Fighting Fit (3 page)

“It was just for guys,” I explained. “Except for me.”

“You’re the only girl he asked!”

I tried to look modest. “Apparently.”

“He must have his reasons,” she said in a doubtful voice.

My heart did a little somersault. “I think he loves me, Lollie.”

She gave me another searching look. “Are you sure about that?”

I felt a twinge of dismay. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just that Orlando is a really advanced being.”

“You mean I’m not good enough,” I said in a huffy voice.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Lola. “Sure Orlando loves you. He also loves trees and humming birds and - and -
head-lice
. That boy loves the cotton-picking cosmos, Melanie. But he lives for his work!”

I told myself that Lola hadn’t seen Orlando’s face as he came towards me or she wouldn’t have made her hurtful head-lice comparison.

“I know he does,” I agreed. “That’s what’s so incredible about him!”

“But you think he sees things like you do,
carita
, and I’m not sure he does.”

“He chose me, Lola,” I said pathetically.

Lola sighed. “Look, just try not to expect too much, OK?”

“I won’t,” I promised. “I just want to help him. You should have seen him tonight at that meeting. He’s SO committed. The Agency couldn’t spare the agents to deal with this Roman problem, so he’s getting a team together off his own bat. Can you believe that!”

“What Ancient Roman era are you going to, exactly?“Lola sounded wary.

I frowned, trying to remember. “Orlando said something about Nero.”

Lola looked appalled. “But that’s a cosmic war zone! I can’t believe the Agency’s letting him take trainees!”

“He warned us it might get hairy,” I said defensively. “How come you know so much about Ancient Rome anyway?”

“Brice went there to do some kind of dodgy business for the PODS. He said Nero was about as psycho as a human psycho can get. Half Nero’s advisers weren’t even
human
, Melanie.”

Lola’s warning had the opposite effect to the one she intended.

“We’re supposed to go where humans need us,” I said stubbornly. “That’s what we’re for.”

I was disappointed and a bit puzzled. It was all thanks to Lola that I’d got myself fighting fit in the first place. She should have been thrilled I was putting my new abilities to good use, not pouring cold water on Orlando’s daring enterprise.

A thrilling picture flashed into my mind. Orlando and me, fighting side by side to save the Earth from an unknown cosmic catastrophe.

Maybe Lola was right. Maybe I didn’t know what I was getting into. But I knew one thing. This was the proudest moment of my angel career.

Chapter Three

Y
ou’re picking this up really quickly, sweetie. Shall we just try once more to make sure?”

I nodded dumbly.

The Agency stylist whipped half a dozen bronze hairpins out of my crown of braids and my hair tumbled loose around my face. “Try plaiting it tighter this time,” Tia suggested brightly. “We’re aiming for a lovely basket-weave effect.”

It was the second day of our Ancient Roman intensive and I was totally confused. Until a few hours ago, I’d been soaking up Roman survival skills alongside the male trainees. The first part of the course was mostly theory: Roman beliefs and superstitions. And curses. Cursing was HUGE back then. If someone stole your new bracelet, you didn’t call the cops. You wrote a curse, calling on the gods of the underworld to punish the thief.

We were all fascinated by Roman beliefs about the Afterlife. Like, after they died, Romans would expect to be met by a strong silent ferryman called Charon. For a couple of denarii he’d row you across an underground river called the River Styx, and deliver you to your specially designated area of the Underworld. Heroes went to the Elysian Fields. Ordinary folk wound up on the Plains of Asphodel. Villains were whisked off to a Hell dimension known as Tartarus.

“But what actually happened to them after they croaked, though?” I asked the instructor.

“They got what they expected, naturally,” he grinned. “Until they’d had time to adjust to life and realised there was rather more to the Next World than they’d thought.”

After Beliefs and Superstitions, we had more practical sessions, like, how to conduct ourselves at banquets, appropriate behaviour in Roman temples etc. We also had to learn about the local currency. We’d be posing as humans and like other humans we’d need to pay to use the various facilities - the baths for instance.

I still couldn’t believe I’d be expected to bathe in public! Apparently if I refused, people would think I was a barbarian. Apparently, “barbarian” was the worst insult a Roman could throw at you. They applied it to anyone who didn’t think or behave the way they did. To them, a barbarian was everything that was despicable in the human race. As an angel, I would never ever diss another person’s culture, but the fact is Romans had some pretty barbaric attitudes themselves.

Did you know it was socially acceptable for a Roman dad to reject his newborn baby, especially if it was female and he’d wanted a son? I couldn’t believe it when the instructor told us that. And twin infants were routinely put out of the house to die. Romans considered twins to be bad luck. This struck me as deeply strange, considering:

1. Their capital city was founded by a pair of twin brothers, and

2. Two of their own gods were twin brothers -Castor and Pollux the Heavenly Twins. Hello!

Talk about a double standard!

It was a lot to take in in a short time, but, if I say so myself, I kept up with the guys pretty well. Then halfway through the second morning, a new instructor took over. His muscles bulged under his fighting clothes and he had a scar on his cheek which I guessed must be a souvenir from the PODS.

“By this time you all think the Romans were insane for holding such bizarre beliefs,” he said.

Everyone looked sheepish. That’s exactly what we were thinking.

“What you need to understand is that Romans lived in constant terror. They weren’t just scared of being overrun by barbarians. They were just as paranoid about their own people. Life was harsh for the majority and there was a real danger the starving masses would rise up and murder their rich masters in their beds. The rulers decided it would be wise to divert the peoples more violent tendencies into safer channels. This is why they invented the Imperial Games.”

The instructor said these weren’t what we would think of as games, but horrifying, bloodthirsty spectacles held in an arena, a kind of humungous circus ring. The Games were sometimes used to dispose of unwanted Roman citizens: convicted criminals, political troublemakers, or prisoners of war.

“But the most popular games featured professional fighters known as gladiators,” the instructor explained. “A gladiator’s life was brutal and short. He had probably been sold to the ludus - the gladiator school - as a slave. Or he may have been a criminal who fought so spectacularly bravely that his life was spared by the crowd. A few gladiators became real celebrities and had hordes of female fans, a bit like rock stars in other centuries.”

We all tittered but it was basically to relieve tension. This was unbelievably dark stuff.

“You all have some experience of martial arts,” the instructor went on. “So, if you should end up in the arena for any reason, you’ll all be able to handle yourselves. Now there’s not much time, so I’ll only be able to teach you the most common fighting style. I want four volunteers to come down to the front.”

I eagerly jumped out of my seat. Finally some action!

“Not you, Melanie,” Orlando called. “There’s an agency stylist waiting for you upstairs.”

For a moment I just stared at him in disbelief then I stumbled out of the hall, my cheeks burning. I felt angry and humiliated. The guys get to acquire gladiator skills and I’m sent to the makeover department.

I’d now spent six hours out of my precious forty-eight, mastering Roman hairdressing skills. And I’m sorry but I could not see the relevance. Was I supposed to zap the PODS with my hairpins? I don’t think so!!

Whatever, it wasn’t Tia’s fault, so I did my best to follow her instructions.

Finally, she was satisfied with my plaiting. After that she showed me how to mix a home-made face-pack, helpfully suggesting Roman household ingredients that I could use in place of modern eye make-up and blusher. “Now we’ve got to teach you to dress like a real Roman girl,” she beamed.

When she’d finished my historical makeover, Tia led me in front of a full-length mirror.

I gazed at my reflection in astonishment. Over my tunic, I wore an outer garment known as a stola, which fell in soft folds to my ankles. Draped around my shoulders was a pretty light shawl. This was called a palla. A pair of leather sandals completed my Roman outfit. I put my hand to my throat. “It needs something here.”

“Oops, I forgot to give you your bulla!” Tia held out a bizarre little charm.

I giggled. “I can’t wear that! It looks like a willie!!”

Tia explained that bullas were charms worn by freeborn Roman children to protect them from evil spirits. Girls wore them until they were married. On the day of her wedding a girl would sacrifice her bulla to the god of the crossroads, to show she was now a woman.

“Most of them were pretty rude, I’m afraid,” she admitted.

Tia let me hunt through her charm supply. Finally I found one I could have shown my nan without blushing, with a sweet little bee design.

Reuben popped his head around the door just as Tia was fastening it around my neck.

“We need you downstairs,” he said. “Michael’s here.”

“We’re all done now, anyway,” Tia told him. “I hope you enjoy your trip, Mel. If you get the chance, try that little pastry shop near the Temple of Vesta. Their walnut tarts are to die for!”

I stared at her. “You lived in Nero’s time! I had no idea!!”

“Yeah, well it’s all ancient history now,” she laughed.

I raced after Reuben, skidding slightly in my Roman sandals.

Michael looked up and smiled as we came into the hall and I felt a familiar prickle of awe.

I don’t think I’ll ever completely adjust to having a headmaster who is also an archangel. Though, unlike the other archangels, Michael genuinely has the human touch. Lola thinks it’s because he has special responsibility for Planet Earth. His workload is so ridiculous we don’t see him for days on end. Then suddenly there he’ll be, strolling across the campus, chatting to some awed little kid. He’ll be absolutely shattered: dark shadows under his eyes, a suit that looks as if he’s slept in it. The guy doesn’t take care of himself at all. He’s even developing a bit of a podgy belly, which makes him look exactly like a big bear. But when Michael looks at you, it’s like he’s looking into your soul.

“As I was saying,” he went on humorously, “hopefully, you all know a little more about Nero’s Rome than you did before. But there are things we can’t prepare you for, and if it’s your first visit to this era, you can expect a certain amount of culture shock.”

Michael gave us the usual warnings about keeping our eyes peeled for PODS. “As you know, the Opposition constantly bombards Earth with negative thoughts and energy. Even professional celestial agents can find themselves adversely affected. Once you leave the safety of Heaven, it’s easy to lose focus. So you must keep reminding each other why you are there, and what you came to do. Try to remember that, no matter how it
seems
, you’re always connected with your heavenly source. Good luck.”

That was it - we’d officially graduated from our Ancient Roman Class! Tonight we’d be in the decadent world of Nero’s Empire. I heard a sudden clatter as two Roman hairpins dropped to the floor and I suddenly felt like I was going to pass out with nerves.

I’m not ready! I thought. It was like those exam dreams I used to have on Earth. That paralysing terror when you know you just haven’t put in the hours. I fiddled frantically with another slipping hairpin. I couldn’t even control my own hair! As I grovelled on the floor collecting hairpins, a new worry occurred to me.

“They forgot to tell me what I’m supposed to be called,” I panicked. “It’ll be some weird name and I won’t be able to remember it.”

“Your name is Mella,” said a familiar voice.

Michael crouched down beside me on the floor. He touched my little bee charm with a fingertip and I felt angelic volts shimmer through every cell. “It’s Latin for ‘Honey’,” he told me. “So you see, you chose the right charm quite by instinct.”

“I
did
?” I whispered.

Isn’t that incredible? When I chose that bee design, I had NO idea my Roman name was going to be “Honey”!!

Suddenly I didn’t give a hoot about my hair. How can you fail when your charm has been personally touched by an archangel?