Outside the town walls, as the road dips down toward the sea, Amara sees the vessel waiting for them. It dwarfs the others at the dock. The glare of the sun on its massive sails is blinding, the ship’s body painted red. “How big is the fleet the admiral commands?” she asks Secundus.

“Fifty ships,” he replies, with pride in his voice. “The largest fleet in the Empire. You will see many of them when we arrive at the harbor in Misenum.”

Amara says nothing, overawed by the prospect of the next few days. The only people she knows in Misenum are the fleet’s commander, who will surely be too busy to pay her much attention, and Secundus, whose company makes her deeply uneasy. She almost wishes Rufus were here.

At the dock, the quadrireme has attracted a small crowd of curious onlookers and, beside them, two familiar figures. Julia and Livia are waiting with an attendant laden with bags. Amara greets them both with a cry of relief.

“How wonderful,” Julia exclaims, embracing her. “I did insist Pliny invite you, though I hope you won’t miss Rufus too much.” From the mischievous look in her eye, Amara suspects Julia knows this is unlikely.

“I should think not,” Livia says, nose wrinkled in distaste. “Tediousness over a boyfriend is quite insufferable. A woman should always relish her moments of freedom. Not pine for confinement.”

It is a perhaps an inappropriate remark for a widow, but Julia only laughs. “I should think the villa at Misenum will provide enough distraction,” she says. “It truly is extraordinary. I’m afraid you will be quite spoiled for Pompeii afterward.”

“If you are ready to come on board, please, ladies.” It is not Pliny, but one of his sailors. The man is nothing like the ragged crew on the trading vessel that brought Amara from Piraeus to Puteoli. Instead, he is dressed in the uniform of the emperor’s personal guard.

“Thank you,” Julia says, while Amara can only stare at him.

The walk up the wooden gangplank brings back unpleasant memories, but once she is safely on the spacious, gleaming deck, any similarity to the experience of traveling as cargo vanishes. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes. The sailor who has helped her aboard laughs.

“Not what Rome’s enemies say when she’s bearing down on them with the speed of an eagle,” he replies, walking off to join Pliny who she sees now is at the prow of the ship, speaking to another sailor. Even from this distance, he looks very different from the distracted scholar she is used to seeing. For the first time, Amara is able to picture what he must have looked like as a young man, during his long years of military service in Germania.