Page 46 of Vesuvius

‘Has my hair offended you?’

Felix frowned. ‘No.’

‘But it bothers you.’ Another pause. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Try me.’

Loren considered it for another beat, then resumed wrapping. ‘My family has – had – expectations of me. One of which was that I must marry, and I must marry well.’

When Felix tried connecting the dots, his tired brain came up short. ‘And?’

‘It would seem frivolous to you. Privileged to turn from a comfortable life with a woman as beautiful as she is wealthy. I imagine I’d even grow to love her, in a way.’ Deep breath. He tucked his hair behind his ear. Water dripped onto tile. ‘But I’m not . . . for women.’

‘Not for women. As in . . . ?’ A red flush travelled up Loren’s neck in the half-light. ‘Oh.’

‘Yes.’ Loren tied off the strip and stared hard at the opposite wall. ‘But not the way you think. Not an eromenos, a boy-lover. I’d want a companion. Like Achilles and Patroclus – without the tragedy.’

‘You read too much.’

‘Can you blame me? Heroes make something of their lives.’

Felix picked at his thumbnail. ‘It isn’t unheard of for married men to take a lover.’

Loren sniffed. ‘There’s no authenticity in that. I’m tired of living with secrets. I want one thing I don’t have to hide.’

‘You’d sacrifice stability to chase after, what, your principles? That’s a fool’s dream.’

‘So call me a fool,’ said Loren.

For all he didn’t care, Felix burst with questions. Surely the prospect of marriage couldn’t be that distasteful. Guaranteed companionship, money and land and a solid foundation – a level of ease out of reach for a thief. Something permanent.

And Loren’s certainty when he spoke of wanting the company of a man came as a bright shock. Felix himself was ambivalenttowards gender. When he needed a distraction, anybody would do, but some men only wanted men, and the same with women. Except dalliances were for youths, not adults. When it came time to settle, a man found a woman. Rather, their parents arranged a handsome transaction. Should the man be wealthy, he’d have a boy on the side. An eromenos.

Never someone equal. Always much younger. Lesser. A display of power, not love.

Loren wanted the impossible.

‘I still don’t see how this relates to your hair,’ Felix said.

‘Cutting it feels like giving in to expectations of what a man should be. I’m stubborn enough to hold out.’

Felix watched Loren finish his preparations for bed: tying his bandages, braiding damp hair, checking the locks, snuffing the candle. He crawled into the bed opposite, facing the wall. His tunic dipped, and Felix could count the knobs of his spine.

Quiet, until . . .

‘What Julia and I discussed tonight . . .’ Loren hesitated. ‘She thinks I have potential to be her heir. She offered a contract. Her estate in exchange for legitimising her political presence.’

‘Her heir?’ Felix sat up, but Loren didn’t turn over. ‘Do you know her?’

‘We only met tonight.’

‘Then why you? Of everyone in Pompeii, why . . .?’

‘Why some errand boy of a disreputable foreign cult?’ Loren’s voice took on an edge. ‘Is it so impossible that someone might take me seriously?’

‘That isn’t what I meant.’ Mouth dry, Felix wet his lips. ‘Did you agree?’

A pause. ‘No. No. Of course not.’ The dark all but swallowed Loren’s words. ‘I told you. I’m here for the helmet. The rest is – I’m notthatdistractible, whatever you think. Nothing will shake me from figuring you out, so don’t get your hopes up.’

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