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.