“I love him!” Victoria says, indignant. “I’m not interested in the others! It’s not like I fucked anyone else last night.”

“Love already? That was quick.”

Victoria sighs. “It’s definitely love,” she says. “But quick is not the word I’d use.” They both laugh then, the sort of unrestrained cackling that would no doubt appall Rufus, and Amara feels lighter than she has in weeks.

“I hope I am not disturbing you?” It is Secundus, Pliny’s steward, standing at the edge of the garden.

“No.” Amara rises to her feet, embarrassed at being caught lolling around like a slave at the Saturnalia. “Of course not. Though I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon.”

“The admiral sent me to collect you. His business at Misenum cannot wait, and he sets sail within the hour.”

“Oh.” Amara is thrown by having less time than she’d hoped to prepare, and worse, no chance to speak to Philos in private before she leaves. “I was just expecting . . .” She stops herself, but Secundus is staring, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to finish. “I was expecting to leave instructions to my . . . to the steward.”

“If that’s the capable young man I met last night,” Secundus speaks slowly, his eyes fixed on hers. “I’m sure he will have no difficulty in anticipating your every wish. But in any case, you have time to instruct him. We do not have to leave on the instant.”

“You are right, of course,” she replies, turning from him. “Thank you.”

In her own chambers, Amara finds Martha has already packed for her, leaving everything she might need on the couch. She rifles through the bag, making sure her maid has included the gowns Pliny gave her. Not that she expects the admiral to notice, but she prefers to be prepared. Refolding the dresses, she hears Philos’s characteristic light tread, and is both touched and alarmed he would risk coming to say goodbye. “My darling,” she says softly. “You should not be here . . .” She turns to face her lover, eyes full of affection, and the words die on her lips. Secundus is standing in the doorway, his face silhouetted by the light behind. “You should not be here,” she repeats, more firmly, trying to pretend she always knew who it was. “This is my private chamber.” Secundus bows, without speaking, and leaves the room.

Secundus gives no sign that he suspects her as they walk through the streets to the harbor. He carries her luggage without complaint, smiling blandly whenever she asks questions about the week ahead. His manner goes some way to soothing her fears, though Amara knows the admiral’s steward’s is surely too astute to have missed the endearment she spoke so foolishly. She can only hope he decides to keep any suspicions to himself. After all, Secundus owes Rufus nothing.