“To be the potter’s slave, rather than the potter’s son?”
“Yes.”
“It is hard. But I know it’s not harder than your life.” He takes her hand and places it against his cheek again, covering her fingers with his. “You are the same person though. I still see you as the same person.”
“I miss so many things.” She sighs then smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “The food for a start.”
Menander makes a face. “Italian cheese! What do they feed their goats?”
“And that horrible fish sauce on everything!”
“No beans so bland they can’t be spiced up by rotten anchovies.”
“And the bread here tastes like somebody tipped grit in it.”
“It does, doesn’t it!” Menander says wonderingly. “What do they put in the flour?”
“I miss my mother’s stew.”
“Me too.” He shoots her a sly look. “Bet mine’s was better.”
“Nobody makes better stew than the women in Aphidnai.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Might be.”
Menander kisses her again, and this time, the darkness stays at the edges, unable to break through.
The afternoon, which always drags so painfully in the brothel, seems to end moments after she has sat down with Menander, even though hours have passed.
“Amara! There you are! You were meant to meet us after the second gladiator fight! We’ve been wandering round and round for ages!”
She has never been sorry to see Dido’s face before, but now, the sight makes her heart drop through her stomach. She stares up at her four friends, ranged round, and instinctively grips Menander’s hand. “It can’t be time to head back, not yet!”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Victoria says, looking furious. “Celadus hasn’t even been on yet!”
Felix had ordered them all to leave in good time, to make sure they missed the crowds and were back at the brothel to pick up the inevitable surge in trade after the event. As the most famous gladiator, Celadus’s duel must have been left until the end.
Menander rests his hand on her arm. “We’ll see each other soon,” he says gently.
“But we won’t! You know we won’t!”
He hugs her, crushing her against him. “We will have another whole day, just for ourselves. I promise. Even if we have to wait until the Saturnalia.”
“Amara,” Cressa says. “We can’t be late.”
She doesn’t say goodbye and neither does he. Letting go of Menander, standing up, walking away from him, knowing what she will now have to face instead, almost stops her breath. The pain is physical in its ferocity. She cannot bear to look back. She tells herself it is easier not to want, not to feel. When you cannot make your own choices, what good is wanting anything, or anyone?
Dido takes her hand. “I’m here,” she says, squeezing Amara’s fingers.
21
For assuredly to live is to be awake.
The stall selling flowers and garlands is on the shady side of the street, but the heat of the late afternoon has still caused many of the blooms to wilt. Amara and Dido whisper together, trying to pick out the freshest stems from buckets of water, watched by the hovering shop assistant.
“Can we afford lilies?”
“We should probably make the effort, if we want Aurelius to book us again.”
It’s only the second time they have been to the wine seller’s house. Aurelius is a friend of Fuscus, but not Cornelius, and his tastes seem more decorous. A secret brothel at the end of his garden is an unthinkable idea.
They buy the lilies and wander slowly back. The streets are less crowded than usual, nobody who doesn’t have to be out is braving the heat, and if last night at the brothel is any indication, half Pompeii has a hangover. Amara rubs her arm where she knows a bruise marks the skin, a gift from a particularly aggressive customer last night. It will be a nuisance to hide the blemish tonight.
“Are you feeling better?” Dido looks anxiously at her arm. “I know last night was difficult.”
“I almost wish I hadn’t seen him now,” Amara says, and they both know she isn’t referring to the customer. But it hurts too much to talk about Menander directly. “It makes everything feel so much worse.”
“I told Nicandrus this.”
“Were you meant to see him yesterday too?” Amara is surprised Dido didn’t tell her.
Dido nods, then they pause their conversation to let a cart pass, standing close against the wall to avoid the dust. “What can we give each other?” Dido asks, as they start walking again. “Apart from a moment’s kindness. When you cannot be with someone, is it worth the pain, pretending it’s any different? I’m sorry,” she says, seeing Amara’s stricken face. “But I’m not sure what loving Menander gives you? If it were Salvius even, I would understand. Might he not buy you one day? At least it’s possible. Another slave… there’s nothing he can give any woman, however much he might want to.”
“I know,” Amara says, trying not to think of the feel of Menander’s arm around her or the laughter in his eyes. “I know he can’t.”
“Do you think Salvius would ever buy you?”
“No. I mean, I have wondered about it,” she admits. “But you should hear him talk about Sabina, her extraordinary virtue, her shyness. He’s not the type to keep me as a concubine, and it’s obvious I’m not someone he might think of as a wife.” She hesitates. “What about Priscus?”
“No chance!” Dido laughs. “What would he do? Keep me at Salvius’s house as a secret lover? He has that already.”
They reach the brothel and knock at the door to Felix’s flat. Paris answers.
“Master’s busy,” he says, scowling at them both.
“Doesn’t matter,” Amara answers, giving the door an impatient shove. “We’re here to practise for this evening. He knows about it.”
“No need to be a bitch and kick the door down!” Paris snaps, stepping aside to let them enter.
“Doesn’t he ever get lonely?” Dido whispers, after they’ve climbed the stairs. “I don’t think he has any friends.”
“Not surprising, with that attitude,” Amara replies, not bothering to lower her voice.
The lyre is kept in the small living area off Felix’s bedroom. As soon as they walk in, they realize he has company next door. It’s Victoria. Amara would recognize her ecstatic moaning anywhere, although it sounds like she is putting in an extra effort for the boss.
Dido grabs her arm, stopping her from walking further in. “Should we be here?” she whispers.
“Not like we don’t hear her every night.”
“Yes, but that’s different; she doesn’t know we’re here now!”
Their deliberations are interrupted by a sound neither have ever heard before. “Is that Felix?” Amara asks, incredulous. They forget their scruples and listen, looking at each other in astonishment. It’s unquestionably Felix groaning in pleasure.
“I can’t believe it!” Dido says. “This is the face I normally get.” She stands, imitating Felix’s swagger, and pulls a look of pompous disdain, as if staring down at the top of an imaginary woman’s head.
Amara snorts with laughter then claps a hand over her mouth to cover the noise. They both try to suppress their giggles, but the effort not to laugh only makes it worse, and soon, they are shaking with silent hysteria.