It is the first time Amara has been invited to the private section of Julia’s estate, and she understands the honor her hostess is paying her. She follows at a respectful distance, breathing in the scent of lavender bushes whose sprigs, she knows, are used to perfume the waters of the baths. Julia’s garden, which she has only glimpsed from the baths’ windows, is even more luxurious than she imagined. A long canal runs down the center, shaded by trees, and she can see eels beneath the surface of the water, their bodies writhing silver and gray.

“Livia, darling, look who I’ve brought.”

Amara had been expecting a younger woman, perhaps even a girl, but instead, the figure who rises from a bench on the shaded colonnade looks, if anything, even more formidable than her aunt. “Who’s that?” the woman declares, her tone imperious, shading her eyes as she steps into the sun.

“The admiral’s freedwoman Amara. The girl I told you about.”

“Pliny’s little Greek girl? Oh, how delightful!” Livia beams at Amara, her gaze both curious and amused. “I almost died laughing when Julia told me about you. How on earth did you catch his attention? I never thought Pliny had his nose out of a scroll long enough to notice a woman.”

Amara flushes slightly, unsure how to answer without insulting her patron. “I read to him.”

Livia throws her head back and roars with laughter, the way a man might, utterly unconcerned by her appearance. “You wicked creature.” She takes Amara’s arm and gives it a squeeze. “I insist you tell me all about it.” She pulls Amara over to the bench, waving impatiently at Julia. “Didn’t you think to send for wine, for Venus’s sake?” Julia raises her eyebrows, but to Amara’s surprise, she gestures at one of the lurking servants, complying with Livia’s peremptory demand. “I can’t believe Julia’s been hiding you away all this time,” Livia continues, regarding Amara with appreciation, before glancing sidelong at her aunt-by-marriage, eyebrows raised. “Or perhaps I can believe it.”

Julia laughs. “I’ve brought her now, darling, so you can’t be too angry.”

“Do you both know Pliny well?” Amara asks, a little disconcerted by the teasing, unsure who might be the target.

“He’s a great friend of Julia’s,” Livia replies. “And I’m very fond of the old man too. So don’t worry yourself, my love! We’re not mocking him. But in any case”—she lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper—“I never gossip. You are perfectly safe, whatever you say.”

It is such an unlikely claim that Amara finds herself laughing.

“I thought you pair would get on well,” Julia says, with a smile.