Elodie Harper - The Wolf Den

“Thank you,” Amara replies. “Don’t leave it too long.”

When he has left, Amara sits in the garden, lifted by a current of hope. She is looking forward to thanking Pliny for the introduction. Then she sees Secundus step from the shadow of the colonnade. He is carrying a small bundle. Her things. Instantly, she understands. Pliny will not be coming back to say goodbye.

Secundus walks over and sits next to her on the bench, putting her clothes down between them. “When he brought you here,” he says, looking straight ahead to the fountain, “I told him he would be lucky if you didn’t demand your weight’s worth in gifts every day. At the very least you would leave here with one priceless jewel. He wagered me a denarius I was wrong.” He smiles at her. “So you cost me a denarius.”

She smiles back at him. “Sorry.” The thought of asking Pliny for gifts had in fact crossed her mind. But she knew Felix would only have taken them all. “Did he tell you what I did ask from him?”

“Your undying service. That’s a gift though. Not a demand.” He turns away from her. “We both know what service costs.”

They sit, united briefly by the unspoken understanding one slave has for another. “I also heard you crying last night. I think the whole house heard you.” He looks at her, not unkindly but with determination. “That cannot happen today.”

She blushes. “It won’t.” Secundus nods, satisfied. “You know, it wasn’t just for the life,” she says, gesturing at the fountain, the garden. “I mean, of course it was for that. But I believe I love him too.”

Secundus does not immediately reply. Then he stands, and she knows he is going to leave, that she will have to leave. Amara bites her lip, determined not to embarrass herself with more tears.

“You didn’t ask for a gift,” he says. “But he has chosen a gift for you, nonetheless. I have put it with your clothes.” He pauses. “I will give you a moment, so you can have the privacy of your thoughts before you leave. But it can only be a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” she says.

Secundus bows and walks away.

Amara picks up the bundle of clothes, expecting to find coins slipped between her robes. But whatever it is, it is much heavier. She draws out the scroll Pliny has left her. On Pulses by Herophilos.

“Look who it is! Look who it is!” Beronice screams as Amara steps into the brothel. “We thought you were never coming home!”

Victoria and Dido rush out into the corridor to join her. “I’m so happy you’re back; I’m so happy to see you,” Dido flings her arms round her, crying into her neck. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

“It was only a week!” Amara says, torn between happiness at seeing Dido and guilt from knowing she spent yesterday begging never to return here.

“What was he like then?” Victoria also looks very pleased to see Amara but would never be so soft as to say so. “Bet he was a total pervert; the old ones always are.”

Amara hesitates. She had so looked forward to laughing with Victoria about that first, ridiculous night with Pliny, but now it feels too private. The thought of mocking him only makes her sad. “He was the kindest man I’ve ever met,” she replies, her voice quavering.

“Oh, look at her!” Victoria laughs. “You’re all welling up. We’ve had the weird ironmonger, and now you’re in love with some doddery old granddad. You have the worst taste in men I have ever known!”

“That guy she met at the games was alright,” Beronice says, defending her. “He wasn’t bad at all.”

“Say that louder, and Gallus might hear you,” Victoria whispers, and they all laugh as Beronice whips round.

“Fuck you,” Beronice says to Victoria, but she is laughing too.

“And what’s all this?” Victoria gestures at her to hand over the clothes. “How many new outfits did he give you?”

“Three,” Amara says, passing them round. “I guess I’ll have to give them all to Felix.”

“Lovely material,” Victoria says, stroking one of the dresses. “But you do look a bit matronly.” She squints at the respectable clothes Amara is wearing. “I shouldn’t think anyone would dare ask for a shag if you swanned around in that.” An idea strikes her. “Please don’t tell me the old man wanted you to dress up as his dead wife too!”

“No.” Amara laughs. “Nothing like that.”

“What then?” Beronice says. “Must have been something special to buy you for a week.”

“He wanted me to read to him.”

“Sexy books?” Victoria is too shocked to make a joke out of it. “Is that it?”

“No! I mean we went to bed together,” Amara says defensively, thinking of the nights she spent lying naked beside Pliny, his hand resting on her while they both slept. “Just that…” She trails off, not knowing how to explain what happened or how she feels about it.

“It’s alright,” Dido says, hugging her again. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“ Went to bed together ,” Victoria says, copying her coy phrase. “I’ve heard it all now.”

Amara feels suddenly exhausted. After so much time alone, it is going to be a strain returning to the total lack of privacy. “I might just have a rest so I’m not too tired tonight.”

“Oh, you can’t go in there…” Victoria says as Amara draws the curtain to her own cell.

“Who’s this?” Amara asks in surprise. An unfamiliar woman is sitting on her bed. She is shockingly pale and has a tangled mass of long red hair. At the sight of the others, she springs up, towering over them, babbling urgently in a strange, guttural language. Amara cannot tell if she is furious or terrified. She steps back into the corridor in alarm.

“Sit!” Victoria shouts, pointing at the bed. “Sit!”

The stranger goes back into the cell, still talking in her incomprehensible tongue, gesturing at them.

“Felix bought her with your old man’s money,” Victoria says. “He told us it’s because you and Dido are out so much, we need more bodies in the brothel.”

“Where am I sleeping then?”

“You can come in with me,” Dido says. “Makes sense.”

“Doesn’t speak a word of Latin,” Victoria says. “We’ve called her Britannica, because that’s where she’s from. Cressa’s the only one she seems to like. She’s off buying more food for the greedy thing now.”

“I thought all the Britons had blue faces,” Beronice says, looking at Britannica with disappointment. “That’s what everyone says, isn’t it? Blue-faced Britons.”

“She’s certainly a savage,” Victoria says. “She just screams all night, scratching the men, biting . She punched one yesterday! Like some sort of animal!”

Amara doesn’t like the way Victoria is talking about Britannica, even if the other woman doesn’t understand. She glances at her again. The Briton is silent now. She certainly looks like a wildcat, with her mane of red hair and green eyes. But the emotion in them is all too human. Rage at her confinement.

“Are you all just standing there talking about her again?”

It’s Cressa, carrying a lump of bread. She shoves them out of the way so she can get in the cell. “You might have a little compassion.”

Britannica’s face lights up at the sight of Cressa, and she begins gabbling. Cressa sits beside her, talking soothingly to her as if she were a small child, stroking her hair. She gives the bread to Britannica who wolfs it down. “Sorry, Amara, I didn’t realize you were back,” she says, finally noticing her.