praestigiatores

“Hey Longinus.”

“What do you want, Pomponius?”

“I have an idea. You remember that soggy patch of land next to the Tamesis river that we passed through last week?”

“Yes. We logged it in the survey as ‘comically uninhabitable’. What’s your idea?”

“Let’s build a city there.”

“You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you?”

“No wait, listen! We will never be emperors, and our names will be lost to the ages after we die. But if we can get the empire to build a city on that wretched spot of land, a memory of our deeds will live on for millennia.”

“How do you mean?”

“We will be known as the greatest practical jokers that ever lived! Just imagine: Two thousand years from now, some poor sod from another country- maybe even from a land across the sea! He will be standing on a street near that muddy river. He’ll be freezing his ass off, and the icy rain will be leeching his energy and destroying his spirit the longer he stands there. And that man, maybe a tall man who carries a Dalmatian nose and too much luggage, he will have a psychic flash of understanding. His mind will transcend time and space, he will know of us, this conversation, and our hilarious hoax let loose upon the people of this isle and of this world. And he will tell every person of our act, and Mercury himself will be mightily impressed with our prank.”

“Pomponius, some would say your idea is pure evil. But I kind of like it. What will we name this forsaken city?”

“Londinium.”