“That’s very generous, thank you,” Amara says. “Rufus has kindly encouraged me to plant an herb garden, and I would love to add to it. I do hope your research is proving as fruitful as ever.”

Pliny waves a hand. “I have very little opportunity for research these days. The fleet takes up almost every moment of my time, save what I can spare at night. Though as you know, I care very little for sleep.”

“I remember,” Amara says, with a smile. Pliny also smiles, in a rare expression of affection, perhaps remembering, as she is, the long hours she would read to him, late into the night.

“The admiral is in Pompeii as part of his campaign against piracy,” Rufus interrupts.

“Will you be here long?” Amara asks. Martha has come in with the roasted pigeon and serves them while Pliny talks.

“Only one night,” he says. “I’ve been overseeing the defenses of towns across the bay. Tomorrow I must be back in Misenum.” He dips his bread into Martha’s offering of crushed chickpeas, and tastes it, nodding in appreciation. “But I hope you will both join me for a short visit. I’ve invited a number of friends to the villa, so you will be well entertained in the day, while I work.”

“You are too generous,” Rufus replies. “But sadly, my father’s business will keep me in town.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But perhaps you can spare Amara for a few days.” Pliny gestures vaguely at her. “If it’s not too much for a man to ask to borrow his own freedwoman?”

Pliny chuckles, meaning it as a joke, not dreaming of giving offense, but Rufus flushes red to his hairline. “Of course. No doubt Amara will be thrilled to accompany you.”

“Do you still call her Amara?” Pliny continues eating his pigeon, oblivious to the tension. “I would have thought you might use the name her father gave her, not some title the pimp invented.” He turns to her. “Wouldn’t you prefer that?”

The name her father gave her. A name Rufus has never even asked. She stares at Pliny, wishing she could convey her real feelings, to tell him that, yes, she would like to be Timarete again, but she cannot risk making Rufus even angrier. “I prefer Amara now,” she says. “Because it is the name Rufus has given me, and he takes the place of both father and husband in my life.”

Pliny raises his eyebrows. “Well, as you prefer. It just seems rather irregular.”

Amara looks at Rufus, hoping her declaration of total self-effacement might have been enough to placate him, but he turns away, not meeting her eyes.

26