Soon they were over the bridge, standing on land, and Sam spotted a huge sign which read
“Southwark.” He turned right, in the direction of that stadium.
They headed down a street which read “Clink Street,” and passed a large prison. They heard another roar, and this time, Sam felt certain that she was there. Caitlin. His sister. Just blocks away.
They increased their pace and as they rounded the bend, Sam was blown away by the sight: before them sat a large stadium, in front of which milled thousands of people—crude, tough looking types—all hurrying in and out.
He stopped and turned to Polly. She stood there, looking amazed.
"I feel that she's in there," he said to her. "Do you want to check it out?"
Polly stared at the crowd, looking appalled.
"These people look like they haven't bathed in a year," she said. "And their fashion leaves much to be desired.”
A huge, sweaty man passed by them, not wearing a shirt, hair coming off his arms, and brushed by Polly’s arm, leaving sweat on her which she furiously wiped off.
“Gross,” she said.
Sam felt repulsed by it, too.
"I don't know," Polly said. "I don't feel that she's in there. And I don't get a good feeling about this place.”
Sam scanned the faces. "Do you have any other ideas?" he asked.
He saw Polly close her eyes for several seconds. Finally, she opened them, looking frustrated.
"No," she said.
"Then let’s check it out," Sam said. "What do we have to lose?"
*
Sam was on guard as they walked through the large, open-air archway, into the stadium. It reminded him of entering the Roman Coliseum, but smaller.
The electricity in the air was palpable. Before them, at eye level, was a circular, dirt floor, surrounded by wooden seating, rising steeply for several levels. There was not an empty seat in the packed house, and everyone was on their feet. People were crammed in impossibly close, shoulder to shoulder, leaning over the wooden railings, and screaming at the top of their lungs.
Sam looked down to see what they were screaming about, and saw that there, tied to a post in the center of the dirt floor, was a huge, brown bear, fixed to the post by a ten foot metal chain, clamped to its hind leg. The bear snarled and roared, trying to break free, but to no avail.
The bear ran in circles, back and forth, yanking at the chain with all its might—but it was futile.
The crowd seemed to get excited every time the bear tried to break free, shouting and jeering. Sam looked closely, scanning the faces, and he could see that most of them were drunk, in the middle of the day, gripping flasks.
It was crowded down here, too. In the entryway, hundreds of people milled about, shoulder to shoulder, jostling Sam and Polly. While Polly previously had kept her distance from Sam, she inched closer, clearly nervous.
He cleared a space for them both, pushing their way towards the front so that they could get a better look. Sam scanned all the faces intently, trying to see if he could spot Caitlin anywhere. But it was so chaotic, and there was so much energy in the air, he felt his senses being tuned out. He couldn't see her anywhere, and now he was starting to worry if they were in the right place at all.
Maybe he had made a mistake coming here. Maybe Polly had been right.
Sam also couldn't figure out why all these people were so excited about watching a bear chained to a post.
And then it happened.
A trumpet sounded, and several trap doors opened all around the sides of the stadium. In a perfect circle, out charged a dozen hunting dogs. They all charged right for the bear. Sam couldn't believe it.
The dogs leapt high into the air, claws and teeth extended, aiming right for the bear. The first dog to reach it sunk its fangs into the bear’s hind leg.
The bear wheeled in anger, and knocked the dog off of him with a swipe of his paw. The bear’s huge claws tore the dog in half, and the dog fell to the ground, dead.
The crowd roared in approval.
The other dogs attacked the bear from all directions, and he fought back viciously. They did damage, biting and scratching him, but he did much more damage than they, killing or wounding most of the dogs with a single bite.
"PLACE YOUR BETS! PLACE YOUR BETS!" shouted a voice. A man walked past Sam and Polly holding out a pouch filled with coins, and an empty palm. As he went, various people reached over, brushing by Sam, and shoved various size coins into his hand. He stuffed these coins into his pouch, and reached out and gave the people tickets in return.
“Twenty pence on the dogs!" yelled a man, as he thrust a coin into his hand.
“Two pounds on the bear!” called out another man.
The man stopped before Sam and Polly, looking at them, holding out his hand. "Will the young couple be placing a bet?" he asked.
Sam, embarrassed, looked at Polly, and she looked away, equally embarrassed.
"We are not a couple," Polly corrected, her face reddening.
But the man didn't seem to care. Realizing they weren't betting, he moved on.
Sam was embarrassed, too. And despite himself, he also felt a little hurt that Polly was so quick to clarify that they were not a couple. Not that they were. She just didn't have to be so forceful about it.
The man moved on, but as soon as he did, another man appeared, carrying a sack over his shoulder. "GIN HERE! GIN HERE! Fifteen pence!”
A huge, drunken man brushed by Sam, and as he did, he bumped Polly roughly, sending her stumbling, as he reached out and grabbed a flask of gin.
Sam felt his temper flare. He turned to Polly, and could see that she was flustered.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She nodded back, but looked shaken.
"Let's go," she said. "Caitlin’s not here. I want to get out of here.” Sam was willing to go, especially since it was clear that Caitlin was nowhere to be found—but he wasn't ready to leave just yet. He was indignant that the man had so rudely jostled Polly, and he didn't feel right about leaving until he’d spoken his mind.
"That'll be fifteen pence," said the vendor to the huge man.
The man suddenly extracted a small knife from somewhere in his garment and held it up to the vendor's throat.
"How about I trade you the flask for your life?" the man responded.
The vendor, wide-eyed, hurried off.
The man turned and began to make his way back.