The youth, who would henceforth be known as Terapis within the walls of the
Aphrodisia House, searched his purse to find a single gold piece. He stood
arrogant and obviously well-rehearsed while Myrtis counted out his change. The
young girl took his hand to lead him to Cylene for two hours of unimaginable
bliss.
‘Children!’ Myrtis mumbled to herself when she was alone in her parlour again.
Four of the nine knobs on the night-candle had melted away. She opened a great
leatherbound ledger and entered the youth’s true name as well as the one she had
just given him, his choice for the evening, and that he had paid in gold. It had
been fifteen years or more since she had given the nom-de-guerre of Terapis to
one of the house’s gentlemen. She had a good memory for all those who lingered
in the sybaritic luxury of the Aphrodisia House.
A gentle knocking on the parlour door awoke Myrtis late the next morning.
‘Your breakfast is ready, madame.’
‘Thank you, child. I’ll be down for it.’
She lay still for a few moments in the semi-darkness. Lythande had used careful
spells to preserve her beauty and give her the longevity of a magician, but
there were no spells to numb the memory. The girls, their gentlemen, all passed
through Myrtis’s mind in a blurred unchanging parade which trapped her beneath
the silken bed-clothes.
‘Flowers for you, madame.’
The young girl who had sat quietly on the cushion on the previous evening walked
nonchalantly into the boudoir bearing a large bouquet of white flowers which she
began arranging in a crystal vase.