‘My dear sir, your rival is offering a shocking amount. And you may even have multiple rivals.’ She laughed — a harridan’s laugh. ‘Maybe they will bid for you, like men bid for a beautiful slave.’
He’d misjudged her. Somehow she was personifying in him all the men she disliked — all the men who had bought and sold her. Or perhaps that’s how she reacted to all men. ‘I can pay more,’ Satyrus said, with a confidence he didn’t feel. ‘And my death — you would feel it.’
‘I know every politician in this crooked city,’ she said. ‘I have most of them by the balls.’
Satyrus shrugged. ‘It would be a pity to see you sold back to slavery,’ he said.
She started, went white and then red. ‘Fuck you, you rich ponce.’ She was gone through the curtain before he could retract.
The moment her cork sandal soles had gone down the steps, Aella appeared. ‘Bitch,’ she said. ‘She’s trying to cut me and Alex out of our money, ain’t she, sir?’
Satyrus nodded. ‘Help me up.’
Aella looked out in the hall. ‘She’s gone out.’
‘She’s gone for my enemies. Please — this is life and death.’
Aella paused. ‘Swear!’ she said. ‘Swear by Styx that you’ll make me rich, and Alex too.’
Satyrus raised his hand. ‘I swear on Styx, and on my father’s grave, and on all the gods, may the furies plague me, that I will raise you and your friend Alex, and make you rich.’
She pursed her lips. ‘It’s a beating for me, or worse, if she catches me.’
Satyrus smiled. ‘It’s death, for me.’ He took a breath — having failed miserably as a manipulator, he tried a different tack with Aella. ‘How long will you be able to live like this, honey? Before … before your skin coarsens and your breasts sag? What other chance do you have?’
Outside, in the street, there was a stir.
‘Aella!’ came Alex’s voice.
She ran out through the curtain.
Satyrus got himself to his feet. If Phiale was close by, her people would be here any moment.
He used the wall, moving as fast as he could, until he reached the curtain.
‘He looks rich enough, I suppose,’ he heard Aella say.
‘He’s Polycrates’ slave — his boy.’ Alex’s harsh whisper carried up the stairs. Satyrus was in the hall — a hall he knew only from sounds. Whitewashed, swept clean with tiles underfoot, it was narrow and ran the length of the second floor — probably had twenty small rooms.
The rooms on the other side of the hall opened on the street — some of them had an exedra, or second storey balcony.
‘Fuck!’ Aella said. ‘She’s coming back. With thugs.’
Alex made a noise of despair. Another voice spoke, urgently.
‘Try!’ Aella said. ‘Go — go before she sees us!’
Now Satyrus was paralysed, standing at the head of the stairs. He didn’t even know if there was another access to this level. Exedras often had their own stairs, but in a brothel that seemed unlikely.
Aella came pounding up the steps, her bare feet ringing on the stone flags. ‘By Aphrodite,’ she said. ‘You’re up! You look like shit. Here, come with me.’ She grabbed his hand, tugged him along he hall, and he stumbled, and almost fell.
‘Top of the stairs,’ Lysistrada said, outside. ‘Big man.’
‘Oh, I know him,’ said Arse-Cunt.
Aella pulled him along the hall, past the only three cubicles that were occupied. Near the end of the hall was a door, where all the other rooms only had curtains.
‘Hers,’ Aella said. She took a breath. ‘I’m fucked if she catches me at this,’ she said.
There were rapid steps on the stairs.
She opened the door, and the two of them went through. Aella slammed the door back, but Satyrus caught it and closed it softly. There was a bar. He dropped it carefully.
It was a fine room — a woman’s room, with an unused loom and two fine tapestries, a Persian rug, a scroll basket full of scrolls.
‘She lets us read here, when we’re in favour,’ Aella whispered.
‘Gone!’ roared Arse-Cunt. ‘Can’t be far. Search the rooms!’
‘Always wanted to search a brothel,’ said another voice. ‘Hey, open up!’
The unmistakable sound of a sword pommel on a wall.
Lysistrada was shrill. ‘You may not search where my customers are!’
‘Don’t be shy,’ Arse-Cunt said. ‘I’ve fucked every girl here!’ He laughed. ‘They won’t care if my boys watch ’em a little.’
‘Back off, bastard. This is my house. Theo!’ she called. Her bouncer.
‘Fuck you, bitch,’ Arse-Cunt said. ‘Search all the rooms. Kill anyone who tries to stop you.’
The sound of a heavy slap, and Lysistrada shrieked again, and then feet were pounding.
‘Is there another way out?’ Satyrus asked. His heart was hammering inside his chest.
‘Yes. Off the exedra. She has her own steps.’ Aella was having trouble breathing. ‘Go!’
‘You first,’ Satyrus ordered. He was just about able to hold himself up, but he wanted a weapon.
He held himself up with his arms and moved from surface to surface, but there was nothing. Out in the hall there was the sound of fighting, and an angry customer was shouting at someone — chaos.
Satyrus followed Aella out onto the exedra, which ran across the side of the house, overlooking an alley no wider than his shoulders.
‘Whose room is this?’ A whiny voice — not Arse-Cunt. One of his men.
‘That’s my room,’ Lysistrada said. ‘You stay out of it!’
A mistake to have barred the door. Too late to regret. Satyrus got down the steps well enough. Aella was there, and Alex, and another man who looked familiar.
‘He’s in there!’ shrieked Lysistrada. ‘My door is locked. You bastard!’ Her voice sounded close. She must be on the other side of the door.
‘Follow me, lord,’ said the familiar-looking man. ‘Not far. Come.’
The four of them moved as fast as Satyrus could manage. They went from alley to alley, with Aella scouting ahead and the two young men holding Satyrus up — after twenty steps, he needed a shoulder under each arm just to keep him upright.
‘Jason!’ Satyrus managed.
‘That’s right, lord.’ Jason was panting with the exertion of carrying half of a big man.
Two alleys, and a cross street with pedestrian traffic and a donkey cart, and four men standing by an enormous breadbasket at the mouth of an alley. Jason led them into a donkey shed, and in moments — and not without pain — Satyrus was inside the breadbasket and the top was bound on.
‘You two go back to work,’ Jason said. ‘You know where I live. Come tomorrow.’
It was Jason — Polycrates’ body slave. He was well dressed, clean and neat and had silver pins in his chiton — the slave of a very rich man, or a well-off middle-class man himself.
Aella sounded fierce. ‘He promised us gold.’
Jason nodded to her. ‘And he will. But girl, if we don’t get him out of here soon, he’ll be dead.’
‘I’m no girl,’ she protested.
‘When do we get paid?’ Alex asked.
‘When I have him safe at my house,’ Jason said.
‘You’re a slave, ain’t you?’ Aella asked Jason.
‘I am,’ Jason answered. For the first time, he sounded less than confident.
‘Thought so. We’re not slaves, see? So if you fuck us, we’ll fuck you right back.’ She sniffed. ‘We’ll be by tomorrow. Better have some money for us.’
Then silence — sounds in the street — and then many men, all together, and the basket was lifted.
‘Heaviest fucking bread I ever carried,’ said a porter.
‘It’s a body, idiot. That pretty boy ain’t no baker’s apprentice — silver pins in his chiton? This is politics. Just take the money, carry the basket, and wait and find out who was murdered. Tomorrow. When we’s safe.’
Now they moved fast. Satyrus could feel the speed, and he could see a little bit through the basket — changes in light and shade, mostly, but sometimes, when the sun was at the right angle, he could see figures.