‘They had to amputate your foot?’ I asked Martin. ‘As in cut it off?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ouch!’ I winced.
‘It’s not too bad,’ said Martin, and pulled up the cuff of his jeans. ‘They’ve given me a cyber-foot so at least I don’t need to use crutches or a wheelchair any more.’
I tried not to seem horrified by the prosthetic ankle emerging from his shoe. ‘You lost your whole foot?’ I said.
Martin nodded. ‘I managed to crawl back through. By the way,’ he said, ‘you have to go through the same side of the portal, like a revolving door. So I had to crawl around to the front and heave myself inside.’
Solomon Daisy said, ‘We leave the portal on for five minutes in case you need to come back for any reason.’
‘OK.’ I was feeling queasy.
‘I left a lot of blood in the Mithraeum,’ said Martin, ‘but once I got back to our time, they stopped the bleeding and rushed me to the hospital.’
‘That’s terrible!’ I murmured.
Martin gave a brave shrug and took a sip of coffee. ‘It’s OK. Thanks to Mr Daisy I’ve got millions in the bank. I’ll never have to work again. Also, every time scientists make an improvement, I can get a newer foot. It’s in my contract.’
My stomach had been grumbling for breakfast. Now it shut up.
I looked accusingly at Solomon Daisy.
He held up both hands, palms outward. ‘I’m ninety-nine per cent sure it won’t happen to you. But if anything does go wrong, I will cover all medical treatment needed for as long as you live. In addition to a five-million-pound compensation payment. Right, Martin?’
‘Right.’ Martin grinned. ‘I’ve bought a fleet of vintage Jetstream trailers for me and my family. The rest of the money is in the bank. I can live off the interest forever. Look!’ He pulled back the sleeve of his black hoodie and I saw a chunky watch on his wrist.
‘Rolex Skydweller,’ he explained. ‘Cost twenty thousand pounds.’
Solomon Daisy leaned forward and said, ‘You don’t need to be hurt to get rich, Alex. Remember the four-mil bonus if you find the girl.’
I nodded. I had been thinking of little else over the past few days.
‘Tell me more about Roman London,’ I said to Martin. ‘What do I need to know?’
‘Londinium is amazing.’ Martin scratched his curly head. ‘Everybody drives chariots and they all wear togas. You’ll see soldiers marching and gladiators fighting. Oh, and here’s how they shake hands.’ He stretched out his right arm. When I went to shake it he said, ‘No. Grab my forearm and I’ll grab yours.’
‘Oh yeah,’ I said, grasping his arm just below the elbow. ‘I think I’ve seen this in the movies.’
‘That’s right!’ said Martin. ‘It makes more sense than shaking hands,’ he said, ‘because you don’t pass germs and viruses to people.’
I frowned. ‘I thought ancient Romans didn’t know about germs …’
Martin’s smile vanished and he shrugged. ‘Well, that’s how they do it.’
‘Do you have any practical advice for me?’ I asked him. ‘Like where to get clothes?’
‘You’ll find stuff in a room just inside the entrance of the temple,’ said Martin. ‘It’s where the priests change. If you come through the portal during one of their ceremonies, stay hidden until it’s over and they’ve gone. Don’t make a peep. Even if you hear men cawing and roaring.’
I gave him a sharp look. ‘Cawing and roaring?’
Martin nodded. ‘Mithraism is a mystery cult and there are different levels, with a different avatar for each level, like the Raven, the Soldier –’
I interrupted. ‘– the Bridegroom, the Lion, the Persian, the Sun-Runner and the Father.’ I had been reading up on what little was known about the cult.
Solomon Daisy clapped and said, ‘Bravo, Alex! I knew we chose the right boy for the job.’
‘Yes,’ said Martin. ‘And I heard them doing a strange thing where they click their tongues and whistle. Also, they shake rattles.’
‘Rattles? Like baby rattles?’
Solomon Daisy answered for him. ‘We think Martin heard a type of Egyptian rattle called a sistrum. Plural form: sistra. They look like bronze egg whisks with tiny cymbals or rods. They jingle when you shake them.’
I frowned. ‘Why do they shake them?’
‘We think some of the noises were to keep away evil spirits,’ said Solomon Daisy.
‘After they make strange signs and noises,’ continued Martin, ‘they perform a weird kind of ceremony. I was hiding behind the statue but I peeked. Some guys were wearing animal masks. I saw one that looked like a raven. And one man was naked and blindfolded.’
‘What?’ My jaw dropped.
‘We think it was part of their initiation rite,’ said Solomon Daisy.
‘Then what happened?’ I asked.
Martin shrugged. ‘The guy with the raven mask turned his head, so I ducked back down. I was afraid if they saw me they might kill me.’
‘Kill you?’ My voice came out squeakier than I would have liked. ‘Like a human sacrifice?’
‘No. Because they might think I was a spy.’
I swallowed hard.
I had already started a list of Ways to Die in Londinium. Now I would have to add Death by Angry Priest of Mithras.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Martin. ‘I think I know one of their secret passwords: Deus Sol Invictus Mithras, which means “God is the Sun, is Unconquered, is Mithras”.’
I nodded. ‘Invictus like invincible. I can remember that.’
‘I also heard some of them shout “Stella sum!”’
‘What? “I am a star”?’
At this Solomon Daisy leaned forward. ‘The whole point of the ceremony is to ensure that the immortal part of you, your soul, will go up to the stars after your earthly body dies. Have you ever heard of Plato’s Cave?’
‘No, but wasn’t Plato the ancient Greek who wrote dialogues about philosophy?’ I said.
‘Ita vero. He’s the man who made Socrates famous. Another person I’m obsessed with.’
‘Did Plato live in a cave?’
‘No. A character in one of his dialogues says our lives are like those of prisoners in a cave, watching torch-lit shadows on a wall and trying to make sense of the cosmos that way.’
‘Cosmos? As in universe?’
‘Yes. It’s strange, but one of their models for the cosmos was a cave. That may be why the temples to Mithras had no windows. In fact they called them Caves of Mithras rather than “temples”. One scholar believes the Mithraeum was like a driving simulator or a satnav. Lights and torches would show the worshippers the route their immortal souls needed to take after they died. Our young traveller here has thrown a lot of light on a very mysterious cult. Pun intended.’
Solomon Daisy beamed at Martin and then turned the spotlight of his smile on me. ‘So! Are you still up for some time travel?’
I took a deep breath. ‘I think so.’
‘Good.’ Solomon Daisy bent down and lifted up a battered briefcase. He put it on his lap, popped it open and produced a sheet of paper. ‘Here’s your contract. Read it carefully. As soon as you’re ready, just sign on the dotted line.’
He handed me the sheet of paper and a fancy fountain pen, uncapped and ready to use.
I took the pen and put the contract on the table so that I could give it a quick scan. I ignored all the tiny type and just looked at the main points relevant to me:
Going through the portal – £1 million pounds.
Finding the Blue-eyed Girl with the Ivory Leopard Knife – £4 million bonus.
Loss of a limb – £5 million damages plus lifetime private care.
Death or Non-Return – £10 million pounds to Mrs Katerina Papas.
Seeing the word ‘DEATH’ alongside Gran’s name made my innards twist like spaghetti on a fork. She would be devastated if I died.
I would be devastated if I died.
I put the top back on the pen without signing.
‘Can I have a day to think about it?’
Solomon Daisy’s smile faded from two hundred watts to about forty. Then he took a deep breath and screwed his smile back up to a hundred. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Take all the time you need. Just ring me when you’re ready to commit.’