27
Julia wakes the next morning while it is still dark. The space beside her is empty and momentarily she panics. Where is Suzanne? But as Julia struggles to wake up, the bunk shakes as Suzanne returns and climbs back in. She turns away from Julia and pulls her knees up to her chest. Julia turns towards her. Suzanne’s back is like a wall. Julia doesn’t spoon her but just lies there. The gap between them is only a few centimetres but it might as well be the distance to the Moon.
Julia places a hand on Suzanne’s arm but Suzanne pushes her off.
‘Suzanne,’ Julia whispers. ‘Suzanne, please.’
‘It’s OK,’ says Suzanne.
‘No, it’s not OK.’
‘It is. Really.’
‘Suzanne – please. Turn round. I can’t talk to your back.’
After a long, long pause, Suzanne turns round. The pre-dawn light is very faint but she has clearly been crying.
‘I want to explain.’
Suzanne shakes her head.
‘No. There’s no need. I ... I shouldn’t –’
She stops. She is on the brink of tears.
‘Please. Please can I explain?’
‘Julia, I don’t want you to. Can’t you see? I just want to forget all about it. Forget it ever happened. Can’t you do that for me? Please.’
‘Yes,’ says Julia slowly. ‘I can do that.’
‘That’s all I ask.’
Suzanne turns away again. As she does she says, ‘I’m just going to try to get some more sleep.’
Julia wants desperately to spoon Suzanne but she cannot, she dare not try to close the tiny gap that lies between them.
‘Will ... will we still be friends?’
‘Of course, we’ll still be friends, Julia,’ Suzanne’s voice comes back.
It is the first time in the conversation that Suzanne has said her name and Julia takes some comfort from that.
‘And the book?’ she asks. ‘Will we still write the book?’
Suzanne doesn’t respond at once and in the silence Julia has a vision of herself on the scaffold with a noose around her neck and the executioner’s fingers closing around the handle of the lever that will release the trapdoor. Everything happens in slow motion and she can see everything in extraordinary, almost supernatural, detail – the movements of the muscles in the executioner’s hand, the tension in the lever and whatever mechanism it connects to, the grain of the wood in the planks of the floor.
Suzanne turns. She looks at Julia with eyes that are full of tears. Suzanne tries to speak, is unable to, gulps and then goes again.
‘We’ll finish the book, Julia,’ says Suzanne. ‘Don’t you see? We have to. Until we do, the war won’t end and we won’t be able to leave this horrible place.’
Chapter Thirteen
The Escape (Suzanne)
For the next few nights, Birkita and Flavia lay in the upstairs room and talked through the plan. They tried to find flaws in it – something they’d forgotten or some eventuality they’d not anticipated or the kind of surprises that could occur. What if Cassius woke up? What if Antonius came back? It had never happened before but there was always a first time. Would Birkita really have the resolve to stab Albinus – innocent, cheery, hard-working Albinus? She prayed she wouldn’t have to. Both Birkita and Flavia agreed that it was a thin plan. But equally, both agreed that there was no other way.
It would have to be a night when Cassius was on duty. It would have to be after a day that was busy enough and had generated wine enough to make him drunk. Albinus would either have to keep quiet or be killed. The thought that there would now be two of them – that Birkita wouldn’t be by herself – buoyed up her courage. After leaving they would get to the harbour and find a ship. Flavia had pointed out that there would be no time to wait for a ship heading to a particular destination – Britannia, Gaul or anywhere else. Antonius might be on their heels. (The phrase had chilled Birkita.) They would just have to take the first ship that was leaving the harbour. After that, once they were away from Pompeii, in some other port, they could set their true course.
Birkita was terrified and excited.
Now, all they had to do was wait.
The days of Januarius passed slowly. Any night that Crispus was on duty was a night they knew they wouldn’t be going anywhere. He dutifully lay on the mattress in front of the door blocking it with his body. Anyone trying to get out the door would have had to wake him – or kill him. Birkita didn’t want to kill anybody.
On the days when Cassius was going to be on duty, Birkita started out wondering if tonight was going to be the night. But then the traffic through the lupanar turned out to be slow and during the early hours of the morning, it became clear to her and Flavia that nothing would happen.
Towards the end of Januarius came a Roman festival. The first day of it started out promising enough. The afternoon and early evening were busy so that by midnight, Birkita’s body had already had more than enough. But the clients had been uniformly mean, buying little of Antonius’ sour wine and even less of it for Birkita. And when somebody eventually did, there appeared to be something strange happening.
Birkita took the two cups from Albinus and placed them on the little wooden table by the bed. A tiny movement caught her eye. She looked down. The cup seemed to be shaking of its own accord and the red surface of the wine was vibrating in a series of tiny circles. She had never seen anything like it. After a little while the vibration stopped just as the customer said, ‘Come on, bitch. I haven’t got all night.’
On the second day though, everything seemed to change. The day was hectic – Birkita hardly got a break to eat – and many of the customers seemed to be already drunk before they started.
With drunken customers the amount of wine consumed went up – drunken customers meant generous ones. Birkita received a steady flow of cups of wine which she passed on to Cassius. Finally, several hours after midnight, the flow of men started to ease off. By then Birkita was in pain when she walked or even stood, but it was clear that this was going to be the night. Flavia confirmed it when she looked in while Birkita was between customers and mouthed, ‘Tonight.’
The minutes passed agonisingly slowly as they waited for the last customer to leave and Antonius to arrive. Finally, he did. He talked with Flavia for a few minutes, as was his custom. Birkita pulled her curtain back a fraction and watched them as they stood in the yellow lamplight of the hallway. Everything seemed normal. Then, in the usual routine, Antonius took the bag of money which Flavia passed to him and emptied its contents into a leather satchel with a shoulder strap that he always carried. After that, he left.
Birkita waited in her cubicle. She heard Albinus struggling with the two mattresses. Cassius, who had been loud and obviously drunk earlier, had gone dead quiet when Antonius arrived. Birkita heard him walk along the hallway, stumble and curse. Then he belched loudly and sounded as though he’d bounced off one of the walls.
Birkita’s curtain opened and Flavia came in. Her face was ghostly white. Birkita thought it was just the tension but then Flavia said, ‘There’s a problem.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Antonius wants to come to me.’
‘Come to you? But he’s gone.’
‘No, you don’t understand. Sometimes he comes to me. In my house. Usually, it’s after he’s hurt me. He wants to make amends.’
‘Amends?’
Birkita realised she was repeating everything that Flavia said.
‘And he’s coming tonight?’ Birkita asked.
Flavia nodded.
‘In a few minutes. He’s just giving me some time to prepare.’
‘Prepare?’
‘Wash this place off me. Smell nice. Wear something pretty.’
Birkita’s heart sank.
‘So we can’t do it?’
‘No, we can,’ whispered Flavia.
‘How?’
‘You know how he is. In and out. He won’t be very long. Come in a
little while. My house is five doors up on this side. I’ll put a candle burning in the window while he’s there. If you see no candle, you’ll know that he’s gone.’
Birkita smiled and nodded.
Flavia kissed her on the lips. A quick kiss. Urgent. She touched Birkita’s cheek with her palm.
‘See you in a while,’ Flavia said.
She slipped out. Birkita checked the small bundle of things she was bringing. A cloak, her coins in a small bag made of sacking, the knife. She would wait six turns of the hourglass. That should give Antonius enough time. She had just set the first one when the curtain was pulled back. It was Cassius.
‘British girl. How about a fuck to end the day?’
‘Would you go ask somebody else? I’m tired – and anyway I gave you all that wine.’
Cassius stepped into the cubicle, lifted his hand and slapped her backhand across the face.
‘You don’t say no to me, British bitch.’
Wearily, Birkita went to the bed, lay back on it and lifted her toga.
‘That’s more like it,’ said Cassius.
He lifted up his tunic, climbed onto the bed and lay on top of her. Birkita closed her eyes. He reeked of wine, sweat and piss. A smell of shit wafted up past his back. She could feel that he had no erection. He lay on her for a while moving his groin up and down. He farted and sighed with satisfaction. But then his movement slowly came to a halt. Birkita opened her eyes.
He was asleep.
She waited a little while just to make absolutely sure. Then she rolled out from underneath him. He flopped against the wall like a sack of grain and began to snore loudly. Birkita was tempted to cut his throat but now she just wanted to be moving, to leave this place.
She put on her cloak and put the knife and bag of coins in a pocket on the inside. Then she slipped out past the curtain. The hallway was dark with no candles burning. She couldn’t tell if Albinus was asleep or not. He seemed to be. He was turned on his side with his blanket pulled up over his shoulder. The rest of the place was in silence except for soft sleeping noises coming from one or two of the cubicles.
As silently as she could, Birkita lifted the heavy wooden beam that barred the door. It was much heavier than she had expected. She had grown soft in the time she had been here.
Please don’t let me drop it.
She got it free of its iron mounts. It nearly fell from her hands but she was able to catch it on her knees, steady it and then, crouching down, she lowered it to the floor.
She straightened up. Her heart was racing and she was dripping in sweat. She looked around at where Albinus slept but there was no movement. The curtains on the cubicles were still. Cassius was snoring loudly.
Birkita lifted the latch and eased the heavy door back. Mercifully, the hinges didn’t squeak – she had been regularly oiling them with lamp oil ever since she had decided to escape. She opened it just wide enough to slip through. Then she was out in the street, shutting it silently behind her.
She looked up and down. The street was deserted. It was the first time Birkita had been out here without somebody accompanying her. She was free.
She crossed to the other side of the street and staying in the shadows by the wall, moved silently, counting doorways. At the fifth one, there was no light in the window – it was a square of black.
She crossed back and tapped softly on the door with her knuckles. Flavia opened the door wide. Her face was still deathly pale.
‘Are you ready?’ hissed Birkita.
‘Yes. Just come in a moment.’
Birkita did and Flavia closed the door. The room was in darkness.
Birkita was just about to whisper something when a figure stepped out of the shadows.
It was Antonius.
He carried a sword. Birkita noticed it was the short sword that the Roman army used.
She looked at Flavia in confusion.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Flavia.
Chapter Fourteen
You Betrayed Me (Julia)
‘Take off that cloak and like down on the floor,’ said Antonius. ‘Face down.’
Birkita was reminded that Antonius had been a soldier. Maybe he hadn’t been a fighting one but right now, she felt like it was a soldier facing her.
She hesitated, thinking about her knife.
She could try to get past the blade and cut his throat. Back, long ago, in another life, she had learned how to do that. But that had been a different time. She had had another body then. A warrior’s body. Now she had a whore’s body. And a weary, almost broken one at that.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to reach him. Long before that, his sword would be slicing its way into her belly. She thought of the arena and what awaited her. Better to go now. Quick and clean. Here in the darkness. Fighting an enemy.
Fighting. That was the thing. Better to be fighting than just lying down like a lamb. A warrior again. If only for a brief instant. She would go to the gods as a warrior.
Antonius suddenly lifted the blade shoulder height.
Birkita’s hand jabbed inside the cloak for the knife.
But then her head exploded and filled with light as he struck her hard with the flat of the blade across the side of her head. The last thing she heard was Antonius’ voice saying, ‘Go and get that drunken bastard, Cassius.’
When Birkita came to she was lying face down on the cold floor. Her cheek rested on the rough concrete. Opening her eyes she saw that a tiny amount of grey light had spilled into the room. Dawn was coming. She could see some small details. A pebble of concrete on the floor. The wooden leg of a bed. Some crumbs. A piece of lemon rind. She noticed that it was still bright yellow. It must have only fallen there recently.
Somebody had tied her arms behind her back. The cord was tight and bit into her wrists. Her legs had been spread-eagled so that she was completely open. Her head was pounding like a drum – on the side where Antonius had struck her, across her forehead, in her eyes. The room smelt bad. She knew Cassius must be there, behind her somewhere.
Next minute she felt what she knew to be the point of Antonius’ sword poking softly between her legs.
‘So – you’re awake, British cunt,’ said Cassius.
She felt the top of the blade, very sharp. She went to close her legs but Cassius stamped on her calf with his foot.
‘Uh uh. Just stay as you are,’ he said. ‘I like it that way. It’s my favourite view of you.’
He touched her vulva with the tip of the blade, stroking it.
‘If you were mine,’ he said, ‘you know we’d be about to have some fun now.’
Gently, he inserted the tip of the blade into her, pushing it as far as he could without drawing blood or doing any damage.
‘But sadly, you’re not mine.’
He withdrew the point of the blade and began to stroke down the back of her thighs with the sword tip. It was gentle at first, almost tickling. But then he pressed the point into her more deeply so that it hurt.
‘You got me into a lot of trouble,’ said Cassius.
Suddenly, the floor beneath her began to vibrate. She could feel the vibrations in her chest and in all her limbs. Her first thought was that it was a chariot or a cart going past outside but she had heard nothing like that approach.
Cassius swore.
The floor was shaking now. It was as though waves were travelling through Birkita’s body. It was like there was somebody upstairs – a huge, fat man walking across the wooden floor and causing the whole house to shake. A small statue fell onto the floor and shattered. Birkita felt some of the fragments spattering against her face and throat.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, the shaking stopped.
Cassius swore again. Then he resumed what he had been doing with the sword.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You got me into a lot of trouble. But it’s nothing like the trouble you’re in.’
‘Fuck you,’ Birkita said.
She had wanted to say it ever since she go
t here.
‘You want to?’ asked Cassius. ‘I don’t think so. I think your fucking days are over. That is unless they find a horse for you to fuck. But if they do, that will be in the arena. I’d like to see that. Mmm, I’d really like to see that. I’ll be going along, you know. I’ll be there in the crowd next week to see your show.’
Birkita would have to kill herself. That was the only thing that remained now. She would have to find a way.
Cassius pressed the point of the sword hard into the back of her thigh so that it punctured the skin. Birkita gasped. Then she felt him score a line down her thigh just as far as the back of the knee. The movement was exquisitely light – but intended to open the flesh. She felt her skin puncture and warm blood trickle across her thigh and onto the floor.
Cassius did the same on the other leg.
‘You have a nice ass, British bitch. I’ll say that for you.’ Birkita felt the point of the sword poke into one of her buttocks.
But just then the door opened.
A voice she didn’t recognise in an accent that was unfamiliar said amiably, ‘Don’t worry about it, my friend. We are both businessmen. Night or day, whatever the hour, we must go where we can to make whatever small money we can.’
‘What the fuck are you doing now, Cassius?’
It was Antonius.
‘She tried to escape.’
‘I’m sure she did,’ said Antonius, wearily. ‘Get her up.’
Cassius took Birkita by the arms and pulled her savagely to her feet. Then he stood behind her and just to one side. He was close enough that she could smell him and his breath when he exhaled.
The man with Antonius was about the same age as him but where Antonius was tall and lean, still having something of the soldier about him, this man was small and plump. He looked like he enjoyed his food and wine. He was deeply tanned with dark eyes. Birkita thought he had a look of the east about him. He wore good clothes. They looked expensive. If he had been woken unexpectedly, he didn’t look it. Instead he had carefully prepared himself for the day. His black curly hair was brushed and oiled and he wore scent that filled the room.
‘This is her, Sextus’ said Antonius. ‘Unlike the other one, this one’s a warrior.’
The Paradise Ghetto Page 18
