From the book...

The guy manhandled her into the store, and she was helpless to stop him. Sophie swore and spat and yelled. A curly-haired woman serving at the counter looked up, then resumed her conversation. Behind her, on a shelf, were pots of pink geraniums. The shop smelled of spicy perfume and too-sweet strawberries.

‘Fetch the Vigiles!’ Sophie shouted, but the shop assistant continued chatting.

Sophie’s assailant kicked open a door and threw her into a gloomy room. She put out her arms to break her fall, slammed into the floor, and cried out. In response, laughter came from the counter. Sophie jumped to her feet and spun to face her attacker.

He was dressed in a pink tunic, the same as the togas in the art exhibit. He marched over and seized the strap of her satchel. Sophie gripped the satchel tight.

The guy slapped her, stinging her cheek, and Sophie hesitated. He snatched the satchel and made off with it, shutting the door behind him. A key turned in the lock.

Sophie stared at the door. She’d been kidnapped, robbed, and when she’d screamed at the top of her lungs, not a soul had intervened. She thumped on the door with both fists. ‘Let me out immediately. My husband, Lucius Veranius, will make you pay dearly. You’ll wish you’d never been born.’

The door opened, and the man who’d grabbed her strode in. Sophie backed away and her legs met a bed. ‘What do you want? I have money.’

He guffawed. ‘The few coins in your satchel?’ He held out a length of rope and loomed over her. She saw her chance and punched him, landing a clean blow on his jaw. His eyes registered surprise but he hardly flinched. ‘If you don’t stop this nonsense, I’ll score your pretty skin like meat.’ His fleshy lips pouted, and he tapped a small knife on his belt.

Disbelief, and horror. She couldn’t fight her way out. Her best hope was to find her satchel, use the pendant. She gave a slight nod and let him tie her wrists in front of her.

He pulled a rag strip from his belt and forced it into her mouth, fastening it with a sharp jerk behind her head. His face was inches from hers and she felt sick. He reeked of pork and cheap wine.

Her jailer shoved her, so she fell on the bed. He wagged a finger. ‘That’s better.’

He left, and Sophie didn’t move, shock making her shiver. Eventually, she sat on the edge of the bed. All the furniture was pink: the bedframe and headboard, the cotton sheet, the side table, and under the bed, a chamber pot. The walls were a plain, dull cream, except for an empty recess which matched the furniture.

High up under the roof was a narrow gap, the only source of light. On the ceiling was a fresco, an enormous grey swan looming over a plump, naked woman on a couch. A scene from a myth… The details weren’t coming to mind but was sex involved?

Her stomach turned over. The teenagers and children outside weren’t part of an art exhibit. They were soliciting for business.

She was in a brothel.

Read more…