Gladiator

Chapter 7 The Spaniard and the Crowd
Crowds of people came down the hillside from their small houses 
above the Moroccan town. They were all going toward the arena, 
hoping to put a little excitement into their difficult lives. 
Maximus’s arm, now without the letters SPQR, was covered
with an arm guard. He had earned the extra protection of armor 
because of his brave fighting. He bent and picked up some dirt
from the ground, watched it disappear through his fingers, and
walked quickly toward the entrance to the arena. Proximo
walked with him. 
“You just kill, kill, kill!” Proximo shouted at Maximus. “You
make it look too easy. The crowd wants a hero, not just someone 
cutting up meat. We want them to keep coming back. Don’t kill
so quickly—take more time!” The cheers of the crowd grew
louder as they got closer to the arena. “Give them an adventure
to remember!” Proximo shouted above the noise. “Fall to one
knee—they’ll think you’re finished. Then force yourself to your 
feet—our hero!” He was rushing along to keep up with
Maximus. “Remember, you’re an entertainer!” 
Without a word to Proximo, Maximus walked out into the
arena. There was a cheer immediately. He was a known fighter
now, and the Moroccans knew they were going to see some real 
action. 
Out in the bright sunlight, six fighters waited. Maximus looked
at them and decided immediately on his method of attack. He
chose the strongest and most confident man first. When that man
went down, the others would know they had no chance. He cut
them down, one by one, his sword striking through their bodies
with great speed. It was all finished in a few minutes. 
The crowd stood and cheered. They shouted, “Spaniard! 
Spaniard!” 
Proximo got up from his seat and walked out. 
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Maximus dropped his arm to his side, stepped over a body, and 
walked back toward the exit. He picked up a sword from the sand
and threw it into the crowd. As it fell to the floor, the screaming
crowd grew silent, watching and waiting. 
“Are you not entertained?” Maximus shouted at them. “Is this
not why you came?” He threw down his own sword and walked
out of the arena gates and back to the prison area. 
♦
In the cool of the evening, Maximus and Juba stood inside the
gates of Proximo’s school. They looked out over the desert to the 
mountains in the distance. 
“My country—it’s somewhere out there,” Juba said. “My
home. My wife is preparing food and my daughters are carrying
water from the river. Will I ever see them again? I think not.” 
“Do you believe you’ll meet them again—after you die?”
Maximus asked. 
“I think so,” Juba said. “But I will die soon. They will not die
for many years.” 
“But you would wait for them.” 
“Of course,” Juba said. 
“I almost died, coming here,” said Maximus. “You saved me. I 
never thanked you” Maximus looked at Juba, and there was pain
in his eyes. “Because my wife, and my son, are waiting for me.” 
Juba understood. “You’ll meet them again,” he said. “But not
yet, yes?” He laughed. This team was not ready for death. 
Later that evening, two guards came to find Maximus. They
took him to Proximo. 
“Ah, Spaniard,” he said, sending the guards away. “It worries
me that although you’re good, you could be better. You could be
the greatest.” 
“You want me to kill. I kill,” Maximus said. “That’s enough.”
He turned to walk out. 
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“Enough for