Elodie Harper - The Wolf Den

“I’ll pay it in no time,” Balbina says, sounding tetchy. “I just got unlucky, that’s all.”

Nobody wants to linger, so after a curt goodbye, Amara and Terentia step out onto the street. “Good job you have the necklace,” Terentia says. “She’ll have to get very lucky at dice to pay that off in one go.”

“Thank you for arranging it,” Amara replies.

“I’ll expect the same interest myself next time,” Terentia says, hurrying off down the street. “Your master’s a skinflint.”

Dido is standing across the street, loitering outside a bakery, pretending to form part of the queue. “Thanks for waiting,” Amara says, joining her, stamping her feet on the cold pavement. “I guess we should get something to eat.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Dido replies. “How your nerves can stand it.”

It’s true that Dido looks more anxious than Amara. The risk she is running is so great, she has moved beyond fear. Instead, she is high on the sense of betrayal. Deceiving Felix is even more satisfying than she anticipated. “It should be fine,” she says. “Rufus will keep the surety safe for me.” He had also provided her with the purse full of cash, yet another test of his love. She told him it was for a friend who had got into debt, and he did not question her. He has no need to know about this side of her life. When she is installed in their love nest, she doesn’t want to rely on him for everything; it’s better if she has some means to support herself.

Dido is looking at her strangely. “What is it?” Amara asks, putting her hand to her neck, worried the chain might be showing. “What’s wrong?”

Dido shakes her head, embarrassed. “Nothing, it’s just…” She pauses, obviously not wanting to say.

“What?” They have reached the front of the line, and it will be their turn at the counter soon. Amara is impatient to know.

“I know how much you feel things, because I know you. But you look so cold sometimes. You look like…” Dido falters again.

Amara is annoyed by her dithering. “Like what?” she snaps.

“You look like Felix,” Dido blurts out. “I’m sorry. But you do.”

The words sting, but she doesn’t want to show it. “I suppose slaves get like their masters,” she says, tossing her head as if she doesn’t care. “At least he’s good at business.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Dido says, knowing her too well not to notice Amara is offended. “You could never be cruel like him – that’s not what I meant.”

They are interrupted by their arrival at the counter. Dido orders the bread, buying a little extra for Fabia and Britannica who cannot afford their own. Amara says nothing, still upset by the comparison with Felix. She thinks back to her dealings with Balbina, how different it felt to that first loan with Marcella, how much less she cared this time. I don’t have a choice , she tells herself. He is free, and I am not .

It is starting to sleet when they step back on the street. They pull their cloaks up, trying to protect themselves from the wet and the cold, hurrying along the slippery pavement. Amara takes Dido’s arm to show she’s forgiven her. “I don’t know how we’re meant to pick anyone up in this,” she grumbles.

“Aren’t you seeing Rufus tonight?”

“Doesn’t matter. Felix says I have to start earning something on these days too, or he will charge Rufus double. I can’t risk costing him yet more money.” She feels a sense of weariness, the exhilaration of the loan already fading. Rufus has promised he will buy her, but there always seems to be some excuse to delay. Now he says it will be the Saturnalia, that it will soften the blow for his parents if his indiscretion is lost in the celebrations. She hopes he means it. Every day she spends in Felix’s service is like another stone added to the growing pile that weighs down her heart. However clever she is, however often she outwits him, he still holds all the power.

“The baths might be our best chance. At least the customers won’t have to walk far.” Dido looks tired too. Guilt pricks Amara. Whatever anxieties she has, Dido’s worries are surely worse. Egnatius is booking them less frequently, Aurelius and Fuscus were only ever occasional clients, and Drusilla’s friend and former lover Lucius has largely proved a disappointment. He does still pay for Dido’s company at Drusilla’s house, but nothing like as often as Rufus does. And he has never said anything more about finding her family. “If Rufus doesn’t let me down,” Amara says, taking her arm, “I promise I won’t leave you there. I will get you out too.” It is a promise she has made a thousand times before.

“If Felix lets you,” Dido says, looking depressed. They both know buying her freedom is likely to be out of Amara’s gift, unless Rufus showers her with gold.

The square outside the baths is much less busy than usual, nobody caring to linger in the sleet. They press close to the men’s entrance, sheltering under a wine shop’s balcony. As the men come out, still red-faced from the heat of the steam room, they wish them good day, trying to make eye contact. Dido has been in Pompeii over a year now, and almost no trace of the shy girl from Carthage remains, or at least not now, when she is focused on picking up clients. It is a brutal waste of her acting talents , Amara thinks, remembering the way Dido dances, the sweetness of her singing voice, her ability to inhabit a character. All that skill used to play a street whore.

Most of the men push past without responding to their greeting, others stop to trade insults, or try to steal a kiss. Dido is the first to secure a serious customer. She hesitates before leading him home. It’s not how they like to work, splitting up like this, but the brothel is near enough for them to take the risk. Amara nods at her, the signal that she is fine. She doesn’t wait to watch Dido hurry off with her catch, a portly older man. She cannot afford to slacken her own sales pitch – a rival prostitute is at the doorway now. The other woman is much more poorly dressed, her cheeks hollowed out by hunger. Nothing like being undercut , Amara thinks bitterly. Anyone looking at the scrawny creature will know she’s unlikely to charge much.

Sure enough, the starving woman is picked up in no time, no doubt leading her suitor off somewhere no more salubrious than a back alley. Amara calls out more loudly, increasingly aggressive in her approach. She interrupts men’s conversations, pressing her body too close to them.

Two young men stop to return her greeting, taking their time in spite of the cold, their cheeks pink and sweaty. “Need heating up do you?” one says, looking her up and down.

She laughs, pretending to be amused. “Not just me,” she says, stepping back, beckoning them towards her. “Lots of lonely girls.”

“Told you the brothel was just round the corner,” the other man says to his companion. “It’s by a bar too. I remember it from my last time here. We could have a drink afterwards.”

Amara walks swiftly, and they hurry to keep up with her. Not much further , she tells herself. Just get it over with . She passes Simo’s single-cell brothel on the way, its door ajar. The sight of it always gives her an uneasy feeling, but so far, Felix seems to have decided to ignore the insult. Maria is still alive.

Felix didn’t specify how many men she needed to find today. But if she can bring two past the door, surely that should be enough? Gallus is on sentry duty, looking wet and miserable. He shows Amara three fingers. Three women in. “Make sure he knows I brought them,” Amara murmurs, as she passes.

Beronice is waiting in the corridor, bored and chilly in her cloak. One of the men saunters over to claim her. Dido must still be busy. Amara doesn’t even have to ask herself who the third woman is. It will inevitably be Britannica.