“It’s you!” she cries, clasping the hem of his cloak and pressing it to her heart, so amazed she does not even manage to greet him properly. “You came back for me!”

“Of course I came to see you,” Pliny replies, embarrassed, trying to raise her from her knees. “Or do you think I’m in the habit of writing nonsense?”

“How can I ever thank you for what you’ve done.” Amara is still clutching his hem, barely resisting the urge to seize his hand and kiss it. “Nothing I do will ever be enough. You’ve given me everything. I can never repay your kindness, never.”

“Come now.” Pliny hauls her to her feet. “You wrote very prettily already, and Rufus must have read you my reply. I told you, there’s no need for any more thanks.”

Amara glances at Rufus, whose existence she had briefly forgotten. Only then does it dawn on her that Rufus never told her Pliny had responded to her message of gratitude, which she wrote as a coda in his own letter to the admiral. Nor has he ever passed on a message that Pliny planned to visit her. Rufus gives a strained smile. “I knew you would be pleased.”

She flings her arms around her patron, kissing him. “How good you are to me!” she cries, hoping her feigned gratitude will be as convincing as the genuine emotion she just displayed.

“Let’s not overwhelm the admiral with hysterics.” Rufus disentangles himself, though he looks better pleased by her show of affection. “I told him to expect dinner, not weeping.”

They head to the dining room, Pliny remarking politely on the paintings, though Amara knows they are far inferior to anything he must own himself. She is conscious of how small the room must look to him, nothing like the grand home where they first met. All three couches have been dressed, as she was not sure of the exact number of guests. Pliny and Rufus recline opposite one another and as Rufus makes himself comfortable, Amara knows he will expect her to lie next to him, the way she always does. She hesitates. As soon as she joins him, Rufus will drape an arm over her and she will be no more than an object, her status demeaned in the admiral’s eyes. The prospect is uninviting. Instead, she takes the empty couch, reclining between the two men, not daring to look at Rufus.

“I’m delighted to see you so well settled,” Pliny says to her. He is propped up on his elbow, without appearing remotely relaxed. She remembers this look of his, the distracted air of a man who would prefer to be working than socializing. “And Rufus tells me you have been continuing your interest in medicinal herbs which is excellent. I must send you a recent text I found, from Greece. I believe it would interest you.”