Amara has rarely felt more grateful to see Egnatius sidle over. “Please forgive me,” he murmurs to Trebius. “a most terrible oversight, this one is booked elsewhere…” Trebius looks at Amara, almost surprised to see his own hand touching her. “Take it,” he says impatiently, almost shoving her off the couch. “You’re blocking my view.”
Amara reclines next to Fuscus whose expression is smug. “Did the dancing put you in the mood for me, little sparrow?” he asks, hoicking her closer to him, breathing heavily in her ear.
“I couldn’t be with anyone else!” She sighs. Let the foolish man imagine she was longing for his body rather than his protection. At least she knows him. Even if he has no real affection for her, he won’t hurt her, he won’t use her body without any thought there might be a living woman attached to it.
She looks round for Dido, ashamed that she has only just remembered her friend. She spots her near the fountain with a man she does not recognize. At least he seems to be leaving her largely alone, too caught up in the women dancing to notice the one next to him.
Dinner is, unsurprisingly, a shorter affair than usual. It is less of a saunter to Cornelius’s brothel, more a stampede. Other hired women are already waiting, no doubt booked by Egnatius to make sure none of the guests go short. Amara is disappointed Fuscus does not take her to a private room; she supposes he has made an exception to his usual preference not to be watched, confident that the other men, like him, will be more interested in watching the dancers than each other. Ipstilla and Telethusa flit between the lavish cells, putting on a performance for the men while they have sex, but not, Amara thinks bitterly, having to endure being used themselves.
She is not afraid of Fuscus, but when he manoeuvres her into a painfully awkward position, purely to get a better view of Telethusa, she realizes the distance between him and Trebius is not as great as she imagined. Her body, which is too familiar to be exciting on its own, is a means to heighten his pleasure in the dancers. She is trapped by him, his weight like the waves of the sea, pushing her under. She thinks of Cressa, lost beneath the water, and turns her face to the side, gripping the expensive fabric on the bed. At the edge of her vision, she can see the flash of Telethusa’s legs as she dances. Felix put this woman here, she thinks. All the gold she has earned him, and he spent it on diminishing her value. He destroys everything in the end.
36
Suns when they sink can rise again, But we, when our brief light has shone Must sleep the long night on and on.
Amara can hear Thraso before she sees him. Gallus is leading them back home in the dark, although this street, with its bars and brothel, is never so dark as the others. A small crowd is gathered around the foot of a ladder. It stands propped against the wall, just round the corner from their own front door, and a shrieking woman is trying to shake it, stopped only by drunken bystanders. At the top, Thraso bellows down at her, clinging onto a rung with one hand and waving a hammer with the other.
“What the fuck?” Gallus says, raising his lamp to illuminate the scene.
Amara takes Dido’s hand, and they draw closer together, but Ipstilla and Telethusa seem excited at the prospect of a row, bouncing up and down to get a better view. Both are still ecstatic over their success at Cornelius’s house. Even Egnatius tipped them for their performance, something Amara has never seen him do before.
“What’s this?” Gallus yells, barging into the crowd. He grabs the shrieking woman’s shoulder. “Are you trying to fucking kill him?”
The woman turns round, still screaming, and Amara recognizes her. It’s Maria, Simo’s least valuable woman. She stops yelling when she sees Amara and Dido, then screws her face up, spitting at their feet. “For Drauca,” she says, her eyes bright with hatred. She turns back to Gallus, flinging her arm up with anger. “Get him to stop! Look at him! He’s destroying my master’s property!”
Thraso is swinging his hammer at a stone cock that has sprouted high up on the wall. Amara hadn’t noticed it before, but then there are so many in Pompeii. Maria takes advantage of everyone staring upwards to give the ladder a violent shake. Thraso clings on, swearing at her. “You’ve no right!” she shrieks. “Stop it!”
“Bitch,” Thraso yells back, brandishing the hammer. “Mind I don’t drop this on your fucking head!”
Ipstilla steps forwards, yanking at Maria’s toga to move her out of danger, shouting at her in Spanish. The two women grapple with one another, and the crowd cheer, delighted by the night’s unexpected entertainment.
“Get Felix,” Gallus says to Amara and Dido. “Now.”
They run back to the brothel. It’s no distance away, but the carousing outside The Elephant is so raucous that the noise of the row, just a few houses down, is lost in the chaos. Paris is on the door and is startled to see them charging up the street on their own.
“You need to get Felix,” Amara says. “There’s trouble with one of Simo’s whores. He’ll know what I mean.”
Paris hurries to the flat, banging on the door and yelling. The door opens, and he disappears inside. A few moments later, Felix comes out armed with a metal rod. Paris slinks out behind, obviously being sent back to guard the brothel rather than join in the action.
“Where are the dancers?” Felix asks, surprised to see them on their own.
“They stayed with Gallus,” Dido replies, as they trot behind him.
Felix shakes his head, irritated. “Better take them back with you.”
They reach the ladder, and the crowd parts, more out respect for the weaponry than the man carrying it. Maria and Ipstilla are still scrapping, Gallus trying to get between them, but at the sight of Felix, they all pull apart. Gallus bundles Ipstilla out of the way. “Fucking women,” he mutters.
“What’s this?” Felix asks. He sounds casual, almost bored, leaning on the metal rod as if it were a staff.
Maria squares up to him, shoulders heaving from her recent exertion. “You tell me!” she shouts. “Your thug’s smashing up my master’s business! Simo rents this room; it’s his. You have no right.”
“This room?” Felix says, swinging the rod towards the small darkened cell that opens directly onto the street. He wrinkles his nose, as if he can smell its stale odour. “Simo rents this room?”
Maria steps protectively in front of the doorway. Amara cannot help admiring her courage. “You know he does. That’s why that bastard’s been trying to smash the sign.”
Felix smiles at Thraso, who has just descended the ladder. “I think we can leave the lady her sign,” he says. “Though that’s a big fucking cock for a very small brothel, isn’t it? What’s your master hoping? Some of the dregs from my business will swill down the road?” Felix turns round to the watching drunks. “Which women would you rather fuck? That fat one there”—he points at Maria—“or my girls here.” Some of the crowd laugh, and Ipstilla with them, but Telethusa looks less impressed. Amara suspects she doesn’t fancy a night with any of the drunks on display. At least there they can agree.