Remember I told you about the Tate Modern, that big art gallery by the River Thames? It used to be a power station and there is still a room called the Turbine Hall. If you want an idea of how high the roof of the ancient basilica was, go to the lowest part of the Turbine Hall at the Tate Modern and then look up.
I don’t know if the dimensions were exactly the same, but it felt very similar.
London’s basilica was humongous.
There were pigeons flying around up there and everything. The afternoon sun sent beams slanting down through high arched windows. Where they hit the floor I could see it was made of coloured marble. Plecta and I stood open-mouthed. Then some pigeon poop splattered on the expensive floor just in front of us, so we closed our mouths and reminded ourselves we were there to find Lollia and Dinu.
‘Let’s make our way to the other end and see if we can spot them,’ I said to Plecta. She inclined her head in agreement. As we started towards the far end of the giant building, she took my hand again.
Holding Plecta’s hand felt reassuring and scary at the same time. Reassuring because it meant she cared about me as much as I did about her. Scary because if they couldn’t find Lollia they would torture Plecta to find out what she knew. And that would be my fault.
The basilica wasn’t too busy. I remembered that Romans tended to work in the mornings and go to the baths or relax in the afternoon. Also, I had read somewhere that business wasn’t usually conducted on days when the games were on. But maybe the citizens of Londinium hadn’t got that memo.
I could see there was a better class of person here. About a third of the men were dressed like Epapras, in cream-coloured togas over tunics with two vertical red stripes on them. I guessed it was the ancient equivalent of a suit and tie. Because they all wore the same uniform, you could easily compare one to another and tell the high-quality fabric from the cheap stuff. One guy’s tunic was so thin that you could almost see through it.
There were almost no women or children in here.
The only kids our age were standing quietly by a veiled woman while a man in a toga spoke to some men on benches. The toga man was waving his arms a lot and he kept gesturing at the woman and her kids. I guessed he was a lawyer pleading her case. There were a few other cases in session, but because the roof was so high they didn’t drown each other out. Each lawyer stood near a niche in the wall and addressed men on benches with their backs to the central aisle. There were also some raised blocks of marble, or maybe marble covered brick, with a man sitting on each one where a case was being argued. I guessed the men on the blocks were judges and the people on the benches were like modern juries. The defendants – the people on trial – usually stood to one side looking miserable.
Once we passed a pair of almost-naked men with bruises on their bodies and metal chains around their ankles. When one of them turned I saw his back was raw and bloody where he had been whipped.
I could feel Plecta’s hand trembling in mine. She said in a low voice, ‘Runaway slaves.’
I shuddered too, remembering the crucified man I had seen at the crossroads that morning.
Suddenly Plecta’s fingers tightened on mine.
‘There they are!’ she said. ‘I see them!’
Lollia and Dinu stood by a niche in the wall facing each other, right hands clasped like when you shake hands. A golden beam of sunlight fell on them and seemed to make their blond hair glow, almost as if they had halos.
I had to admit they were a good-looking couple.
Coming closer, I saw a statue of a naked woman in the niche behind them and guessed it was Venus, the goddess of love. Four men in togas stood nearby, watching Dinu and Lollia intently. The youngest was fluffy-bearded Epapras.
‘Oh no!’ cried Plecta. ‘I think they are getting married!’
‘Where’s the priest?’ I said.
She gave me a puzzled look. ‘They don’t need a priest,’ she said. ‘They only need to hold hands and make a vow in the presence of witnesses.’
‘Stop!’ cried a voice behind me. ‘Stop that ceremony!’
I turned to see the fat bald man in a striped tunic from earlier jogging towards us. Behind him came a distinguished-looking man with silver-blond hair and two soldiers.
‘Eheu!’ cried Plecta. Alas! ‘Tertius has found us. And he’s brought Lollia’s father!’
‘Dinu, run!’ I shouted in English. ‘Head back to the Mithraeum! They’re going to arrest you!’
Dinu looked around, startled. His eyes widened when he saw me, then widened even more at the sight of two soldiers bearing down on him.
Lollia and Dinu looked at each other and then ran, still holding hands. Fluffy-bearded Epapras charged after them, his toga flapping. Plecta and I looked at each other and without a word we ran, too.
Suddenly, with a cry of ‘Pesta toga!’ Epapras tripped on his toga and sprawled onto the marble floor of the great basilica.
Plecta skidded to a halt. ‘Are you all right, sir?’ she asked him in Greek.
‘Yes,’ he groaned. ‘Only my dignity is bruised.’ He gazed up at her. ‘Your Greek is excellent,’ he said. ‘Are you by any chance from Pergamum?’
Plecta gave the downward nod for yes and I bent forward to help him up, but he waved us on.
‘Go! Go!’ he cried. ‘I’ll try to delay them for you.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Plecta.
I grabbed her hand and together we ran out into a massive forum.
The rain clouds had gone and it was a beautiful afternoon. We were just in time to see Dinu and Lollia weaving between market stalls towards the western exit, back the way we had come.
The stalls here were the biggest and most luxurious of any I had seen so far. Lots of them displayed those big clay jars full of wine or maybe olive oil. In fact we almost ran into a half-naked slave with a huge amphora on his shoulder but managed to dodge around him.
Once outside the forum and back on the road, we looked around for the runaway lovebirds.
Plecta pointed. ‘There they are!’
I caught a flash of Lollia’s blue palla and loose golden hair as they headed north.
‘That’s not the way to the Mithraeum,’ I said. ‘They’re going in the opposite direction!’