Instead of hiding herself, Amara sits down at her dressing table. The studs Rufus loaned her are tightly fastened in her hair, and she removes them carefully, counting them out twice, laying them with the priceless pearl earrings in a box. The wine is overly sweet, but she keeps sipping it, until she can feel its warmth spread through her limbs, loosening them. She picks up the silver mirror trying to see her face, but the reflection is distorted by shadows: it could almost belong to anyone: Amara half expects to see Bacchis, the prostitute from the play, staring back at her. She spends her life pretending, and without Dido, without anyone to trust completely, Amara is afraid she might be forgetting what it means to be herself.

The glass is empty now, but Dido’s absence is not dulled by the wine. Amara’s longing to see her friend, to talk to her, makes her fingers shake as she unpins her hair. Dido is dead, and without her, grief and loneliness swallow the unspent love in Amara’s heart. She thinks of the money box in her private study, and the need to touch it, to reassure herself it is still there, becomes overwhelming.

The lamp in her hand throws its beams across the atrium, and her shadow is a wavering dark line, as she creeps over the cold tiles and up the stairs. Amara pushes open the study door. The first thing that surprises her is that another lamp is already burning on the desk, the second that Philos is sitting behind it. Pliny’s scroll is rolled out in front of him.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I didn’t mean to surprise you.” Philos rises from the chair. “You told me to come any time I wasn’t working. I didn’t expect you this evening.”

“Of course,” Amara says, flustered. “I don’t mind at all.” She steps over the threshold, letting the door close, shutting them both in. Philos watches her, keeping very still. Silence builds like smoke, filling the room, making it harder to breathe.

“The text is more difficult than I expected,” Philos says, at last. “The scribe’s hand is very cramped, and my Greek perhaps not as good as I thought.”

“Which part are you reading?”

“Have a look, if you like.” He lifts the scroll slightly from the desk.