Elodie Harper - The Wolf Den

Amara gets wearily to her feet. It feels like she only slept a couple of hours. Paris obviously woke her as early as possible. “Behaving like a shit isn’t going to make your life any easier,” she says. She walks past him, closing the storeroom door behind her.

It’s barely light out on the street. Everyone in the brothel is likely to be asleep. The back door is ajar, and Amara creeps in, resigned to sleeping in the corridor rather than waking Dido. She sinks down, her back to the wall, then hears the sound of muffled weeping. Britannica never makes an effort to be quiet, so at first, she assumes it must be Dido, but after getting to her feet and tiptoeing the length of the corridor, she realizes it is Victoria.

It takes her a while to trust her own ears. Victoria never cries. Amara hesitates before drawing the curtain. It has been weeks since they have spoken properly to each other. But she cannot bear the thought of her friend suffering.

She sticks her head around the curtain. “Are you alright?” she asks, her voice low so as not to wake the others.

She expects Victoria to stop crying or tell her to go away, but instead, she remains curled up on the bed, sobbing into her blankets. Amara hurries over, afraid. She sits down on the bed, touching Victoria’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

Victoria pushes herself upright, furiously wiping her face. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong ?” She stares at Amara, her eyes red-rimmed, her hair wild. “Like you don’t know!”

Amara stares back bewildered. “Know what?”

Victoria slaps her across the face. Amara gasps, clasping a hand to her stinging cheek, too shocked to retaliate. “Don’t pretend to be such a fucking idiot ,” Victoria shouts at her. “Rich old men and fancy boyfriends aren’t enough for you, you have to have Felix as well? You don’t even like him, still less want him! What are you doing? Rubbing everyone else’s nose in it, making us all feel worthless?”

“Like I have any choice!” Amara shouts back. “You think I enjoy being around Felix? And anyway, why do you care? You hate him as much as I do!” As soon as she has said it, she remembers the afternoon she and Dido overheard Victoria panting out her devotion. I love you; I would die for you . Amara looks at her anguished face and understands what she should have realized long ago. Victoria wasn’t pretending. “But you can’t ; you can’t love him,” she says. “He’s a fucking monster! He doesn’t care about any of us.”

“Can you keep it down?” Beronice is standing in the doorway, looking haggard with exhaustion. “Or else take it outside. Some of us are trying to sleep.” She flings the curtain back across with a swish.

The interruption startles Amara and Victoria out of their anger. “I know he’s a shit; I know it,” Victoria says, lowering her voice. “You don’t have to tell me. But you don’t understand what he can be like sometimes. You’ve never seen it.” Her eyes are shining with tears, and she tumbles over her words, tripped up by all the feelings she keeps buried. “He can be so loving and gentle. And he’s always really sorry when he’s hurt me. He begs me to forgive him; he really begs . I see a side of him the rest of you don’t.” Victoria is unrecognizable in her desperation; Amara almost cannot bear to be near her. “He’s lonely, like I am. I love him so much.”

Amara thinks of the way Felix spoke to Victoria after Paris punched her, the many times she’s seen him hurt her, the way – only yesterday – he offered her body to Cedrus as if she were nothing. She feels sick to her stomach. She takes Victoria’s hand, squeezing it. “I just think you deserve so much more,” she says.

“What more is there?”

“Somebody who wouldn’t hit you,” Amara says. “A man who didn’t sell you.”

“What do you think we are? Where do you think we are living?” Victoria asks, incredulous, gesturing at the soot-stained walls. “This isn’t a fucking play. We’re not goddesses. How high are you aiming? The Emperor?”

There is a sound of violent retching. They look at each other in alarm. “Cressa!”

Beronice has reached the latrine before them, craning over the low wall. “Are you alright in there?”

“No, I’m not alright,” Cressa’s voice comes back, before she vomits again.

The three women wait, helpless, while Cressa is sick. There’s a pause, then Cressa comes out, leaning on the wall to steady herself as if she is on the roiling deck of a ship.

“Do you think you should eat something?” Victoria says.

Cressa nods wearily. “But not The Sparrow.”

“It’s too early anyway,” Beronice says, shooting a look at Amara and Victoria, still annoyed they woke her up. “They won’t be open yet.”

“We can go to a bakery. Get some bread in you,” Amara says.

They leave Dido and Britannica to sleep. Outside the sky is turning blue, and the streets are starting to get busy. Gallus is surprised to see them all out so early. He glances furtively up and down the road, checking for Felix, then kisses Beronice. “Couldn’t you leave them to it?” he says, sneaking his hand inside her cloak, fondling her.

Beronice looks at her friends, torn, while Gallus breathes into her neck. “I’ll catch you up,” she says, letting him lead her back inside.

Amara watches her go, disappointed. “She doesn’t know where we’re headed.”

“Leave her,” Victoria replies, striding off down the street. “She lets that shit walk all over her.”

Amara thinks of Victoria’s own hopeless devotion to Felix, but says nothing.

“Not too fast,” Cressa says, holding Amara’s arm. She looks even worse in the daylight, her skin covered in a film of sweat. “And let’s not walk for miles.”

A few cafés near the baths are open. They pick one and claim a table rather than stand at the counter. The bread is hard and stale. Amara thinks she will cut her cheeks to shreds by chewing it. Cressa orders a sweet wine to settle her stomach. She sits in silence, not looking up, dipping her bread in the wine to soften the crust.

“You can’t keep ignoring the obvious,” Victoria says to her quietly, in case anyone is listening. “We all know you’re pregnant. Just tell us what we can do to help.”

Cressa pauses in her dipping. “Nothing,” she says, her voice flat. “There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“Pitane from The Elephant had an abortion recently,” Amara says. “And it worked really well. Shall I ask her where she got the herbs?”

“No,” Cressa says, still not looking up. “I tried that last time, with Cosmus, and it didn’t work. Just cost a fortune and made me really ill.”

Victoria rubs Cressa’s arm, as if she can rub away her pain. “Perhaps Felix will let you keep the baby this time?” she says, her voice unnaturally cheerful. “Isn’t it at least worth asking?”

Cressa’s shoulders start to shake, and Amara knows she is crying, even though she doesn’t make a sound. “What good would that do?” she whispers, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes to stem the tears. “What life can I give a child? Another Paris? A little girl sold as a whore before she’s even grown? It would kill me to watch that; I would rather die.” She takes a deep breath, trying to control herself. “And besides,” she says, her voice flat again, “he already told me. Any more babies are going straight on the town’s rubbish heap. He doesn’t make enough from selling a child.”

“Maybe that would be best,” Victoria says. “And it doesn’t mean the baby would die. Look at me. I survived.”

“You don’t understand,” Cressa says. “You have no idea. Do you think because I never talk about Cosmus, that I never think of him? Every second of every day I miss him, want him. Just to see his face. All the time, every waking moment.” She holds her hand to her heart, as if to staunch a wound. “It’s a constant pain, like nothing else. I cannot give another child away.”