In Bed With Lord Byron

Thank you, Ovid, for your generosity.’ His voice was laced with sarcasm.
    The next thing I knew, several guards were by my side, grabbing my arms.
    ‘Ovid!’ I cried. ‘Ovid – you’re lying. This all wrong – you know I’m—’ I broke off, remembering his wife, wanting to spare her such a public
humiliation. Yet I couldn’t believe his cruelty. If only I had been selfish and gone on my way, I could have been back home by now, happy, in bed, safe. ‘
Ovid!
’
    My voice cracked, and unable to help himself, he looked over at me. I saw tenderness in his eyes, tenderness and appalled shame. But not enough to change his mind.
    Then I was being hauled down into a small, dark chamber. They handed me some armour, a helmet, a shield and a sword. I found myself laughing slightly hysterically. I felt as though I was
rehearsing for a play; the sword felt chunky in my hand and I barely had the strength to swing it. I tried a few practice swipes, picturing the lion I would face – but all I could imagine was
a cartoon creature. On my third swing I dropped the sword with a clumsy clang. The guard gave me a pitying look.
    I heard a huge roar rise up in the amphitheatre. I realised it was for
me.
Dear God. I closed my eyes and prayed:
Oh God, help me. I know the rules of the time machine, I know that I
have to get back to my original place, but I can’t, God, I can’t get back into those stands, I’m stuck here. Dear God, please change the rules, please defy time and space. Please
can I open my eyes and see the time machine right here, right now, in this cell with me.
    I heard a rumbling noise. My eyes flew open. Brilliant sunshine flooded into the chamber as the gate was lifted. I looked about for the machine. But my cell was empty; just pools of light and
dark corners.
    I edged uneasily to the end of the cell. From up above the arena had looked small. But at ground level it stretched out before me like a vast, shimmering desert. I could see faint marks in the
sand, and I realised they were the bloodstains from past gladiators.
    The crowd’s roars deepened. They were baying for blood, animal in their thirst.
    ‘Go on then.’ The guards had noticed my reluctance to leave the cell.
    I let out a yelp as they pushed me out, so forcibly that I tripped and landed face down on the sand. I heard the sound of the gate closing behind me. I coughed, sand thick in my mouth.
    I had barely staggered to my feet when I heard the sound of the gate at the far end of the arena rising up. A creature bounded in, hovering like a tawny mirage on the horizon.
    Uh-oh.
    I swayed. For the first time, the panic truly hit me, screaming through me like a banshee, howling round my body, turning my limbs to jelly. I felt my knees shake and I half swooned. The crowd
jeered.
    I turned to face them. I wanted to pick out Ovid’s face, I wanted him to see what he had done, but it was impossible: there was just a sea of faces. My fear crystallised into anger. For
God’s sake – how could he be such a coward? He could have just passed me on to another household. But no. He was going to feed me to the lions. I gripped my sword tightly and stood
upright. If I could just plunge the weapon into the animal’s side, then I might have a chance. Then I might go free.
    Whenever I’d watched fights in films, they always unfolded in relatively slow motion. In reality, the lion was as fast as lightning. One minute it was heading towards me, a thing of
terrifying beauty, body arched, muscles rippling beneath its golden coat, jaws bared. The next I was lying on the floor, dizzy. I gazed up as the lion soared over me then loped back up the arena,
circling: it had obviously been trained to prolong the torture as long as it could.
    The sun and the crowds seemed far off, and I suddenly became aware of pain. I looked down and saw blood gushing from my left arm.
    I staggered to my feet. I picked up my sword. Right, I thought. No more Ms Nice Guy.
    The lion was pacing about, ready for strike two. I shut out the crowd, narrowing my concentration into one line of intense focus. Just me and the lion. Silence except for the thump in my heart
and the warning growl of the beast.
    And then it came, bounding across the arena, spraying up small fountains of sand with its paws. I gripped my sword tightly, my heart in my throat. Closer, closer, closer –
now!
I
reached out and stabbed wildly, my eyes squeezed shut. Then it was galloping away, and in my shock I