Some looked nervous, while others were too drunk to care. A few women circled the steps, uncertain as to whether they should take the plunge. They wore head scarves and exchanged quick, calibrating glances with each other. Do I know her? Didn’t I see her at the tower, yesterday morning? Does she recognize me? Their soft sandals and cork-heeled shoes kicked up dust as they worried their way along the cobblestones. Morgan watched their spirals with interest. There was no rule against women visiting the basiorum. Fortuna’s wheel touched all manner of pleasures, and desire was what kept it spinning. Nevertheless, the meretrices had a predominantly male clientele. Most women, she imagined, sought pleasures more difficult to quantify. They met in networks at the baths or in shaded gardens. The idea of paying for sex was logical but it seldom occurred to her. It wasn’t every day that she woke up and thought: I’m going to exchange these coins for sweet little death in a stranger’s arms.
