The pair of them remain in awkward silence, Amara sitting on the couch, Philos standing by the door. She suspects he is just as lonely as she is, for all his protests about propriety. “If you wanted to have a drink in the garden,” he says, speaking slowly, as if feeling his way, “then I could stay a while and tell you about the master’s day. I think that’s an acceptable thing for a steward to do.” She cannot tell if he is being humorous with his last comment. There used to be such an ease between them. She can still remember his words when he picked her up from the brothel one night to take her to his master. Who’d be a slave, eh? When you’re young they fuck you, and when you’re old they fuck you over.

The memory of Philos swearing brings a slight smile to her lips. She picks up two wine glasses, motions for him to take the jug. “Very well,” she says.

Amara walks through to the garden, and he follows. Dido is lost in shadow on the wall. They sit on a stone bench, the wine jug and glasses between them, along with a very sizeable gap left by Philos who is taking up as little space on the seat as possible. He refuses the wine, as she knew he would.

“So what are Rufus and Helvius meeting to discuss this evening?” she asks.

“The celebrations,” he replies. “Rufus has offered to put on a show at the theater after the campaign. Helvius is happy enough to be spared the expense but is less generous about taking his name off it.”

Helvius is standing for election as aedile in Pompeii this year, and almost certain to win. The role is as much ceremonial as administrative, with the expectation that those elected will spend their own money providing free entertainment for the public. Amara’s lover Rufus is planning to stand for election next year and wants to get some support in early.

“Can’t they both take some credit?” Amara asks.

“I’m sure it will come to that eventually,” Philos says. He reaches out toward one of the plants growing by the bench and breaks off a sprig, crushing it between his fingers, releasing the scent. Thyme. The smell takes Amara back instantly to her childhood, her father preparing drafts of the herb with hot water and honey to ease a patient’s cough. It helps digestion. Also good for melancholy. Philos is taking the sprig apart, piece by piece, dropping each scrap on the ground. “How did it go with the harp?” he asks.