Julia and Suzanne are weeding. A patch of ground has been dug and now they must take out all the weeds before it is raked over and grass seed is planted. It is backbreaking work, the standing and bending over. Several times Julia feels dizzy and as if she is going to faint. They try kneeling down in the dirt and that helps a bit but the earth is cold and wet and they can only do that for so long before they have to stand again.
Suzanne points out that it is March 21st, the equinox. ‘The days will be getting warmer now,’ she says.
Julia notices the birds for the first time. Have they been there all along? Or were they hibernating for the winter? Julia is a city girl and knows little or nothing about these things. But today, the birds are singing their hearts out – twittering, whistling, cooing. She tries to think of other words. She has been doing this a lot lately – she’ll think of a word and then try to find other words that mean the same thing. It’s since she’s become a writer – a notion that always makes her smile.
She comes up with other words – chirping, peeping, tweeting. Yes, the birds are doing all those things today.
‘Why do birds sing?’ she asks Suzanne.
‘They’re talking?’ Suzanne suggests. ‘They’re marking their territory? They’re happy?’
Julia likes this last explanation best. It strikes her how the birds here in the ghetto are unaware that they are in the ghetto. They’re just doing what they’ve always done. Why can’t people be that smart?
It is almost exactly two months that they have been here and Julia has lost so much weight in that time. Her clothes hang on her like a scarecrow’s. She sees the same when she looks at Suzanne – she is skinny with a small waist and big eyes. Julia hopes that the weight loss will level off now that their bodies have adjusted to their new diet. It is something she tries not to think about too much.
She changes the subject to their book.
‘I never saw that coming,’ she says. ‘In the book.’
‘Saw what?’
‘Claudia. I suppose when I dreamed up Birkita’s character all I did was to try to imagine what I would like to have been like if I had lived in that time. I thought you’d do the same. But you did something much cleverer.’
‘What did I do?’
‘I thought you would be Flavia. You know – you, Flavia. But that’s not what you did at all. You’re going to be Claudia, aren’t you?’
‘I don’t know really,’ says Suzanne. ‘When I started thinking about characters, I think betrayal was very much on my mind.’
Julia winces inwardly. A knife slices through her gut.
‘The guy who betrayed me,’ Suzanne continues. ‘I wondered why he did that. Was it just a casual thing? Did he do it just because it was the law? Did he never think about the consequences – that there would be people who would be affected by what he did? Or did he hate Jews? And if he did, where did that hatred come from? Or was he – though I think this is a bit unlikely – placed in some kind of dilemma like Flavia, where she has a choice between two options – a risky one that would help other people or a selfish one?’
‘Or maybe he knew you were a girl,’ says Julia. ‘And he felt you had rejected him by not responding to him.’
‘I guess that’s possible too,’ she says. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. So anyway, that’s where Flavia came from. And then I guess, I’m in mourning for my parents. Even though I’m not really. Or rather I haven’t started. That just seemed too much, along with everything else we had to cope with. So I thought I had just put them away in a place inside my head and then I would take them out when this was all over. Then I could grieve for them properly. But I guess the mind has its own paths. Even though I had locked them away, they came out in Claudia grieving for her child. So I think that’s what happened.’
Julia is enjoying this. It is just like things are back to the way they were. But then, Julia’s mouth runs ahead of her brain.
‘So will they become lovers?’ she asks. ‘Birkita and Claudia?’
‘I don’t think so,’ says Suzanne and that is the end of the conversation.
During the afternoon, Adolf appears. He calls Julia over and says he wants to explain to her the plans for this grassy area. He talks of important visitors and children playing on the grass and how long it will take to grow and how luxuriant it has to be. The conversation – well actually, Suzanne would call it a monologue – strikes Julia as a pretty stupid and pointless one. All he is really saying is that they need to get the grass planted in time which everybody knows anyway – and they have plenty of time.
Once during their discussion, as he is talking about what a great team they all are, he puts his arm around her shoulder. Three times – Julia counts them – Adolf points at something or other and each time he does, he contrives to touch Julia’s breasts with his hand. Eventually he tells her she can go back to her work.
‘What did he want?’ asks Suzanne.
‘He wants a good kick in the balls is what he wants,’ says Julia.
Chapter Seventeen
Romans and Amazons (Suzanne)
On the morning of the day they were to fight, the women were led from their cells into the courtyard. Here two wagons had been drawn up, each of which carried a large iron cage. They were herded into the cages – one for the Romans and one for the Amazons – and then the wagons headed out of the school and into the city. Severus sat up front with one of the drivers while Severus’ assistant rode on the other wagon.
People stared at them as they passed. The sight of wagonloads of gladiators heading for the arena was not uncommon, but wagonloads of women were something else. People stared. Insults were shouted. Children ran after the wagons and threw stones or rotten vegetables or balls of mud or shit. The Cow and some of the other women gave the finger and shouted insults back. The Warrior sat on the floor of the wagon quietly. Occasionally she looked at Birkita and whenever she did she smiled.
Claudia, who sat beside Birkita, was shaking.
Neither of them had got any sleep during the night just passed. For most of it, Birkita just held Claudia and tried alternately to sooth her and to convince her that she could survive. It was not something Birkita believed.
The wagons reached the amphitheatre and entered through double doors into the interior, under the seats. Here the women climbed down and were taken through a succession of iron gates until they reached a torch-lit room. The place smelled of smoke and blood and excreta and fear. Two heavy wooden tables had been set up. On one lay Roman helmets, red tunics, swords and shields. The other had flimsy white tunics – more like short dresses really – and again, swords and shields.
Severus ordered them to take just swords and follow him out into the arena. They went through some more gates and along a torch-lit tunnel. They then passed under a low arch of brick and out from the darkness into the sunlight. At first it was so bright that Birkita was blinded. She shielded her eyes and was gradually able to open them.
From down here the place looked vast – much bigger than when she had sat on the stone benches. The tiers of white seats seemed to rise up endlessly towards a cloudless blue sky. High up, men were deploying the awnings that would shade the audience. They were like ships’ sails supported on huge rectangular wooden beams. Other figures moved amongst the seats – they appeared to be sweeping or picking things up. Down in the arena two men were shovelling sand from the back of a cart drawn by a patient donkey. Other men used long-handled rakes to spread the sand and even it out.
Severus got the women to limber up and do some mild play fighting.
‘I don’t want anybody getting hurt,’ he said.
It was as though the Cow hadn’t heard him. She knocked one opponent out – she was resuscitated with a bucket of cold water – and a second, she struck her upper arm so hard that the woman was hardly able to lift it afterwards. Given that it was her sword arm it was another death sentence. Severus cursed the Cow.
Around midday when the sun was at its height, he called a halt and ordered them back into the room with the weapons and costumes. On their way in they met the male gladiators coming out. As they passed one another in the corridor, the men tried to grope them and shouted how they would fuck them in the arena or when the Games were over. The women shouted abuse back.
After that it was a just a question of waiting. Soon they started to hear the arena filling up outside. At first there were just the sounds of a few people but slowly this swelled into a buzz and then a roar like waves on the sea. The Warrior sharpened her sword endlessly. The Cow sat in what passed for cross-legged fashion for her and appeared to sleep. Claudia sat deathly pale and quiet. Birkita looked slowly around the room, going from person to person, trying to remember their strengths, their weaknesses, their habits when they were fighting. One of the things she didn’t want to do was underestimate anybody. A small wound caused by a poor fighter could mean her death at the hands of someone like the Cow. And the Warrior was an unknown quantity. The hours dragged by mercilessly, Birkita simultaneously wishing they were over and not wanting them to end.
When the noise from the spectators outside and overhead had become constant, Severus reappeared and ordered them into their costumes. Birkita’s Amazon costume was so flimsy she felt as though she was naked. With her right breast exposed she thought she might as well have been. Shortly afterwards the Games began. The crowd went quiet and somebody made a speech, though they couldn’t hear what was said. When it concluded there was loud cheering. Then the first event – whatever it was – happened to roars of excitement, groans of disappointment, gasps of disbelief. Eventually it appeared to come to an end to tumultuous cheering and stamping of feet that echoed through the brickwork overhead.
A few moments later Severus ordered them to their feet. He formed them into pairs with the Romans in front. Then they went back out and down the tunnel which ended at double heavy wooden gates that opened out onto the arena. Someone behind Birkita was crying. Claudia, who stood beside Birkita, stared straight ahead, a sort of shivering tremor running through her body.
At a signal from Severus, two men opened the gates.
‘Romans only,’ he said and the first ten women made their way out into the arena. There were cheers and then gasps of surprise as the crowd saw that these were not men. Then came cheering and wolf whistles and a wave of stamping of feet so powerful it felt as though the archway overhead would collapse.
Severus organised the ten Amazons into three ranks with the Cow, the Warrior and Birkita in front. She could see the sense of it. If some of the weaker ones had been in front they might have had very little chance of getting out of the tunnel at all. Birkita glanced behind her. Claudia was in the second row. Now Birkita suddenly felt afraid too. She had only ever fought in practice – never fought to the death, never had people trying to kill her.
Out in the arena, the Romans disappeared out of sight. A few moments later, the women in the tunnel heard the words ‘We, who are about to die, salute you’ being recited. Somebody behind Birkita whimpered and whoever was crying continued to sob.
The Romans reappeared and gathered in a semicircle about ten paces back from the mouth of the tunnel. Birkita could see what they were doing – try to catch the Amazons when they would be temporarily blinded by the sun and with only three women in the front line.
The cheering in the arena sank to an expectant hush. The hush became a silence, a great stillness in which coughs and the occasional shout or burst of laughter could be heard clearly. Birkita felt the balance of her shield one more time and gripped the hilt of her sword. She heard what sounded like the soft sound of pissing and then she smelt the smell. Behind her, looking down, she saw that a little pool had formed on the sand. When Severus judged that the silence had gone on long enough, he said, ‘All right, out you go.’
The Cow shouted something unintelligible and plunged out into the arena like a sprinter. The Warrior and Birkita moved almost as quickly. As they did so all of the Romans charged forward. Everyone was shouting, screaming – urgent, animal cries.
Two women appeared in front of Birkita, hazy outlines in the sunlight. She feinted at the one on the right’s head. The woman raised her shield in a reflex and Birkita whipped her sword down towards the woman’s belly. The woman tried to bring the shield back down but it was too late. There was a soft sensation of resistance as the point of the blade pressed against the skin. Then the bitterly sharp steel punctured and sliced inwards easily. Blood sprayed out. Birkita’s vision was suddenly clear and sharp. The woman dropped both arms. Her legs folded. She settled for a moment on her knees looking up at Birkita with sadness on her face. Then she fell face down on the ground.
It had seemed to happen so slowly yet it must have all been very quick because the second woman was still there with her sword arm coming down at Birkita. Had it hit, the blow would have cleaved her from her shoulder, but Birkita got her shield there just in time. The sword bit into the edge of the shield, sending splinters of wood flying in the sunlight.
Birkita charged her. The move took the woman by surprise. She tried to run backwards but stumbled. Terror flashed onto her face as she realised what was about to happen. Desperately she tried to hold her shield up but Birkita kicked it out of the way. Then she plunged her sword into the woman’s heart.
Sweat ran down Birkita’s face and forehead and stung her eyes. She was already panting and felt as though her heart would burst.
She looked around. There were two other Romans lying on the ground. One was still and the other was on her side trying to drag herself away from the fighting. Her belly and thighs were soaked in blood and more poured onto the yellow sand as she moved. There were three Amazons down – one was clearly dead, one had taken a terrible cut across the face and appeared to have been blinded, the third was shaking in what looked like death throes. Where was Claudia?
Everything was moving so quickly. The air was full of dust and the smell of animals being butchered. On the edge of her vision a Roman took a blow to the head that shattered her helmet and poleaxed her in a spray of vivid red blood. Another Amazon fell to her knees and a Roman almost decapitated her with a blow. The crowd cheered every time a good blow landed or somebody was hit.
Birkita thought she saw Claudia being pressed backwards by a Roman. There was the small frame and the black hair tied up with a thin strip of green cloth. The Roman was left-handed. Birkita had told Claudia what to do if she found herself facing a left-hander but all that appeared to be forgotten now. As Birkita watched, Claudia either dropped her sword or it slipped from her hand. She uttered an animal-like cry of despair. The Roman grinned and it was as though her whole body suddenly glowed with confidence. She rained blow after blow on Claudia’s shield as Claudia stumbled backwards. Birkita ran to her, came at the Roman on her sword side and pushed the sword easily through her ribs.
And suddenly it was all over. There were no more Romans to fight. Six Amazons remained standing – the Cow, the Warrior, Claudia, Birkita and two others. All of them were panting. They stood, spattered with blood and some had cut wounds though none looked very severe. Glancing down, Birkita suddenly noticed that she had a deep gash across the front of her thigh and a sheet of blood had trickled down onto her knee. She had no idea when that had occurred. The crowd was on its feet and the cheering was deafening.
The Cow was walking purposefully from one fallen Roman to the next. Any she found alive she stabbed.
Chapter Eighteen
The Earthquake (Julia)
With swords and shields raised in triumph, and to the roars of the crowd, the six women made their way back into the tunnel.
‘I’m still alive,’ Claudia gasped in disbelief.
‘You did well,’ said Birkita. ‘Really well.’
When they returned to their room, they were surprised to find Sextus there. They were even more surprised at the state he was in. Any time Birkita had seen him, he had seemed imperturbable. Now he was like a different person. Face red, toga awry he held his face centimetres from Severus’ and screamed at him. In the light of the torches they could see his spittle flying through the air.
‘What the fuck just happened out there?’ he asked.
Severus went to say something but Sextus just kept going.
‘I’ll tell you what happened. The Roman Army – the Imperial legions – were defeated by a crowd of women. That’s what happened.’
Severus went to speak again but once more to no avail.
‘What did I tell you about who was to win? By the gods, why should I even have had to tell you? It would have been obvious to a blind, deaf and dumb man.’
‘You said you wanted sex. You wanted the Amazons to have big breasts. That’s what I did.’
Severus’ standing up for himself only seemed to make Sextus more angry, if that was possible.
‘But not at the expense of a fucking Roman victory,’ he shrieked.
‘You should have been clearer. The best fighters had the biggest tits.’
‘Oh, is that so? “The best fighters have the biggest tits.”’
Sextus mimicked Severus’ voice.
‘“The best fighters have the biggest tits,”’ he said again. ‘Well thank you for explaining that to me. Now we have the secret. I’ll be sure to tell all my friends. I’ll shout it from the rooftops. “The best fighters have the biggest tits.” I’d wondered what it was about my wife all these years. Now, at last, thanks to you, I’ve found out.’
Sextus paused to draw breath. Spittle dribbled from his lips. His eyes were flaring.
‘Right, here’s what we’re going to do. Send them back out there.’
He indicated the bloodied group of Birkita, Claudia, the Cow, the Warrior and two others in their torn tunics.
‘Six go out, one comes back.’
Severus seemed to have run out of things to try to say. A silence developed with Sextus’ face still centimetres from his. It was as though everybody had become momentarily frozen.
Then a voice said, ‘And what do we get if we’re the one to come back?’
It was the Warrior.
It was the first time Birkita had heard her speak. She had a strong, deep voice and she stood confidently, almost haughtily.
Slowly, Sextus turned his head and looked at her in disbelief.
He seemed unable to speak. The Warrior just gazed calmly at him.
Finally, Sextus raised his arm and pointed a finger at her as though it were a spear.
‘You get to live,’ he said, his voice suddenly going quiet. ‘That’s what you get to fucking do. You get to live. Now fuck off out there and give those people their money’s worth.’
Somebody – it might have been Claudia – wailed in anguish.
They returned back down the way they had come, stopping by the wooden gates again while an announcement was made outside. Birkita glanced at Claudia who stood beside her. Claudia looked at her but it was like she didn’t recognise Birkita or even see her. Claudia’s face seemed to have altered – it suddenly appeared both familiar and unfamiliar. She was no longer crying or shivering. In some ways it looked as though her spirit had already left her body – that she was already dead.
The announcement ended, the gates were opened, the women ran out, the crowd roared its approval. The women fanned out.
‘Stay near me,’ Birkita shouted to Claudia above the noise of the crowd.
She positioned herself on Birkita’s right.
In what seemed like moments, the Cow and the Warrior had dispatched the two other women. One moment they were six women standing, the next, two were lying on the ground, bloodied and unmoving.
Now the Cow and the Warrior turned towards Birkita and Claudia. The Cow immediately lunged at Claudia who stumbled backwards to get out of the way. She almost did. But then the crowd cheered, Claudia groaned and Birkita knew she had been stabbed. While the Cow was still at full stretch Birkita lunged at her but the Cow was too quick and pulled herself back out of sword range. Birkita glanced round at Claudia, expecting to see her fallen but she was still on her feet.
‘I’m all right,’ she said.
‘Get behind me,’ Birkita shouted, though she knew it was a pointless thing to do. She would be lucky to defeat one of these two; there was no way she could hope to win against both of them. They appeared to be working as a team now and suddenly it was clear to Birkita what was going to happen. They would kill Birkita. Then they would easily dispatch Claudia. After that they would fight it out between each other.
The Warrior closed in on Birkita on her left, the Cow on her right. Birkita fended the Warrior’s blows with her shield. She parried the Cow’s thrusts with her sword. All the while she backed away from them.
It went on like this with the spectators cheering every time Birkita managed to fend off another attack. But her arms were becoming heavy. They were dropping. She couldn’t keep this up for much longer.
She hoisted up the heavy shield again but the Warrior continued to strike blow after blow against it. All the while the Cow lunged at her from the right. Birkita kept on trying to watch both adversaries at once, shielding herself from the Warrior’s blows and deflecting cuts from the Cow’s sword. It was becoming impossible. It must be only seconds before she would make a mistake, mis-time a move and then it would be all over.
She continued to retreat with Claudia – she assumed – behind her somewhere. The crowd began to boo. The spectators were becoming impatient. Birkita summoned up whatever strength she had left and tried to go on the offensive. She lunged at the Cow, but the blow was easily parried, the Cow batting it off almost negligently.
But the move seemed to aggravate the Cow.
‘Come on,’ she said to the Warrior. ‘Let’s get these bitches.’
The Warrior drove forward, leading with her leg and striking several huge downward blows against Birkita’s shield, one after the other. Chunks of wood flew from the shield and Birkita thought it might have been cloven in two. The blows vibrated up her arm and through her whole body.
Then the Cow stabbed at her and caught her on her thigh where she was already cut. But this second cut was much deeper. Birkita gasped at the pain and felt her whole leg suddenly become weak as though the strength had been sucked out of it. On the downward periphery of her vision she saw bright red blood sprout from the wound.
Both the Warrior and the Cow were smiling now.
‘You know where I’m going to cut you next?’ said the Cow.
The fat woman lunged at Birkita’s groin with a vicious downward stroke. She tried desperately to move out of the way but her leg failed to respond when she instructed it to move. She stumbled backwards narrowly avoiding the sword cut as it whistled down her belly but as she did so, another crashing blow came down on her shield and finally destroyed it. Chunks of wood tumbled onto the sand leaving a small piece of timber strapped to Birkita’s arm. She just about managed to keep her feet but she knew it was the end.
But then there was a loud crack as though something huge – the amphitheatre itself – had broken. The ground began to shake. It was like what she had experienced in the last couple of days but much, much more severe. The loud crack became a steady rumbling that ran in chorus with the shaking. Screams came from the benches. Spectators rose from their seats and started to flee towards the exits. The awnings shading the crowd began to billow like ships’ sails and clouds of dust fell from them.
The Warrior and the Cow stopped and looked up and around at the tiers of spectators. Birkita could have maybe taken one of them then but she suddenly felt immensely weary. The thundering and shaking subsided but the rumbling seemed to be still echoing a long way off. A sort of calm returned to the crowds on the benches. They could be seen turning back towards the arena. Some sat down again. The Warrior and the Cow both looked into Birkita’s face and hoisted up their weapons for one last push.
But then the ground shook again. The shaking was so violent this time that it caused the Cow to fall onto her back, a sight that would almost have been funny. Her tunic flowered up, revealing flabby thighs and a vast black bush. The Warrior rocked and spread her feet to steady herself like somebody trying to balance on a small raft in a raging river. Somehow Birkita managed to stay standing.
The crowds screamed and began to flee again and this time it looked like everybody on the benches was moving. Large chunks of stonework seemed to rise up and then snap as though they were little more than chips of plaster. Then there was a deafening crack and it was like somebody had drawn a line through the tiers from the ground to the very top. The crack became a roar as a whole section of the amphitheatre, taking spectators with it, came tumbling down in a huge cloud of dust.
Out in the arena, the Cow had struggled to her feet but Birkita and the Warrior had stopped fighting and were staring in astonishment at what was happening.
Then there was another even louder crack and it was as though a long, wide trench, much deeper than a man, had suddenly appeared in the floor of the arena. Before their very eyes the trench lengthened and widened and great chunks of earth and sand and rocks tumbled into it.
The trench had opened up right behind the Cow and now she looked round in alarm. As she did so, the earth disappeared beneath her feet. She hung there for a moment as though suspended in air. Her face was a mixture of surprise and fear. Then she disappeared down into the bowels of earth as though she had been swallowed.
The great beams supporting the awnings began to sway wildly. Then, one by one in succession, the beams snapped as though they were twigs and came tumbling down onto the spectators who had not yet managed to get out of their seats. Crushing people as they went, the huge beams bounced down and eventually came to rest in the arena in a huge cloud of dust.
The Warrior flung down her weapons.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said.
Chapter Nineteen
Claudia (Suzanne)
It was an easy enough thing to do. With the Warrior leading the way, they ran round the great trench in the floor of the arena and over to the wall that encircled it. The wall was only the height of a man. With her powerful arms, the Warrior pulled herself up and over it. Then, standing on top, she reached down. She towered over them with her muscular arms and columnar thighs. Birkita knew then she would never have beaten her.
‘You go next,’ said Birkita to Claudia.
Claudia hesitated and seemed to stumble. Birkita suddenly noticed that Claudia was deathly pale and she was clutching her right side where the Cow had stabbed her.
‘Your friend is bleeding,’ said the Warrior.
‘It must ... It must have been deeper than I thought,’ said Claudia in a voice thick with pain.
Birkita took Claudia around the waist and lifted her up. The Warrior did the rest, pulling Claudia up by her left arm. She gasped. Birkita followed.
Now it was simply a case of following the crowds who were fleeing towards the exits. The rumbling and shaking had subsided but huge clouds of dust filled the air where the sections of the amphitheatre had been wrecked. Birkita took Claudia’s hand as, in front, the Warrior tried to push her way through the panic-stricken people.
Pulled along by the crowd, they flowed out through an exit and reached the top of one of the flights of steps that led down to ground level. Here there was a horrendous crush. People screamed. A man yelled for help as he was pressed against the stone balustrade of the stairway. He tried to extricate himself by pulling himself up on the shoulders of the people around him. But just as he pulled himself free and was half standing half sitting on the balustrade the crowd swayed and he fell off it, dropping to the ground with a scream. Birkita felt something soft underfoot which she knew must be a body but she was pressed in on all sides and could do nothing but stand on it. She squeezed Claudia’s hand to make sure she was still there and felt a faint squeeze back. The crowd had carried the Warrior a couple of paces ahead but Birkita could still see her since she was taller than many of the other people. But now the surging crowd lifted Birkita off her feet and she was carried down the steps. Her hand still held Claudia’s. Birkita squeezed it tight and prayed that she could hold on.
As they reached the bottom of the steps and people began to fan out over open ground, the crush suddenly eased. The spectators raced away from the amphitheatre as fast as they could. The Warrior was among them – Birkita saw her briefly before she disappeared into the crowd. But now as they tumbled out of the crush, Claudia stumbled and fell, dragging Birkita down with her.
Claudia had fallen on her back. She held both her hands against the side where she had been stabbed. Her once-white tunic was soaked in blood from her chest all the way down to its hem. Blood was bubbling through her fingers. Her eyes were closed.
Birkita found that she was still holding her sword. She dropped it in the dust and knelt by Claudia’s head.
‘Claudia! Claudia! Wake up!’ Birkita said urgently.
Claudia’s eyes opened slowly, almost dreamily.
She smiled a weary smile.
‘It ... It was too much –’
She winced as a spasm of pain passed through her. People continued to pour past them. Birkita didn’t know what to do. Cry out for help? Carry Claudia to a physician?
‘Too much to think...’
‘Don’t talk. Just rest. We’ll get help for you.’
As she said the words she suddenly knew what to do. Flavia.
‘I will take you to Flavia. She will know. She will find a physician.’
Claudia tried to shake her head.
‘...that I would have gone into the arena...’
She winced again. Birkita placed her hands in under Claudia’s back and knees and braced herself ready to lift her.
‘...and survived,’ Claudia said.
Then the smile froze on her face and her eyes looked vacantly at the heavens.
Julia gasps involuntarily.
She looks across at Suzanne who is eating, chewing her food slowly in that way that she does, savouring every mouthful.
‘Claudia’s dead,’ she says.
Suzanne nods an almost imperceptible nod. It is more a movement of her eyes than her head.
‘I thought they were going to become lovers,’ blurts out Julia.
‘So did I,’ says Suzanne.
Chapter Twenty
The Count of Monte Cristo (Julia)
Eyes blind with tears, Birkita walked away from where Claudia’s body lay just outside the amphitheatre. As she looked back one last time, she saw that other people were starting to carry bodies out from the arena and lay them beside Claudia. At least now you won’t be alone. Claudia had been alone for as long as Birkita had known her – wandering, lost in the darkness of grief. Now at least she would have company as she took the journey into the afterlife. But she had come to love Claudia – frail, gentle Claudia who had belonged no more in a whorehouse than in the arena.
Birkita had torn a strip from her tunic and tied it around the wound on the front of her thigh. It quickly became blood-soaked but no more blood seeped out underneath the rough bandage so she assumed the bleeding had stopped. Her tunic had been fashioned such that it ran across one shoulder leaving her right breast bare. She tore the fabric from her shoulder, ripped it down the centre and then tied it behind her neck, thereby managing to cover both her breasts. Satisfied that she looked just like someone who had been caught up in the collapse at the amphitheatre, she entered the maze of streets.
She wiped the tears from her eyes. She knew where she needed to go – and she had taken up her sword again, holding it as unobtrusively as possible against her leg as she walked.
The narrow streets were heaving with people. There was a flow, of which Birkita was part, which was coming away from the direction of the amphitheatre. There was now an opposite flow of people who appeared to be struggling to get to it. A squad of soldiers came up the street at the trot, barging people out of the way with their shields.
The shaking had caused great damage in the city too. Statues had fallen, doorways had collapsed, roof tiles lay on the cobblestones and she saw a couple of buildings where the roofs had caved in entirely. Paving stones had been pushed up and stood at crazy angles. Walls had crumbled and in several places water was bubbling up through the cobblestones. One eating-house she passed was on fire inside as was a stable where men were frantically trying to get the wide-eyed, terror-stricken horses out of it.
The cramped streets all looked the same and she had no sense of direction but she asked people and eventually she found herself standing at the V in the road where the lupanar stood.
It appeared not to have suffered too badly. Some roof tiles had fallen off and lay shattered in the street. A huge crack ran up through the plaster on one of the walls. But the building was still standing. The front door was open but there was nobody visible, nobody standing where Cassius or Crispus should have been. Taking a firm grip on her sword, Birkita stepped into the cool shadow of the hallway.
It took her eyes a few moments to adjust. The hallway was deserted and there was no sound coming from any of the cubicles. But then a figure emerged from where the toilet was at the far end.
It was Cassius.
‘We’re closed,’ he said, ‘unless you’re looking for a job. Then, you talk to me.’
He obviously hadn’t recognised her.
But then suddenly, he did.
‘British bitch! Wha –’
They were the last three words he uttered in this life.
Birkita charged him, sword arm extended. He put up his hands in a futile attempt to stop it but the sword went right through the palm of one of his hands and buried itself in his heart. He was dead before he hit the floor.
Behind her, the curtains on one of the cubicles rustled and Birkita spun round. It was Bakt, the Egyptian girl. She looked at Birkita, looked at the dead body on the floor and her hands went up to her mouth, so that the scream she might have intended came out as a gasp.
‘Birkita!’
Behind Bakt, in the cubicle, the rest of the girls were huddled together, as though they had been trying to seek some kind of protection from the earth-shaking.
‘You should escape,’ said Birkita. ‘You will never have a better chance than now.’
The girls looked at her in stunned silence.
‘Escape,’ she said again, as though they hadn’t understood the first time. ‘Go!’
Again nobody moved.
‘Where is Flavia?’ asked Birkita.
Several pairs of eyes looked upwards.
‘Upstairs,’ Bakt managed to say.
‘Go,’ Birkita said one more time before she left them and pounded up the stairs and into the upstairs room.
Where the tiles had fallen off, the roof was open to the sky. Flavia was inspecting the damage. When she saw Birkita she looked like she had seen a ghost. But she recovered almost instantaneously, while her eyes took in Birkita’s bloodstained dress and the sword in her hand.
‘Birkita – you survived!’
‘I need clothes,’ said Birkita.
‘I can get you clothes,’ Flavia said. ‘There’s probably nothing that would be right here – you know the only kind of clothes we have –’
Flavia laughed a thin, nervous laugh.
‘But come up to my place and I will find something for you.’
They went downstairs, out and up the street, pausing only for Birkita to retrieve her money from its hiding place. Flavia talked non-stop about the earth-shaking.
‘We thought the whole place would fall down. We thought we were all going to die. They say people have died,’ she babbled on.
‘Claudia died,’ said Birkita.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Flavia, ‘but it was her own fault. I warned her often enough.’
At Flavia’s place, she lifted the lid on a wooden chest and took out several items of clothing. Birkita took a dark green tunic and belt and changed into them while Flavia watched uncertainly.
‘Let me clean the wound on your leg,’ she offered.
‘It’s fine,’ said Birkita. ‘But give me some water.’
Flavia did as she was told.
Birkita drank some of the water and splashed the rest in her face. Then she took up her sword again and moved to the door. Relief flooded Flavia’s face like a sunrise.
She thinks this is finished.
‘Now,’ Birkita said, her body blocking the door. ‘Give me the money.’
‘What money?’ Flavia said in alarm.
‘The money you told me about. The money you were going to use to buy your freedom.’
‘I’ve already given it to Antonius.’
‘Liar.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘I’ve already killed people today,’ said Birkita. ‘And they were people I had no quarrel with. It wouldn’t cost me a thought to kill you.’
‘I swear. I gave it to him.’
Birkita stepped forward.
‘I’m going to start cutting,’ she said. ‘I’ll start with your hair. Then your face. Then one of your breasts. Then –’
‘I’ll give you the money,’ said Flavia shrilly. ‘All right, I’ll give it to you.’
Flavia knelt down, rummaged in the bottom of the chest where the clothes were and withdrew a small leather bag of money. She handed it to Birkita who weighed it in her hand.
‘There’s more,’ said Birkita.
‘No, that’s all of it.’
‘You won’t look nice with no hair. And when I cut your face, what will Antonius say then? You’ll never work again. At least not in this business. Maybe as a beggar.’
Birkita raised the sword.
‘All right, I’ll give you the rest of it. Only – promise me. You have to take me with you.’
‘The money?’ said Birkita coldly.
Flavia went to the back of the room, knelt down and using the tips of her fingers, lifted up a flagstone. She lifted something out and handed it to Birkita who stood over her. It was a second leather purse, much heavier than the first one. Tears ran down Flavia’s upturned face.
‘Now, I will die here,’ she said. ‘Have pity on me, Birkita. Take me with you – please. Remember what we had.’
Birkita put the purses into the pocket of her tunic. She pointed the sword at Flavia.
‘If you know what’s good for you, you won’t send anybody after me.’
Flavia began to sob. She put her hands together as though in prayer.
‘Please, Birkita, please.’
Birkita turned and walked out the door.
She followed the smell of the sea, went downhill, had to ask a couple of people and made it to the port. Along the way she wondered what to do about the sword. She had money, she looked respectable – it would only be drawing unwelcome attention to herself, especially as there appeared to be a lot more soldiers on the street. After a moment’s hesitation, she dumped it in a water trough.
At the port, a long breakwater with a tower at its end ran out into the sun-sparkled water. The harbour was crowded with ships moored along the quayside and at anchor further out in the bay. Smaller craft and rowing boats plied their way across the water, intent on their business. Seagulls screamed and laughed overhead.
Birkita hurried along the breakwater, trying to see which ship might be getting ready to sail. From time to time she looked back over her shoulder.
Halfway along she found a small ship where the sailors were in the process of setting the main sail. A short stocky man stood on the raised deck at the rear calmly giving orders. He had thick grey hair, a grey beard and a tunic of uncertain colour. His skin appeared grey. In fact, the overall effect was almost as though he were from the netherworld and didn’t belong in this brightly coloured, sunlit scene.
‘Hey, captain,’ Birkita called. ‘Are you sailing soon?’
The man looked at her.
‘What’s it to you?’ he asked, though the words were spoken in a friendly enough way.
‘Where are you going to?’
‘All the questions. Yes, we’re leaving now. And even though it’s none of your business, we’re going to Baeterrae.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Gaul.’
‘Close to Britannia?’
The man shrugged. ‘Closer than here.’
The man shouted an order at a sailor who grabbed a rope and began to pull it.
‘Take me with you?’ said Birkita.
The man raised a grey eyebrow. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Woman on a ship. That’s only going to be trouble.’
‘Pull in the gangplank,’ he shouted and two men came to the side of the ship and began to lift the wooden gangway that connected the ship to the quay.
‘I can pay,’ said Birkita, going to stand where the end of the gangplank had rested.
‘How much?’ said the captain.
‘As much as you want.’
He named a figure.
‘Agreed,’ she said.
‘Are you serious?’ he asked.
‘Let me on board and I’ll show you how serious I am.’
She held up the purses.
The captain shouted to the two sailors to put back the gangplank. With his head he indicated that Birkita should come aboard. The sailors replaced the gangway and, lifting up the hem of her tunic, Birkita crossed it. As she did so, she heard shouting at the start of the breakwater where it met the land. A claw of fear seized her heart. Trying not to think what it might mean, she hurried across the deck and up the steps to the captain where she counted out the money. She emptied the larger purse and took a little from the other.
‘Cast off,’ the captain shouted.
Two sailors who were onshore lifted loops of thick rope from great wooden blocks and threw them onto the ship. Then they casually jumped the gap from the quayside to the ship as it began to open up.
The shouting became louder and there was a commotion on the breakwater. Then Birkita saw Antonius and two soldiers break from the crowd. One of his arms was raised and he was shouting.
‘Friend of yours?’ asked the captain, almost uninterestedly.
‘Not a friend,’ said Birkita.
She could think of nothing else to say. Was it all going to end here now? After everything she’d been through. She glanced at the rail of the ship. She would drown herself rather than be taken alive.
‘Put back in!’ one of the soldiers shouted. ‘Return to port!’
He appeared to be some kind of officer, judging by the amount of red on his uniform.
‘They’re telling us to put back in,’ a man behind Birkita called.
He was the steersman, manoeuvring a large oar at the rear of the ship. The gap between the ship and the quayside widened. It was already too far for anyone to jump. Birkita looked at the captain. He could put back in now – he had her money. However, he stood impassively, taking in the progress of his ship and the hullabaloo on the quay.
Antonius and the two soldiers had stopped now. They stood on the edge of the breakwater, in the gap where the ship had been, with the officer shouting, ‘Return to port immediately! Return to port!’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the captain shouted back. ‘After all that shaking I’m afraid it’ll do damage to my ship. If that happens, the owner will have my hide.’
The gap between ship and quay continued to widen. The officer looked at Antonius and said something. Antonius’ lips moved as he snapped something in reply. His face was red and contorted with anger
‘Then drop anchor where you are. We’ll send a boat out to you,’ the officer shouted.
The captain moved to the edge of the deck and placed both his hands on the gunwale. He leant forward as though trying to hear even though the words being shouted were crystal clear.
‘What was that?’ he called.
‘Change course, captain?’ asked the steersman.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ muttered the captain.
‘I’m ordering you to drop anchor where you are. We’re sending a boat out to you.’
The captain raised his hands to his ears and cupped them as though trying to hear better. The ship was far enough off now that the voices were starting to become indistinct. The sail bellied as a breeze filled it.
‘What?’ the captain shouted again.
The officer’s lips moved. He gesticulated with a downward stabbing motion of his hand. The captain shrugged an enormous theatrical shrug and walked back to his spot on the raised deck.
‘Fucking Romans,’ he muttered to no one in particular.
‘It’ll probably mean trouble when we come back, captain,’ said the steersman.
‘It’ll mean trouble if they send a ship after us,’ said the captain.
‘Do you think they will?’ asked Birkita.
‘Who can tell? They’re Romans. They like everybody to do as they’re told. Pisses them off when you don’t.’
He looked at Birkita and his face broke into a smile.
‘Looks like you must have pissed them off royally.’
By now, the figures on the quayside had become much smaller and silent. Birkita watched them until they became indistinct.
‘Now, let’s see just how much you upset them. If they send a ship after us, we’ll know it was on a grand scale. And if they don’t ... well, it sounds like you might have a good story to tell.’
In the end, no ship came. Evening came on in glorious shades of purple and scarlet and orange and yellow as the sun gradually settled onto the western horizon. The air in Birkita’s lungs was cool and fresh. It tasted better than anything she had ever drunk. There was no sign of another ship – they were alone on the ocean. It felt as though they could have been alone in the whole world.
She leant on the gunwale looking out at the setting sun. Only a tiny yellow slice of it remained and soon it too would be gone. She had escaped. And she had had her revenge. Or at least some of it. On Cassius and on Flavia.
How good it was to be free.
But even though the air and the ocean felt clean and unspoiled, her heart didn’t feel that way. Claudia had died and Birkita felt a dark shadow upon her at the thought of what she had done to Flavia.
Yes, Flavia had betrayed her. And yes, she could have died in the arena because of Flavia. Why then did she not feel right about what she had done?
She sighed. It was done now and could not be undone; she must live with the consequences.
And just as she told herself not to think about the past, she tried not to think about the future. She was going back to Britain. But what would she find there? All she knew for now was what she would not find there.