Elodie Harper - The Wolf Den

She plays tirelessly to Pliny as he reads, as if she were his devoted daughter.

“Rufus is here.” Secundus is standing by his master. As always, she did not hear his approach.

Amara deliberately carries on playing, only glancing up briefly to see a young man hovering by the fountain. He is gazing at her, clearly not expecting to see anyone but the admiral.

Pliny beckons him over. “Rufus! How is Julius? I was sorry to miss him in Misenum.”

“He sends you his warmest greetings,” Rufus says. “As do my parents. They are spending the summer at Baiae, or else they would have called on you while you are staying in Pompeii.”

“Be sure to send them my best regards,” Pliny says. “Baiae is delightful at this time of year.” He glances over at Amara. “Your uncle told me you are very fond of the theatre these days. This is Amara, a little guest of mine; she is a gifted musician.”

It is the first time Pliny has expressed any interest in her music. Amara stops playing, bowing her head modestly to Rufus. The young man looks a little uncertain, perhaps having heard the jokes about Pliny and his new Greek girl. “Lovely to meet you,” he says.

The two men chat for a while, but it is clear that, aside from a shared affection for Rufus’s uncle, Julius, who served with Pliny in the army, they have little in common. Secundus appears again, murmuring something in his master’s ear. Pliny excuses himself, asking Rufus to wait a moment while he sees a client.

Rufus and Amara sit in silence, both at a loss over how to navigate this particular social circumstance.

“That was a pretty tune,” Rufus finally says to her. “Might you sing something else?”

Amara obliges, playing one of the more haunting melodies Salvius taught her. She has never performed it in public – she and Dido decided it was too melancholy – but Rufus is enchanted.

“What a lovely voice you have!” he exclaims, like a delighted child. He seems so much younger than her, she thinks, even though he is almost certainly older. He is not exactly handsome, his nose is too big and his face too broad, but he is tall, and his smile is so open and friendly she finds it hard not to smile back. He does not have the careless arrogance of a Quintus or Marcus.

“Thank you.”

“How did you… er… meet the admiral?” Clearly, he has heard the rumours.

“I was performing at a dinner,” she says. “The admiral was interested in the work of my late father, who was a doctor, and asked me to assist him for a few days with his work on natural history.”

“Right,” says Rufus, looking dumbfounded.

“The admiral is a man who is interested in the pursuit of knowledge above all else,” she continues. “He does not have the prejudices or assumptions of lesser men. Meaning,” she looks directly at Rufus, “he does not pick up whores at parties for the purposes others might imagine.”

He blushes deep red. “No! Of course! I mean, I didn’t think…”

She quickly interrupts to save his embarrassment. “Forgive me,” she says. “The admiral’s respect means a great deal to me, and he has been so very kind.” She looks down, as if ashamed. “I should not have spoken so bluntly.”

Rufus looks even more discombobulated by the switch back to virtue than he did at the mention of whores. “How long are you staying to… help him with his studies?”

“I am leaving today,” Amara says, and this time there is nothing artful to her sadness.

“That’s a shame!” he exclaims. “Will you be leaving Pompeii altogether?”

“No, I live in the town.” She can see Rufus is intrigued. She needs to press his interest past the tipping point. “I was interested to hear you enjoy the theatre. Which plays do you like?”

His face lights up. “There’s nothing more truthful than a play, is there? I love them all, but do you know, I think comedies are braver somehow. All of life up there on the stage, and actors have the courage to say what one cannot say elsewhere.” He stops, looking a little embarrassed for gushing. “But you must know all this already, doing what you do. I must say, I rather envy you for being a performer.”

The thought that this wealthy young man, with the entire world at his feet, might envy a penniless slave who sings to lecherous punters at parties is so absurd Amara cannot, at first, think of a reply. But he is gazing at her earnestly without any idea how ridiculous he sounds. “That’s so sweet of you,” she says. “I particularly enjoy arranging the words to music, finding ways to tell the story.”

“What fun you must have,” Rufus says, disarming her with his infectious smile. “Do you get the chance to go to the theatre much yourself?”

“No, sadly,” Amara says. “Though I should like to. It has been such happiness for me here, having time to read. But losing yourself in the story of a play is another pleasure entirely.”

“You must let me take you one night,” Rufus says. “That is, if you are really sure it wouldn’t be stepping on Pliny’s toes.”

For the first time since they began talking, Amara sees a degree of calculation in the way Rufus is looking at her. He still thinks Pliny had her, she realizes. “I used to live a very different life,” she says carefully. “I was a doctor’s daughter. The admiral is the first man to have treated me as if my past were still my present. At no time has he shown me anything other than a fatherly kindness.” It is a lie, and yet, as she says it, she knows there is also truth in it. None of the usual rules quite apply to her relationship with Pliny. Amara remembers last night, the humiliation of begging, his uncomprehending rejection and, for a moment, fears she might cry again.

Rufus mistakes her sudden emotion and rushes to sit beside her. “I’m sorry,” he says, clasping her hand. “What an oaf I am. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He gazes into her eyes. His own are hazel, wide now with concern. “What a tragic life you must have! And how insensitive I have been, asking you such things.”

He wants a sob story , Amara thinks, so he can rescue me . She has acted many parts, she tells herself. At least this one has the virtue of mirroring real life. “No, you are very kind.” She looks down in what she hopes is a show of shyness. “I am only sad because I must return to my master today and leave the admiral’s protection.”

“Where is your master’s house?”

Amara hesitates, wondering if it is too soon to relay the crucial information. “The Wolf Den.”

“The town brothel?” Rufus recoils.

Amara hides her face in her hands, defeated. Reality has proved a plot twist too far.

“You poor girl,” Rufus says. “How utterly tragic.” He takes her hands from her face. “Please don’t cry. I won’t think any less of you, I promise. I will call at… I will call and take you to the theatre. It would be a pleasure to know you better.”

Amara is in danger of crying genuine tears of relief. “I should like that so much,” she says.

He leans closer, his hand resting on the bench, close to her knee. There is a more familiar look on his face. “Might I kiss you?”

She feels a flash of annoyance. After everything she has told him about her past, about the way Pliny has treated her, he still wants to own her after five minutes’ conversation. She lifts her hand for him to kiss.

“Of course,” he says, taking it. “Of course, not in the admiral’s house.”

“Thank you,” she says, giving him what she hopes is an adoring smile. “It means everything to be treated with kindness.”

“You deserve nothing less,” he says, gallantly. They sit awkwardly for a moment. “I’m going to have to leave now though.” He stands up. “Perhaps you could pass on my goodbyes to Pliny. I promise I will call on you this week.”