“And you knew what Gallus had promised me,” Beronice says, without a trace of resentment. “That’s what I told myself afterward. You must have guessed he would manage it.” She beams. “And he did!” Roaring erupts from the arena—perhaps another beast has been released on the prisoners. Amara sits forwards, clasping her knees. “I should have asked you about Rufus, though,” Beronice says, mistaking the reason for her change in mood. “How lucky that you found love too, and with someone so rich!” There is no envy to her voice, and Amara knows Beronice would not trade Gallus and their tiny, smoky bar for the wealthiest patron in Pompeii.

“I’m very lucky.”

“And you love him?”

For a moment, Amara wants to tell her. She imagines the relief it would give to talk about Philos, to enumerate all his charms, to explain that she too understands what it feels like to love someone that much. But it is unthinkable to risk his life, or her freedom, for a moment’s gossip. “Of course,” she replies. “Rufus is a generous patron to me, more than I could ever have hoped.”

“Has Victoria found another man?” Amara shakes her head, and Beronice pulls a face. “I still can’t believe what a shit Felix was to her, or why she ever put up with it.”

“Felix has another side; he’s capable of being very charming. I think he used that against her.”

“Well, I never saw any fucking charm,” Beronice replies, with a shudder. “Gallus told me, if it hadn’t made the boss feel bigger to say he had a freedman, Felix would never have let him go.”

“Does Gallus not like him then?”

Beronice looks nervous. “I didn’t say that. Gallus works very hard for him. We both do.”

Amara thinks of how hard Philos works for Rufus, and she knows this means nothing. “Shall we get some wine, while we wait for the fighting?”

They wander over to one of the stalls, Amara paying for both drinks. The wine is bitter and watered-down, but it loosens Beronice’s tongue still further. Delighted to have the chance to talk about Gallus without ridicule, she barely draws breath. Amara feels her attention drift as Beronice chatters on about his gift for sharp selling, his desire for sons, his miraculous stamina in bed. She no longer has any desire to share her feelings for Philos. Instead, she has an unpleasant sense that perhaps even Beronice would judge her. Amara has chosen a lover whose status is so low, so utterly degraded, he cannot even be classed as a man. He is, legally, a non-person. All the qualities she loves about him, which make him superior to Gallus in every respect, become meaningless in a slave. It hurts thinking about the gulf between what she feels and what others see. The only person Amara knows would have completely understood her love for Philos, is Dido.