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Back The House with the Golden Door Save as PDF
Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR
  3. PRAISE FOR
  4. Dedication
  5. 75 CE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. FLORALIA
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. LEMURIA
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. NEMORALIA
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 76 CE
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. EPILOGUE
  59. AFTERWORD
  60. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“We said not in the day,” he whispers, although he already has his hands on her body, touching her bare skin.

“I changed my mind,” Amara replies.

Every time she is with Philos, pleasure edges a little closer, but this is still not how she imagined her body would finally grant her release, in a frantic, rushed encounter, crammed together against a desk. When Philos realizes what is happening, he slows down, holding her tightly while she clutches him, trying not to cry out. Afterward, she does not want to move apart, enjoying the warm glow of tenderness, all their murmured protestations of love, until realization hits. She has not used her contraceptive.

29

“Seen in a dream, the butchers who cut up meat and sell it in the marketplace signify dangers.”

—Artemidorus, The Interpretation of Dreams

The old man sits underneath the shrine to Venus on the street corner. The sharp tang from the fullers next door makes it an unpleasant spot for lingering, yet he still seems to have drawn a crowd. Fortune-tellers are always popular at the Fors Fortuna, the festival in late June to honor the goddess of good luck.

Amara and Victoria join the onlookers. They have earned the right to dawdle. Victoria just persuaded the unsavory pimp Castrensis to pay them more, as he has very particular demands for the performance Victoria and the flautists will give that night. Amara cranes past the crowd to see what is happening. The fortune-teller is running through his patter, offering to throw his dice to predict the future, or interpret dreams. Victoria nudges her in the ribs as a slave boy pays up then relates a long tedious dream, clearly hoping it will predict his freedom.

“Are you Greek?” the old man croaks. The boy shakes his head. “Pity.” The fortune-teller sniffs. “Wearing white in a dream signifies freedom for a Greek slave, death for any other.”

The boy’s face falls. “Are you sure?”

The fortune-teller raises his hands to the heavens. “Fors Fortuna never lies!”

Before Amara can stop her, Victoria has grabbed her hand and barged them both to the front. She chucks a coin at the man’s feet. “Throw the dice for us, father,” she says.

The old man looks up at Victoria, taking in the seductive way she stands, tunic slipping from her shoulder. “Very well, daughter.”

He throws his dice then leers at them both. “You will meet a man on a street corner, who is the best lover you’ve ever encountered.”

The crowd laughs. Even Victoria is amused, though she pretends to pout with annoyance. “Come on,” Amara says, trying to drag her away, irritated to be the center of so much lascivious attention.

“Don’t you want to hear your fortune, daughter,” the old man says, pointing at Amara, raising his voice to be heard over the guffaws.