Wolf Whistle

Beware, those bitter lips had said. Beware. But what choice did Claudia have, other than to follow? The atrium resembled no atrium she had ever seen before, and it took her breath away. Winged cherubs set with precious gems guarded the doorways and clusters of statues, part-men and part-beasts, huddled in groups, but where were the friendly centaurs, the silly, daft satyrs? The faces of these creatures were twisted in leers, some had three toes and thick horns, others were more reptilian in appearance and one had the body of a scorpion. Claudia shivered. Strange paintings covered the walls, dragons and vipers and whirlwinds, their colours dark and menacing, but dwarfing it all stood a giant bronze female, nude and aggressively provocative.

‘Ishtar,’ explained Arbil. ‘Queen of all heaven, mother of life, goddess of love and of war. Ishtar is both morning and evening star, she protects us one and all. Come.’ He took her elbow and introduced her to some of the other barbarian divinities. Shamash, deliverer of justice. Gira the fire god. Adad the storm god, Nabu the scribal god and Nergal, king of the underworld.

‘Also there’s Ea,’ he said thickly. ‘One never sees Ea, one only feels him.’ He blew softly down Claudia’s neck. ‘Ea’s the South wind. Ouch!’

‘Just blocking up the draught,’ she said sweetly, as Arbil rubbed his cheek where her hand had slapped it. ‘Now are you interested in my prospectus, or shall I take it elsewhere?’

‘Of course I’m interested.’ Arbil’s face coloured from a rush of blood which far exceeded the area Claudia had slapped. ‘I-’ He frowned, as though his thoughts were elsewhere. He blinked twice, then he forced a smile. ‘I shall have to think it over rather more carefully, you understand, but-’ Again his mind wandered, and she didn’t think it was because he’d been rebuffed or offended. ‘But the, er, fundamentals seem sound. How much did you say you’d be prepared to invest?’

‘Twenty thousand sesterces,’ she replied. ‘Possibly more, if conditions are favourable, and to ascertain that I would need to inspect the premises.’

‘Naturally,’ he said, and his mind seemed to have focused. ‘Feel free to ask questions, my dear, I’ll get my son, Sargon to show you around.’

He left her studying the bronze tablets inscribed with the fundamentals of Babylonian law which hung between the paintings and shone like a hundred suns in the brilliant lamplight. There were two sets, one in Latin and one comprising squiggles she’d never seen before, and the rules were both harsh and bizarre. Take the penalty for adultery, for instance. The guilty couple to be tied face to face and thrown in the river to drown. Charming. What about this one? Should a son strike his father, let the offending hand be chopped off. Perfect way to mend the family rift. Oh, my goodness. If a wife kills her husband, she must be impaled ‘Hello, I’m Sargon.’ The dandy swept into the room, flanked by two men, who he proceeded to introduce. Dinocrates she recognized as his Greek companion in the garden. ‘And Tryphon, who we call the Captain.’ Thin, wiry, Claudia doubted whether she’d have recognized him had it not been for the horseshoe-shaped scar on his face. Her nails bit deep into the flesh of her clenched fists.

‘Finally, we have Silverstreak.’ He looked round, but there were just the four of them alone in the atrium. ‘Silverstreak,’ he called. ‘Here, boy.’

Nothing. Then he whistled. Three short notes in succession. ‘Silverstreak!’

The wolf came loping into the room, tail wagging, and Sargon patted his head. He seemed to be telling Claudia there was nothing to worry about, the wolf was a proper softie underneath, but her blood had run cold and she could no longer hear him. That whistle. Whit-whit-whit. That was what Zosi the speech seller described hearing in the Argiletum last week. And then when Zygia died, people reported a man calling his dog. His wolf? My god, Zygia was killed in the Wolf Grotto…

‘Quick!’

All three rushed forward as Claudia’s knees buckled-Dino to catch her, Sargon to fetch a chair, Tryphon to thrust a glass in her hand.

‘Ugh.’ Claudia jerked back to consciousness. ‘What on earth’s this?’

Tryphon grinned, and the scar bunched out one cheek. ‘Date liqueur, which is not to everyone’s palate.’

‘Does the average palate survive?’ she asked, checking the roof of her mouth hadn’t dissolved. ‘This stuff’s lethal.’

Claudia’s tour was as exhaustive as it was comprehensive. She was shown dormitories, workshops, training rooms and classrooms, nurseries and playgrounds and kitchens, her guides veering between professional detachment and personal pride in the smooth running of this huge complex. There was no corner, no cupboard which they did not show, each taking turns to expand upon the management. Babies raised in this wing, toddlers in that. Many boys are apprenticed here, there’s the mosaic-laying class in session now, that’s the music room over there, and the weaving shed’s just across the yard.