“Yes,” Amara says, pleased to see Britannica looking more like her usual surly self, no longer frenzied by the prospect of violence. “I’m happy you and Victoria made it back without killing each other.”

“She still there.”

Amara frowns, confused by the Briton’s poor Latin. “What do you mean, still there.”

“She stay to fuck Crescens. Not for me to tell her no.”

“She did what?” Amara’s voice is a shriek.

“She stay to fuck Crescens,” Britannica repeats slowly, as if her accent were the trouble, though Amara can see from the malice in her eyes that Britannica knows perfectly well her message was understood.

“She can’t have done!” Amara leaps to her feet, still shouting from the shock. Her voice has brought Philos to the door. “What were you thinking, letting her do something like that?”

“She is whore. Is what she does.”

“She could be killed!” Amara yells at Britannica. “I told you to bring her back!”

“Amara,” Philos is beside her. “Rufus will be here soon. Calm yourself.”

“Victoria has gone off to fuck a gladiator,” she says, turning on him. “And now she will have to get across town on her own, in the dark. That’s if she even leaves the barracks alive!”

“Victoria knows how to look after herself. Think of the life she used to lead. Please stay calm. You cannot be in a state when Rufus arrives.”

It is fortunate for Philos and Amara that nobody but Britannica is present to witness their conversation, because in the heat of her emotion, Amara reaches out to touch his arm for reassurance, and Philos unthinking, lays his hand over hers. “You’re right,” she says.

“She is whore,” Britannica repeats. “What you expect?”

“That’s enough,” Philos says, before Amara can begin shouting again. “Enough, Britannica, please.”

The Briton shrugs. “I only say truth,” she replies, turning on her heel and striding out.

When they are alone, Amara realizes their posture and swiftly removes her hand as if Philos’s skin had burned her. “Did she . . . ?”

He looks equally shaken. “No.” He clasps his hands together as if that might erase their touch. “She won’t have noticed. Just make sure you’re calmer when Rufus arrives.”

Philos walks from the room, and Amara sinks back down onto the couch.

Victoria is still missing when Amara hears Rufus’s voice from the atrium. She gets up, walking slowly, a gracious smile on her face, ready to welcome whoever he has brought to meet her. Her patron is standing by the pool, blocking his guest from view, but Amara sees the guest’s servant standing next to Philos, watching her. It is Secundus, Pliny’s steward.

She runs across the atrium with a cry, any pretense of composure gone. Pliny turns toward her as she throws herself at his feet.