the air.
The crowd went crazy. Some were shouting Boo. Others clapped. All eyes were on Patrick.
“He’s escaping!” cried a man in the crowd.
A woman shouted, “He’s going to attack the emperor.”
Patrick swung his legs to the top of the netting. He climbed it like a ladder and crawled toward Beth.
Telemachus pulled Patrick into the emperor’s box. The monk hugged the boy. There were tears in the monk’s eyes.
Beth also hugged Patrick—and this one time he didn’t protest. A small red chicken welcomed Patrick by pecking at his foot.
But not everyone was glad to see him safe. Two of the emperor’s guards came toward Patrick. Their swords were drawn.
“Stop!” the emperor shouted. “The boy is with me!”
The guards stepped back.
The emperor looked as if he might say something else. But suddenly a prisoner let out a heartbreaking cry. A man in the arena had been wounded.
The prisoners went still. And so did the people. The crowd gazed on the emperor for his decision.
Should the wounded man live—or die? A thumbs-up from the emperor meant the man would live. A thumbs-down meant he would die.
Telemachus turned to the emperor. He said, “May I?”
“You wish to decide the man’s fate?” the emperor asked.
Telemachus nodded. “If it pleases you,” he said.
Honorius motioned for Telemachus to step forward.
Telemachus moved to the edge of the emperor’s box. He raised his hand—his thumb was up.
“In the name of Jesus who shed His blood for us,” the monk shouted, “don’t take pleasure in this bloodshed! Stop—in the name of Christ—stop!”
There was a pause. Everyone was silent. The prisoners in the arena were still.
Then men in the crowd began to shout, “Kill, kill, kill!”
Beth covered her ears as the voices grew louder.
Beth cried out, “No!”
Honorius came to the edge. He waved his arms at the crowd. “Stop!” he shouted. “No more killing!”
But the crowd ignored their emperor. They kept shouting, “Kill, kill, kill!”
Honorius gave up. He slumped in his throne. The chalice fell over. Red liquid spilled on the ground. Then the cup rolled to the foot of a guard.
“Your Highness,” the guard said. “Here is your goblet.” He held it out to the emperor.
Honorius waved it away with a flick of his hand. “I never want to see it again,” Honorius said. “Give it to the monk. I am not worthy.”
The emperor looked at the crowd. His eyes were filled with sadness.
“So this is what we’ve become,” Honorius said. “This is what I have allowed.”
Telemachus took the cup. He looked at it sadly. “How can I offer this to the bishop?” he asked quietly. He looked at Patrick. “You take it. To remember what has happened here.”
He placed the cup in Patrick’s hands.
The crowd now screamed with fury. Redfaced men and women pressed toward the emperor’s box. They shook their fists at Telemachus for interrupting the games.
“Stone the monk!” one man shouted.
“Throw him in with the prisoners!” another man screamed.
The emperor looked at Telemachus. “You must leave,” he said. “They’ll tear you to pieces.”
“I’m not afraid of death,” the monk said.
Honorius nodded to a guard, who stepped over to Telemachus.
Telemachus understood. He gave a small smile to the children. “God be with you,” he said. “And may this day be the last of these terrible games.”
The guard took him out through a small back door. Beth watched him disappear into the darkness beyond. “What about us?” she asked Patrick.
Just then a gentle breeze swept through the box. The Imagination Station appeared.
The door opened with a swoosh. The roar of the crowd stopped all at once. Everyone and everything seemed to freeze in place.
“This is new,” Patrick said. What was happening?
A tall knight stepped out of the Imagination Station. He was wearing full armor.
Patrick and Beth gasped.
“It’s time that you left,” the knight said. “The new moon comes quickly.”
“Hey, you don’t belong here,” Patrick said. “Your armor is from England, not Rome.”
“There will be time for talking later,” the knight said. “Now hurry! You must tell Mr. Whittaker to search for the golden tablet of Kublai Khan. He’ll understand.”
The knight retreated into the machine. Beth wondered about Albert as she climbed into the Imagination Station.
Patrick remembered the mysterious Lord Darkthorn’s tower as the door closed.
Patrick looked behind him. “Where is the knight?” he asked. “Didn’t he get in?”
“He disappeared,” Beth said.
“But—how?” Patrick asked.
“Let’s find out,” Beth said. She pushed the red button.