“Who could refuse such an Amazon?” he says, smirking. He takes her hand and follows her to an empty bench.
Amara has learnt more than enough about the mechanics of sex to understand what will give pleasure. All that matters now is severing herself completely from her body. She runs through the repertoire, the line between fear and anger stretched taut across her heart. The only time panic threatens to pull her into the present is at the end when he tries to wrest her onto her back. She cedes control, telling herself it will be quicker that way.
Afterwards she doesn’t wait to see if his reaction will be gratitude or indifference. She turns her back and walks to the pool. Down the steps, the water rises past her waist then higher as she plunges all the way in, swimming to the window. Amara looks out to the sea. If she didn’t know the scene behind her, if she couldn’t hear it, she could imagine that the horizon stretching out ahead belonged to her. Instead, she knows that she is as confined here, in the air and the light, as she is in the narrow darkness of her cell.
11
Do you regard yourself as chaste just because you are an unwilling whore?
Amara holds Dido as she cries. They sit huddled together on Dido’s narrow bed. Over her friend’s heaving shoulder, she can read the Thrust SLOWLY! command she carved into the wall. She cannot imagine now why it ever seemed funny. Beside it, the curtain is half-drawn to give them a little privacy. She doesn’t dare pull it across completely. Victoria’s voice is loud in the corridor, praising some man to get him in the mood. At any moment, they will be interrupted by a customer. The women have no time for themselves at night, not even for grief.
“I can’t live like this,” Dido gasps out between sobs. “I can’t go on. I can’t bear my life; I can’t bear it.”
“But you did so well at the baths earlier,” Amara says, stroking her hair. “Second most popular after Victoria. All those tips.” At the time, she had felt a stab of jealousy, but now she wishes Dido had out-earned her by twice as much. She holds her closer. “You just need to keep thinking about making enough to escape. Nothing else matters.”
“We’re never going to escape!” Dido says, pushing her away. “This is it! It’s all our lives will ever be.” Her voice is rising, almost hysterical. “If I had any real virtue, I would have killed myself before allowing any man to touch me!”
“Please don’t,” Amara says. “Please don’t say things like that.”
“Everything good about me died in this cell; Felix made sure of that,” Dido puts her hands over her face, either to stem the tears or to blot out the memory. “Eight Denarii. That’s what he was paid for my virginity. That’s what my honour was worth.”
“You didn’t have any choice,” Amara says. “It’s not your fault.”
“Do you know what he told me this morning?” Amara doesn’t reply. She had suspected Dido’s despair might have been prompted by their pimp’s cruelty. “He asked me if I thought my mother was dead. I said I thought she must be. Then he said I shouldn’t worry. If she was as beautiful as me, the pirates wouldn’t have killed her; some man was probably fucking her as a whore somewhere, right at the same time as he was fucking me.” Dido starts crying again. “He doesn’t leave you anything; he has to destroy everything.”
Amara stares at the smoke billowing from one of the clay lamps in the corner of the cell. A savage, grinning little Priapus, one of the models she bought from Rusticus. It has almost burnt out. If she were Victoria, she would tell Dido not to pay attention, to ignore Felix. “I wish I could kill him for you,” she says, her voice flat. “I’ve imagined it enough times. But I know what happens to slaves who murder their masters.” In the flickering glow, the whites of Dido’s eyes shine. Amara shrugs. “Better than killing yourself, if you have to end it all.” She cannot read the expression on her friend’s face. “So you see, you’re not such a bad person, are you? I know you’ve never thought of hurting anyone. Not even Felix.”
“Perhaps I should have.”
“No.” Amara takes her hand. “You are one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. It’s why I love you so much.”
“More than the potter’s slave?” Dido wipes her face with her free hand. “I know that’s who you went to see the other day.”
The smoking lamp stutters out. Next door, they can hear Beronice’s customer shouting, presumably with pleasure. The busiest hours of the night are approaching. Amara glances at the curtain. Every second alone is time they have stolen. “I didn’t go to see Menander. Though I wanted to.”
“Where then?”
“I went to see Felix at the Palaestra.”
Dido looks more shocked than when Amara confessed her longing to murder him. “But why?”
“For money. Because I’m trying to act as his agent, arranging loans for desperate women. They’re not quite as desperate as me, but still, I’m not proud of it.” She shifts herself up further onto the bed, crossing her legs. “Either we choose to stay alive, or we give up. And if it’s living we choose, then we do whatever it takes.”
“I’m not as strong as you.”
“You’re stronger,” Amara replies. “You lost everything in a single day. I had years to get used to my losses. I cannot imagine what it was like for you – one moment safe with your family, the next dragged off onto that ship. All the things you saw. But you survived.”
Dido picks at the fabric on the bed, not looking up. “Sometimes I think I brought it on myself.” She tugs a thread lose and winds it round and round her finger. It digs deep into her skin. “I didn’t want to marry the husband my father chose for me. I was complaining about him to my cousin before the pirates attacked. Until then, being tied to an ugly man who sold cheese was the worst thing I could imagine.”
Amara almost wants to laugh, but Dido’s stricken face stops her. Before she can think of what to say, Thraso sticks his head round the door. “Some fucking drunk just threw up in the corridor. We need more water.”
“What about Fabia?” Amara says.
“She’s already trying to clean it up, she can’t do everything. Anyway, why are you moaning? You’ve barely sucked a cock all night, you lazy bitch.” Thraso takes a step forwards, but Amara jumps off the bed before he can raise his hand to slap her.
She ducks past him, grabbing the bucket from the doorway. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry; I’m going.” Dido picks up one of the oil lamps and hurries after her. The stench hits them as soon as they leave the cell. They step around the vomit splattered on the floor, bumping into Fabia as she straightens up.
“I’ll need that bucket as full as you can manage,” she says, flicking an angry look at the culprit.
The sick-stained drunk is pawing at Cressa, trying to persuade her to take him into her cell, even though he can hardly stand upright. “So pretty…” he murmurs, insensible to her look of revulsion.
Amara and Dido take the back way onto the street, passing the door to Felix’s apartment. Dido goes ahead, holding up the clay lamp to show the way. The flare sends their shadows lurching. At first the light and noise from The Elephant follows them, but soon, they are enveloped in almost total darkness. Moonlight picks out the bare shape of the houses, leaving unknown pools of black. Amara’s heart beats loud in her ears. She has always hated being out in the dark.
They walk slowly and painstakingly, taking care not to stumble. Wooden shutters seal up the shops and houses that they pass. If it’s not to visit a tavern or brothel, few people venture out at this hour. Unless they are thieves. Amara knows their poverty is no protection, plenty of men would steal what Felix sells. She glances up at one of the bolted windows. There’s little chance anyone would rush outside to help a screaming woman at this time of night.