They head together toward the marketplace by the arena; it’s closer than the Forum, even though there are fewer stalls. Already, the cool of the plunge pool is wearing off, and Amara feels uncomfortable in the sun. She gestures at the stepping-stones, and they pick their way carefully over the road to walk on the shady side of the street.

“You do seem to have gone off him a bit though,” Victoria says, taking Amara’s arm again. “Is there any reason?”

“You saw how he was when I returned from Misenum.”

“He got jealous,” Victoria replies. “But nothing so awful, unless he was violent afterward. I did wonder, but you wouldn’t let me in.”

Amara knows Victoria’s tolerance for brutality is very different from her own. Twice, Rufus has used his physical strength to frighten and overwhelm her, and that is more than enough to lose Amara’s loyalty. But it is impossible to explain this to a woman who once loved a man as violent as Felix, whose current lover kills for entertainment. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she says.

Victoria rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’ll just have to make sure that, between us, we get him to keep paying the rent.”

The marketplace is busy, traveling traders sitting or standing by their temporary stalls—some no more than a rug spread on the ground. A man selling pans is clashing them and bellowing right by the roadside, reminding Amara of the Lemuria. They try so hard to skirt out of his way that Victoria nearly trips over an old woman selling small clay statuettes of Venus and Cupid. “Bring you luck in love, girls!” she cries, trying to foist a cherub on Amara. They make their excuses and hurry off.

The flower seller is a permanent feature on the edge of the square, a garrulous man who always greets Victoria and Amara like long-lost daughters, with cries of rapture. His theatrical style is at least memorable, and perhaps effective, since they now buy all their garlands from him for Victoria’s entertaining.

“My girls!” he shouts, as they approach. “Look at my beautiful girls!” He pinches Victoria’s cheek, knowing better than to try and touch Amara. “You want something for the Nemoralia, yes?”

“You always know what we’re after, Hermeros,” Victoria says, batting her eyelashes and playing up to his flirting.

“Six garlands,” Amara says. “Perhaps you could do us a price on that?”

“Six! Oh! You have even more beautiful friends! When are you going to bring all these other girls to meet me?”

“Maybe soon, if you do a great price,” Amara says.

“I always do my favorite girls a good price,” he replies, with a wink.