‘So why were you seeking me?’ Lollia asked brightly.
In the past week I had listened to hours of Latin podcasts. I had memorised a dozen useful sentences and a map of Roman London. I had even learned all about the seven grades of Mithraism.
But I was totally unprepared for this question.
28
Good Omens
‘Why was I looking for you?’ I repeated, partly to give myself time to think. ‘Um, a man who lives in my faraway country sent me to find out if you are well.’
‘Your patron? What’s his name?’
I couldn’t remember the Latin word for Daisy so I made one up. ‘Dasius,’ I said. Then I remembered that Roman men had at least three names. So I expanded: ‘Marcus Solomon Dasius.’
‘Does he know my father?’ she cried. ‘Marcus Lollius Honoratus? He is a dealer in spices and perfume.’
‘Um, yes, I think so.’
‘Then you are practically in our familia. You must come home with me and wait for him.’ She caught my hand and gave it a tug. ‘We’ll get you some dry clothes and better shoes.’
‘Do you live near here?’
She pointed. ‘Just back there.’
My mind was racing. I probably had enough information about her to get my bonus, but only if the world I knew was still waiting for me. And I realised how much I wanted to get back to that world.
Rule number three: as little interaction as possible.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘But I lost my slave in the shipwreck. I have to go back across the river and look for him.’ I was getting used to speaking Greek with strange round vowels.
Lollia’s sapphire eyes got even brighter. ‘Oh, Alexandros! Take us with you! We want to see the gladiator games, don’t we, Plecta?’
It must have taken a lot of courage for Plecta to do what she did next.
‘Mistress,’ she said, ‘we cannot go there alone. We should not even be out of the house!’
Lollia hauled back to slap Plecta, but I grabbed her wrist. Lollia stared at me in astonishment.
‘We don’t smack our slaves in my country,’ I said gently.
‘But she’s impudent!’
‘No, she cares about you.’
Lollia stamped the muddy road with her foot. ‘But it might be my last chance to go! Tertius will never let me see the gladiators.’ She looked at Plecta. ‘Alexandros can show us the way!’
‘I don’t know the way!’ I protested. Then I frowned at her. ‘What do you mean, your “last chance to go”?’
Lollia and Plecta looked at each other. Then Lollia took a deep breath and said, ‘In three days I’m getting married.’
I stared. ‘Married? Aren’t you too young?’
Lollia lifted her chin a little and looked down on me. ‘I’ll be fourteen in the autumn,’ she said. ‘And I am a woman, not a child.’ Then she grabbed my hands with both of hers. Her fingers had slight calluses on the tips. ‘Alexandros! Please come with us? I’m sure the gods have sent you.’
‘Isn’t it dangerous for you to be out on your own?’ I asked. ‘Like Plecta said?’
‘I won’t be on my own. And I have my lucky knife,’ she said. ‘The leopard of Dionysus will protect me from evil. And all the omens were good this morning.’
My mind was racing.
The blue-eyed girl with the ivory leopard knife had practically fallen into my lap. But I didn’t want to mess up my world by interacting too much in this one. On the other hand, if interaction in third-century Roman London did have an effect, then it was too late – everything was totally messed up anyway.
And if my world was still there for me, then knowing more about her would guarantee me five million pounds.
Plus, who wouldn’t want to see real live gladiators?
I had visited London’s Roman amphitheatre once, and I knew it was not too far from the Mithraeum.
Lollia was still clutching my hand. I caught a whiff of her breath, which was pretty bad. ‘Please, Alexandros? Come with us to the amphitheatre at least.’
I took a step back. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll go with you, but you have to tell me all about yourself and especially how you came to be living in Londinium.’
‘Oh gay!’ she cried. And Plecta whispered, ‘Oh gay!’ too.
For a minute I wondered what they were on about. Then I realised they were saying, ‘Euge!’ which means ‘Yay!’
‘Euge!’ I agreed. And smiled at Lollia. ‘Lead on!’
29
Leather Bikinis
My gran once told me that when she first moved to London in the 1980s, taxi drivers would refuse to drive her home from the West End because she lived ‘South of the River’.
She said other Londoners have always looked down their noses at those of us who live in south London. I guess it was just the same in Roman times, because everyone was heading for the bridge so they could cross over to the northern bank.
As we shuffled along with the other people I tried to get more information about the blue-eyed girl with the ivory knife. ‘When did you come to Londinium?’ I asked Lollia. ‘And where are you from?’
‘I was born in Lepcis Magna, in the province of Libya,’ she said. ‘We came here five years ago, when I was nine. My father was in the army,’ she said. ‘After he retired, he started working for his uncle as a buyer and seller of spices.’
My stomach gave a ginormous rumble.
Lollia and Plecta shared a look and giggled.
‘Are you hungry?’ asked Lollia.
Suddenly I was hungry. ‘Starving!’ I said. And then my empty stomach sank as I remembered. ‘But I’m fasting.’
‘Are you doing a diatritus?’ asked Lollia.
It was a Greek word, but I had no idea what it meant.
‘What’s that?’
‘A fast lasting three days,’ said Lollia. ‘You do it to bring on the crisis. I’m an expert on fevers,’ she said proudly. ‘I get them all the time.’
‘I’m doing it for religious reasons,’ I lied.
‘Oh! Which god do you worship?’
I almost told them I worshipped Jesus Christ, but remembered just in time that Romans liked to throw Christians to the lions.
While I was trying to think of a safe god, Lollia said, ‘I worship the Great Mother of course. But Dionysus is my favourite. The leopard is his special pet.’
I frowned. ‘Isn’t Dionysus all about wine?’
‘And music and dance and most of all plays!’ said Lollia. ‘Pater says Dionysus is the most powerful deity, because he is the god of stories.’ She put her hand to her cheek. ‘Eheu!’ Alas!
‘Is your tooth hurting, mistress?’ asked Plecta.
‘Yes. The oil of clove has worn off.’ Lollia reached down the front of her tunic and produced a miniature amphora made of bluish-green glass. After using her front teeth to pull out a tiny cork, she tipped some of the golden oil onto her forefinger and rubbed it on one of her lower left molars. When she put back the little cork, I caught a whiff and realised that was the smell I had mistaken for apple pie, probably because my gran puts cloves in her recipe.
We had come to a standstill because we had finally reached the bridge. The road was crowded with braying animals, creaking carts and shouting Londoners. The traffic was hardly moving at all.
‘Ask someone what’s happened,’ Lollia whispered in my ear. ‘Just say, “Quid agitur?”’
‘Why don’t you ask someone?’ I said.
‘Because I’m a girl!’
‘I thought you were a woman.’
Lollia rolled her eyes. ‘Women can’t ask either. It’s too bold.’
The man in front of me had a pointy-hooded cloak and a walking stick. I tapped his shoulder. When he turned to look at me I tried not to gasp. He had a big lump of flesh growing out of the side of his cheek and neck. I managed a smile and said politely, ‘Quid agitur?’
He scowled and in heavily accented Latin said something about a donkey. Apparently one had stoppe
d on the bridge and refused to budge.
The man muttered something else. His accent was so strong that I only caught the word ludi, which means plays, games or fun.
‘Oh no,’ said Lollia. ‘He says if we’re going to the games we’ll never make it. They start in an hour.’
Suddenly a great cheer went up and people started laughing and making a bee sound.
‘What is it?’ I said. ‘What’s happening?’
‘There!’ said Lollia, and pointed. ‘Acrobat girls!’
Four young women wearing nothing but leather bikinis seemed to be walking on the heads and shoulders of the crowd. Their long dark hair swung in beaded plaits around their shoulders and their bare arms were painted with blue spirals. When one of them did a kind of cartwheel, I realised what was happening.
‘I think they’re walking on the side of the bridge,’ I said. I tried to think of a way to add like a gymnast on a balance beam but couldn’t think of the words in Greek.
Lollia gasped and looked at Plecta. Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement.
‘Mistress, no!’ cried Plecta. ‘We couldn’t!’
‘Yes, we could!’ said Lollia.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Plecta used to be an acrobat,’ said Lollia. ‘She’s been teaching me how to do tricks, including walking on the rope.’ The word she used was funambulist.
I looked at Plecta. ‘You mean you could do what those girls just did?’
Plecta inclined her head for yes, her pale cheeks flushed with pleasure.
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘You two might be able to walk on the side of the bridge. But I can’t.’
‘Wool fluff!’ said Lollia. ‘It’s easy.’
‘We will help you,’ said Plecta, and then to Lollia, ‘We should do it barefoot, mistress. It will be easier.’
‘Yes!’ agreed Lollia, and extended her foot so that Plecta could crouch to unlace her pretty red leather shoes. Lollia turned to me. ‘I’ll lead the way. You can follow me and Plecta will follow you to make sure you don’t fall. The trick,’ she added, ‘is to look at the point where you want to go, the end of the bridge. Oh, and you’d better take off your carbatinae too. Tie the laces together and hang them around your neck.’
And so it was that I found myself walking on the right-hand guard rail of Londinium’s first bridge.
30
Balance Beam
Walking along the side of London Bridge was terrifying.
First, because it was about twice as long as any of the modern bridges in London, because the Thames was much wider then.
Second, because the oak beam on which we were walking was only about thirty centimetres wide. You might say that is broad enough, but when you have to walk half a kilometre with jeering people on your left and fast-flowing grey water far below you, it is no joke.
Third, because the beam was still wet from the recent downpour.
At first I tried to look at my destination, the end of the bridge, but Lollia was in the way, so instead I kept my eyes fixed on the back of her neck, where the thongs of her red leather sandals were draped.
Plecta had hitched up her dress a little and tied her brown palla around her waist. Lollia had done the same with her sapphire cloak. I could see the pale pink of her tunic and her milky white skin. Whenever I wobbled, I felt Plecta’s firm fingertips on the outside of my upper arms, gently keeping me steady.
As I relaxed a little, I began to take in the view.
From here I could clearly see the original ‘square mile’ of London. Most of the roofs were covered with reddish-orange tiles, but some had pale yellow tiles and a few had both colours together in stripes or zig-zags. One red-roofed building straight ahead rose way higher than the others. I knew from my prep that it was London’s basilica. Apparently it was the biggest building north of the Alps.
We were about halfway across the crowded bridge when we saw a stiff little donkey rise above the heads of the people. It was on its back and seemed to float to our side of the bridge before it hung over the Thames. Lollia stopped and I wobbled, but Plecta steadied me from behind. The three of us watched the dead donkey fall into the water below. It was just a little one, and so skinny you could see every rib, but it made a big splash, almost swamping a round coracle. The tide was going out, and for a few moments we watched the skinny carcass float away out to sea, possibly to join poor Dinu.
Down on the bridge, traffic began to move again, but slowly. We were still making much better time walking on the guard rail.
That was when Lollia started to sing, ‘A girl with blue eyes, with an ivory knife in the shape of a leopard I seek,’ to the tune of ‘Greensleeves’.
As she sang, she swept her arms gracefully back and forth. I echoed her motions and turned my head to see Plecta doing it too.
After every stanza, Lollia paused and swung out one leg. Plecta and I hesitated and then started doing it in sync with Lollia, at which point the people on the bridge buzzed at us and some even applauded.
For the first time since I had arrived in the past, I was enjoying myself.
‘O cultrum eburneum! O oculi caeruli!’ we sang as we walked.
The sun was shining and a soft breeze was blowing. Now that my tunic was almost dry, I realised the rain had been as good as a shower. I was as clean as when I had first arrived.
I felt good. In fact I felt too good. I kicked out with one foot and nearly lost my balance. But Plecta’s firm hands steadied me from behind.
The end of the bridge was almost in sight, my heartbeat was slowing to normal and I felt a strange happy energy. We could do it! We could make it to the north bank and the amphitheatre. Lollia could have her day at the games. Maybe I could watch a few bouts too. Then I would go back to the Mithraeum, where I felt sure Dinu would be waiting patiently. He and I would travel back through the portal to discover the world unchanged. Except that I would have five million pounds in the bank and could look after my gran and would never have to worry again.
I kept my gaze fixed on Lollia’s back, with her graceful arms extended and the blonde plaits intertwined on her head and the thongs of her red leather sandals draped around her milky-white neck.
We had almost reached the other end of the bridge when something terrible happened.
I fell.
But not in the way you think.
31
Lucky Dionysus
There was something about the back of Lollia’s neck that made me go all squiggly inside.
I felt an urge to kiss it.
You’ve probably guessed what happened.
On that bridge, looking at Lollia’s slender neck, I fell in love with the blue-eyed girl from Africa.
NO! I mentally shouted at myself. This cannot be happening. This is the worst idea ever. Lollia is a Mean Girl who is going to DIE and there’s nothing I can do to save her.
Once again I felt dizzy.
Once again Plecta’s hands steadied me and restored my balance.
There were soldiers up ahead, where the bridge ended. One of them was giving us a look so intense I could almost feel it. I understood why ancient Greeks and Romans believed that eyes sent out tiny particles that could harm a person.
I hissed to Plecta, ‘I don’t think we’re supposed to be up here. We’d better get down or the soldiers will be angry.’
Plecta leaped down lightly and held up her hands to her mistress. I didn’t want to seem wimpy in front of Lollia so I jumped without help, but I landed awkwardly, almost twisting my ankle.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Plecta, her brown eyes full of concern.
‘Yes,’ I muttered. I bent to put on my new leather shoes so she wouldn’t see my eyes watering.
Plecta knelt to do the laces of Lollia’s pretty leather shoes and then put on her own shoes, which were cheap carbatinae like mine.
By the time we reached the soldiers, they were going through the leather satchel of a trinket merchant and let us pass without a glance.
&nb
sp; I heaved a sigh of relief.
The three of us were swept along by the crowd and I felt a thrill as Lollia grabbed my hand. She was holding Plecta’s hand too, so that I was on her right and Plecta on her left.
‘I think the amphitheatre is that way,’ said Lollia, pointing north-west with her chin.
‘That seems right,’ I agreed. ‘That’s the way most people are heading.’
Now the buildings around us looked Roman. Some had columns in front. A few were made of stone not brick. One building resembled a small version of the British Museum, with a flat triangle above pillars. At the foot of the steps leading up to it was a big block of marble with the charred remains of some animal on top. It looked like a failed attempt at a barbecue.
‘What happened there?’ I pointed.
‘That’s the Temple of Jupiter,’ said Lollia. ‘Today is one of his special days. That’s why the gladiators are doing their games.’
‘What’s that big block with the dead animal on top?’
Lollia gave me a funny look. ‘That’s the altar of course. They probably sacrificed that sheep at dawn. They usually distribute some of the cooked meat, but I think we’re too late.’
‘Do you actually believe in Jupiter?’ I asked Lollia.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘And in the Great Mother. But I told you: Dionysus is my special protector.’ She let go of my hand to touch the knife at her belt.
‘Did you buy the leopard knife here in Londinium?’ I asked her.
‘No, it’s from the place I used to live, Lepcis Magna,’ she said.
I shivered as I remembered that one of the studies on her bones indicated that she might have grown up in north Africa. ‘Is Lepcis Magna in Africa?’ I asked her.
‘Yes, in a province called Libya.’
‘Tell me about it?’
‘I can’t tell you much. Just that it was hotter than here and the buildings were much bigger and made of marble. I remember a huge arch as tall as three houses. And some scary Medusa faces on a big building. But my sisters and I hardly went into our own courtyard, much less the town. Mother said the sun would turn our fair skin brown and nobody would want to marry us. That’s why she kept us indoors so much.’
The Time Travel Diaries Page 9
