by Judi Curtin
‘And now you’ve just become fluent in Latin?’
I sighed. ‘Of course not. But lots of people nowadays speak Latin.’
‘Like who?’
‘Well … surely we could find someone. We could ask my parents.’
‘OK,’ she said doubtfully.
‘Think about it,’ I said. ‘Prima can’t stay here forever. Sooner or later, she’ll have to go back home to her family.’
‘And how exactly are we going to manage that?’
‘Let’s worry about that later. For now, though, while Prima’s here, we have to make the most of it. She’s our friend. We have to talk to her … get to know her properly.’
Tilly sighed. ‘I don’t know if you’re right,’ she said. ‘But after a night of listening to Prima sleep-talking in Latin, I haven’t got the energy to argue with you.’
‘Great,’ I said. ‘We have a plan. Sort of.’
While Tilly and I got dressed, Prima sat at my mirror and began to fix her hair. She piled it up on her head in a very fashionable way – very fashionable a few thousand years earlier, that is.
Then she found a marker and used it to paint her lips in a gross purply-red colour. With a pink marker, she drew a wobbly circle on each cheek. She smiled at us, and Tilly had to turn away to hide her giggles. Prima looked like someone from a very weird, very low-budget horror movie.
‘It’s not her fault,’ I said. ‘She’s used to having slaves to make up her face and do her hair.’
‘That’s true,’ said Tilly. ‘And maybe we can ignore the face paint, but if we’re ever going to go outside this room, we’ll have to do something about Prima’s clothes.’
She was right. Apart from being totally out of place, Prima’s long tunic had been ruined by the mad dash down the hill and the dip in the ocean. Tilly picked it up from the floor and held it in the air. It was crumpled, torn and dirty.
‘Why is this still here?’ she said. ‘The slaves in this place must be very lazy.’
I giggled, and then she continued.
‘Prima lent us clothes when we were in Pompeii, so maybe you can give her something to wear,’ she suggested.
I opened my wardrobe door and Prima ran over to see what was inside. She ignored my clothes, though, and concentrated on the photographs of Tilly and me that were stuck to the inside of the door. She gazed at each one, and then gazed at Tilly and me, and babbled away in Latin.
‘I wonder what’s the Latin for “We’re going to be here all day”?’ sighed Tilly.
We made Prima sit on the bed and we held up loads of clothes for her to choose from, but she shook her head at everything.
‘I think it’s the trousers that she doesn’t like,’ said Tilly in the end. ‘We didn’t see any women wearing trousers in Pompeii, did we?’
‘We didn’t see any men wearing them either,’ I laughed.
‘Good point,’ said Tilly. ‘Looks like you’ll have to give her a skirt.’
‘I’d love to,’ I said, ‘if I actually owned one.’
‘But you do,’ said Tilly, grinning. ‘And I know the perfect T-shirt to go with it.’
Soon Prima was dressed. She seemed very pleased with herself in my school skirt and the T-shirt Tilly had chosen for her, which said 21ST CENTURY GIRL across the front in huge black letters.
‘Are we ready for the outside world?’ asked Tilly.
‘I’m not sure the outside world is ready for us,’ I muttered. ‘But I’ll go crazy if I have to stay here any longer.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Tilly. ‘So let’s go.’
25
We met Mum at the bottom of the stairs.
She looked at Prima’s fancy hairdo and her purple lips; she looked at my school skirt, which was all wrinkled, and much too big for Prima; she watched as Prima picked up the telephone and pressed the buttons, giggling every time they beeped.
‘Since this is an exchange, are you going to visit Prima’s home, Tilly?’ Mum asked. ‘If so, I think maybe you should be prepared for an eventful trip.’
‘Oh, I’ve been there already,’ said Tilly. ‘Just for a few days. Trust me, it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.’
Mum looked at her in surprise. ‘Lauren never mentioned that you’d been away.’
‘Oh, well, it was kind of a last-minute thing,’ said Tilly vaguely.
‘Anyway, Mum,’ I said, changing the subject quickly. ‘Do you happen to know anyone who speaks Latin?’
Mum put on her dreamy face. ‘Yes, I do, actually,’ she said. ‘There was this boy I knew in college. Very good-looking he was, with long curly hair and the most amazing crinkly blue eyes. He studied Latin. He was always going on about it being the basis for so many European languages. He said –’
‘And do you know where he is now?’ I interrupted her.
‘I know exactly where he is,’ said Mum. ‘He moved to Borneo with a girl who was studying Greek. I hear they lived happily ever after.’
Tilly sighed. ‘So do you know anyone who speaks Latin and lives around here?’
Mum shook her head. ‘Sorry. Even in my day, Latin was becoming less popular. In my parents’ time more people studied it, especially those who wanted to become doctors. For them it was almost essential. They had to –’
Just then, Prima spotted Mum and Dad’s wedding photo, which was hanging next to the front door. She looked at Mum’s weird dress and Dad’s freaky hair and laughed out loud. I agreed with her that it was totally funny, but something in Mum’s face told me that she didn’t get the joke.
‘We’re going out for a while,’ I said quickly. ‘Is that OK?’
On Saturday mornings, Mum usually makes me do loads of boring jobs in the house, but now she just nodded. She seemed almost glad to be rid of us.
‘Thanks for letting me stay over, Deirdre,’ said Tilly.
Then we grabbed Prima’s arms and raced out the door.
We sat on the bench outside my house. Tilly was grinning and looking very pleased with herself.
‘What?’ I said.
‘I know someone who will definitely speak Latin,’ she said.
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘Remember when I did my social-work badge for Guides? We all had to visit an old person and chat to them, and I got that ancient old guy who used to be a doctor. If your mum’s right, he’ll definitely speak Latin.’
I sighed. ‘According to my mum, she’s always right.’
‘Well, let’s hope that on this occasion it’s true.’
Then I remembered something else. ‘Didn’t you say that the man you used to visit was a bit confused? That he’s always forgetting stuff and mixing up the present and the past?’
Tilly nodded. ‘That’s why he’s perfect. He won’t think it’s odd that we’re hanging out with a Latin-speaking stray from a few thousand years ago. We can ask him anything we like, and he’ll just answer us without all that questioning stuff that adults usually go on with.’
What she said made a weird kind of sense, so we took Prima by the arm and set off for the old man’s house.
We made very slow progress.
When we passed the local shop, Prima pressed her nose to the window and stared inside like it was a treasure trove. When we came to the pedestrian crossing, we had to cross the road ten times, while Prima waved at all the motorists, like she was a visiting queen.
‘I think I know why farmers put blinkers and earplugs on their horses,’ muttered Tilly as we tried to stop Prima running after a little boy on a tricycle.
At last we got to the old man’s house. His wife, Kathleen, answered the door and luckily she recognized Tilly.
‘You’re the nice girl from the Guides,’ she said. ‘Are you doing another project?’
Tilly nodded. ‘Sort of, and this time I’ve brought my friends. I hope that’s OK?’
Kathleen didn’t an
swer. Instead she looked at Prima with her painted face and badly fitting clothes.
‘This is Prima,’ said Tilly. ‘She’s on her way to a fancy-dress party.’
Kathleen smiled. ‘With you young people, sometimes it’s hard to tell.’
Tilly and I laughed politely, while Prima pressed repeatedly on the doorbell, clapping her hands in time with its chiming.
Kathleen led us inside, ignoring Prima’s weird behaviour.
‘Patrick likes company,’ she said. ‘And if you chat to him, I can get on with my ironing. I hope he won’t bore you too much, though.’
‘Why would he bore us?’ asked Tilly.
‘Oh, surely you remember from your last visit? Patrick loves to talk about the olden days, and that can’t be of any interest to young people like you.’
Tilly smiled sweetly. ‘Don’t you worry about us,’ she said. ‘We love to talk about olden times, don’t we, Lauren?’
I smiled an even sweeter smile. ‘The older the better,’ I said.
26
Patrick was sitting in a big leather armchair in a study at the back of the house. He didn’t remember Tilly, and didn’t seem to mind that she was visiting him with two strangers – one of whom was very, very strange.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Kathleen. ‘Just call if you need anything.’
Then she went off to do her ironing.
‘These are my friends, Lauren and Prima,’ said Tilly to Patrick.
Patrick smiled. ‘Prima is an interesting name,’ he said. ‘If she lived in Roman times, it would mean she was the eldest daughter in the family. All first-born girls were called Prima.’
‘Like Prima Donna or Prima Ballerina,’ said Tilly.
Patrick nodded. ‘And the second born was called –’
‘Secunda!’ said Tilly and I together.
‘Why didn’t we figure that out before?’ said Tilly.
‘Maybe because we had other stuff on our minds – like staying alive,’ I replied.
‘And it goes on from there,’ said Patrick. ‘Tertia, Quarta, Quinta, Sexta, Septima, Octava, Nona, Decima …’
‘Sounds a bit boring to me,’ I said.
‘Sounds totally confusing to me,’ said Tilly. ‘Imagine what it must be like at school? The teacher says, ‘Is Prima here today?’ and half the girls in the class put up their hands.’
Patrick laughed. ‘Not exactly. Outside the family, girls were known by their fathers’ names.’
‘I’m glad I live now,’ I said suddenly.
‘Me too,’ said Tilly.
‘I think your friend is happy as well,’ said Patrick, smiling.
We both looked at Prima. She was twirling on a revolving chair and waving her arms madly in the air.
Then Patrick launched into a long story about how he got into trouble for stealing sweets decades earlier. As soon as he stopped for breath, Tilly interrupted him.
‘Er, Patrick, do you speak Latin?’ she asked.
He smiled at her. ‘Of course I do. Studied it for seven years. Or was it six? No, I think it was seven. Now let me see. Old Mr Lucas taught me for two years, and then he got gallstones – very painful – so he was replaced by Mr Ryan. I didn’t like Mr Ryan very much. One day he …’
Patrick rambled on and on, giving us every single boring detail about something his teacher did to him, way back when the Second World War was still being fought.
‘The poor man,’ Tilly whispered to me. ‘He can’t remember what happened yesterday and yet all that ancient stuff is fresh in his mind.’
‘Let’s hope Latin is still fresh in his mind too,’ I whispered back.
As soon as Patrick got to the end of his tale, Tilly sat Prima on the couch in front of him.
‘Our friend speaks Latin too,’ she said. ‘Maybe you could have a chat.’
Patrick said something in Latin, and a slow smile spread over Prima’s face. Then she spoke back to him, rambling on for ages and ages.
‘Wow,’ said Tilly. ‘It works.’
‘What did she say?’ I asked.
Patrick patted Prima’s arm. ‘Your friend speaks perfect Latin,’ he said. ‘But she seems a bit confused, the poor little thing.’
‘Takes one to know one,’ whispered Tilly to me.
‘But what did she say?’ I asked again.
Patrick scratched his head. ‘She said lots of things. It’s almost as if she’s bursting to talk.’
I felt a sudden flash of pity for Prima. The whole volcano thing was scary enough, without getting dragged into the future where no one could understand her – until now.
‘She said something about a boat,’ said Patrick. ‘And a volcano. She said her father hurt his leg and that she fell in the water. She said she’s lost now and misses her family very much.’
I went over and put my arm round Prima, and she squeezed my hand.
‘OMG,’ said Tilly. ‘They can really understand each other. This is totally amazing. What should we ask her?’
I thought back to our trip to Pompeii and all the things I’d wanted to ask Prima, but couldn’t. I thought of all the days when I would have given anything to be able to communicate with her. Now, though, my mind had gone blank.
Tilly seemed the same. ‘We could ask what her favourite colour is,’ she said in the end.
‘That’s a bit pathetic,’ I said. ‘And anyway, I know that already. Prima’s favourite colour is green. I’ve noticed that she always takes the green first when she sees our colouring pencils.’
‘We could ask her if they really were dormice they were serving for dinner each night,’ suggested Tilly.
I shuddered. ‘I sooo don’t want to know the answer to that question.’
Then I had an idea. I turned to Patrick.
‘Could you please ask her who we are?’
He nodded and said something in Latin, and Prima quickly replied.
The doctor tried not to smile. ‘Dear me,’ he said. ‘Your poor little friend really is confused.’
‘So what did she say?’ I asked.
‘She says you are her slaves, but I shouldn’t be worried as you are well educated and healthy and that you don’t have lice.’
‘How dare she?’ said Tilly angrily. ‘Doesn’t she know –’
Before she could finish, Prima added something else.
‘And she says you are true and loyal friends too,’ translated Patrick.
Then I thought of something else. ‘Can you ask her why her father bought us, please?’
‘Remember, he only bought you,’ said Tilly. ‘He stole me.’
I laughed. ‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘Just let the man talk.’
Once again the doctor had a half-smile on his face as he spoke to Prima and then translated.
‘She says that she was sad because her favourite dog had died, and her father bought you to make her feel better.’
Now Tilly was really, really cross.
‘Julius bought us to replace a dog? He used us like toys to console a spoiled child. We’re human beings. How could he treat us like that? I thought we were part of his family.’
I patted her arm. ‘Times were different then,’ I said. ‘Julius and Prima were brought up with the idea of slavery – with the idea of buying and selling people. They didn’t know any better.’
Soon Tilly calmed down – luckily she really doesn’t know how to hold a grudge.
We chatted with Prima for ages and after a while, it didn’t feel weird to have Patrick sitting between us, translating everything we said.
Patrick didn’t seem to think it was strange that Prima spoke such perfect Latin and acted like she belonged in a different age. Or that the three of us were totally engrossed in a conversation that really shouldn’t make any sense at all.
Now that we could communicate properly, Tilly and I could see that Prima was sweet and fu
nny. She was worried about her family, and the volcano, but she seemed to believe us when we told her that we’d get her back home safely. (And conveniently she didn’t ask us to explain how exactly we were going to manage that.)
After a while, Kathleen came in with a tray of lemonade and biscuits.
‘I can see you’re all having a lovely time here,’ she said, as she handed out the glasses. ‘But maybe it’s best if you just stay for another fifteen minutes or so. Patrick gets tired easily.’
‘Sure thing,’ said Tilly.
Then she turned to me and whispered. ‘But I’m not leaving here until I get the answer to one last question.’
27
I had a fair idea that I knew what was on Tilly’s mind, and it turned out that I was right.
‘Please, Patrick,’ she said. ‘Could you ask Prima if she thinks Felix is hot?’
Patrick looked worried. ‘Is Felix a friend of yours? If he has a high temperature, he might need to see a doctor.’
Tilly giggled. ‘I didn’t mean that kind of hot. I meant, could you please ask her if she likes Felix?’
‘Oh, you young people and your obsession with love,’ sighed Patrick.
Then he said something to Prima. Tilly nudged me as we both recognized the word ‘Felix’.
Before answering, Prima sipped her lemonade for the first time. She almost dropped the glass when some bubbles went up her nose.
Patrick patted her on the back until she had stopped coughing, and then he repeated the question. Prima was blushing as she replied.
Patrick quickly translated. ‘She says Felix is a loyal slave, with good teeth and a strong back.’
‘That’s a bit vague,’ said Tilly. ‘She might as well be talking about a horse.’
I knew we had to get to the point.
‘Please ask her if she’d like to marry him,’ I said.
Prima was quick to answer and the doctor translated. ‘She says Felix would make a fine husband.’
‘Yessss!’ said Tilly, before Patrick continued.
‘But her father would never allow her to marry a slave. Her father will choose her a suitable husband of noble birth.’