Elodie Harper

“But he is!” Victoria insists, her face solemn. “It’s Mr GarlicFarticus who runs that fast-food place near the baths!”
“He was kind of smelly.” Dido looks a little brighter as she starts to play the game.
“And garlicky. And farty.” Victoria nods. “Yes, definitely him. Mr GarlicFarticus.”

“Amara is not a name I have heard before,” he says, when they are lying facing one another in the dark. “I take it it is not your real name.”
“My master gave it to me,” she says, and the mention of Felix is like the cold of a knife laid flat against her heart. “He told me it is halfway between love and bitterness.”
“Yes, amare, amarum,” he says. “A bit poetic for a pimp.”

Amara picks up the bundle of clothes, expecting to find coins slipped between her robes. But whatever it is, it is much heavier. She draws out the scroll Pliny has left her. On Pulses by Herophilos.

“Oh, look at her!” Victoria laughs. “You’re all welling up. We’ve had the weird ironmonger, and now you’re in love with some doddery old granddad. You have the worst taste in men I have ever known!”

“Doesn’t speak a word of Latin,” Victoria says. “We’ve called her Britannica, because that’s where she’s from. Cressa’s the only one she seems to like. She’s off buying more food for the greedy thing now.”
“I thought all the Britons had blue faces,” Beronice says, looking at Britannica with disappointment. “That’s what everyone says, isn’t it? Blue-faced Britons.”
“She’s certainly a savage,” Victoria says. “She just screams all night, scratching the men, biting. She punched one yesterday! Like some sort of animal!”
Amara doesn’t like the way Victoria is talking about Britannica, even if the other woman doesn’t understand.

Amara thinks about all the cruelties Paris must have endured: the confusion of growing up in the brothel, watching the way his mother was treated, his fear when he became a target himself. And then having to suffer the contempt of other men, even ones like Gallus who he is so desperate to impress.

“He can be so loving and gentle. And he’s always really sorry when he’s hurt me. He begs me to forgive him; he really begs. I see a side of him the rest of you don’t.”

“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.

“Only good thing about a period is it means you’re not pregnant.”

“How much to suck me?” He paws at his crotch.
“Have some respect!” Victoria snaps, shooing him away. “Can’t you see we’re mourning?”
The man reaches out to her. “Take pity!” he whines.
Amara can feel Victoria’s fear in the way she snatches her arm. They hurry over the field of ashes, back towards the narrow road. The man is too quick, darting in front. “Why won’t you fuck me?” he pleads. “Please fuck me!”