niche next to the building’s lintel, the white plaster stained with soot from years of long forgotten prayers. The landlady, a furtive little woman with brightly hennaed hair, claimed not to have seen her tenant in days but was vague on further details.
“Show me Neaera’s room,” Aculeo said.
“Who are you to her?” the woman demanded.
“Her brother.” She clearly didn’t believe him, but grudgingly allowed him into the building. He followed her up to the second floor. A pretty young woman wearing a traditional Egyptian braided black wig and a translucent chiton smiled at him as she passed him in the hallway, her lingering perfume smelling of jasmine. He could hear moaning and rhythmic thumping behind some of the doorways they passed. The landlady seemed oblivious to it all and led him to the far end of the hallway to the last flat. She opened the door and stood aside to let him enter.
It was a small, cramped little closet of a room with a small open window cut near the ceiling, letting a dim grey light from the streets below seep in. There was a small wooden table set against the wall with a terracotta basin and matching jug, a threadbare rug on the floor, a few cheerfully coloured Persian pillows and a tortoise shell lyre in the corner. A reed birdcage stood beneath the window. No sign of a bird though, the door was open, the water dish was dry, empty husks of seed lay scattered about the floor. On the wall hung a papyrus painting of three women standing near Pharos, the sort tourists have made for themselves by street artists, finely done though.
The first girl was fairly attractive with dark brown eyes, long, light brown curls that framed her round face and draped over her shoulders, a birthmark on her upper lip. The second looked familiar somehow, tall with high cheekbones and a sharp nose – he couldn’t recall where he’d seen her. The third had a spark of mischief in her dark eyes, a hint of a smile on her lips, as though she was about to laugh. She wore an elegant cameo necklace around her pale neck. Aculeo untacked the papyrus from the wall.
The cubiculum was barely more than a closet with a narrow bed, a soft red woollen blanket tucked up to the edge. A large wooden chest sat in the corner. Aculeo opened it – it contained a fine, ivory chiton and a smaller wooden box filled with jewellery, cheap gilt-terracotta bric-a-brac, nothing of any value. And no cameo necklace. He put everything back, then stripped the blanket off the bed. A rough hemp cloth mattress, stuffed with straw. He lifted the mattress to reveal a simple wood frame with thick leather strapping to hold up the mattress. He glanced under the bed. Nothing …
Someone coughed behind him. The landlady stood in the doorway of the bedroom, her suspicions of Aculeo’s unsavoury intentions apparently confirmed. He laid out the portrait of the three women on the table. “Which one’s Neaera?”
The landlady shot him an accusatory look. “I thought you were her brother.”
“We grew apart. Just tell me which one’s her?” The woman reluctantly jabbed a crooked fingertip on the woman with the cameo. “Who are the other two?”
“How should I know?”
“You never saw them here before?”
“No,” she scowled.
“What about a man named Iovinus? He would have paid her rent.”
The woman sniffed and shook her head. “She paid the rent herself. Except for this month – she’s two weeks late. My oath I’ll throw her pretty little ass out on the street if she makes me wait another day!”
Your whore disappears around the time you return from the dead, Aculeo thought as he left the dismal place. What are you up to, Iovinus? And where did you go? With Neaera or in search of her…?
Pah, what does it even matter? he thought bitterly. Either way, their trail is cold and I’m just as fucked as I was before I began.
The Sarapeion, the city’s main temple to Alexandria’s patron god Sarapis, stood on the acropolis, the
“Show me Neaera’s room,” Aculeo said.
“Who are you to her?” the woman demanded.
“Her brother.” She clearly didn’t believe him, but grudgingly allowed him into the building. He followed her up to the second floor. A pretty young woman wearing a traditional Egyptian braided black wig and a translucent chiton smiled at him as she passed him in the hallway, her lingering perfume smelling of jasmine. He could hear moaning and rhythmic thumping behind some of the doorways they passed. The landlady seemed oblivious to it all and led him to the far end of the hallway to the last flat. She opened the door and stood aside to let him enter.
It was a small, cramped little closet of a room with a small open window cut near the ceiling, letting a dim grey light from the streets below seep in. There was a small wooden table set against the wall with a terracotta basin and matching jug, a threadbare rug on the floor, a few cheerfully coloured Persian pillows and a tortoise shell lyre in the corner. A reed birdcage stood beneath the window. No sign of a bird though, the door was open, the water dish was dry, empty husks of seed lay scattered about the floor. On the wall hung a papyrus painting of three women standing near Pharos, the sort tourists have made for themselves by street artists, finely done though.
The first girl was fairly attractive with dark brown eyes, long, light brown curls that framed her round face and draped over her shoulders, a birthmark on her upper lip. The second looked familiar somehow, tall with high cheekbones and a sharp nose – he couldn’t recall where he’d seen her. The third had a spark of mischief in her dark eyes, a hint of a smile on her lips, as though she was about to laugh. She wore an elegant cameo necklace around her pale neck. Aculeo untacked the papyrus from the wall.
The cubiculum was barely more than a closet with a narrow bed, a soft red woollen blanket tucked up to the edge. A large wooden chest sat in the corner. Aculeo opened it – it contained a fine, ivory chiton and a smaller wooden box filled with jewellery, cheap gilt-terracotta bric-a-brac, nothing of any value. And no cameo necklace. He put everything back, then stripped the blanket off the bed. A rough hemp cloth mattress, stuffed with straw. He lifted the mattress to reveal a simple wood frame with thick leather strapping to hold up the mattress. He glanced under the bed. Nothing …
Someone coughed behind him. The landlady stood in the doorway of the bedroom, her suspicions of Aculeo’s unsavoury intentions apparently confirmed. He laid out the portrait of the three women on the table. “Which one’s Neaera?”
The landlady shot him an accusatory look. “I thought you were her brother.”
“We grew apart. Just tell me which one’s her?” The woman reluctantly jabbed a crooked fingertip on the woman with the cameo. “Who are the other two?”
“How should I know?”
“You never saw them here before?”
“No,” she scowled.
“What about a man named Iovinus? He would have paid her rent.”
The woman sniffed and shook her head. “She paid the rent herself. Except for this month – she’s two weeks late. My oath I’ll throw her pretty little ass out on the street if she makes me wait another day!”
Your whore disappears around the time you return from the dead, Aculeo thought as he left the dismal place. What are you up to, Iovinus? And where did you go? With Neaera or in search of her…?
Pah, what does it even matter? he thought bitterly. Either way, their trail is cold and I’m just as fucked as I was before I began.
The Sarapeion, the city’s main temple to Alexandria’s patron god Sarapis, stood on the acropolis, the
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