They carry on with the banter, back and forth, putting in the order and arranging to collect it. Hermeros manages to persuade them to part with even more money, insisting they try some of the honey-glazed pastries a passing trader offers on a tray: Even better than my mother used to make! Amara suspects the two men have an agreement to bring each other business. The order of garlands agreed, their goodbyes are not lingering, the flower seller is already eyeing up his next customers. Victoria and Amara amble to the side of the square with their pastries, and sit on a stone bench in the shade by the vineyard wall.

“When am I going to meet Crescens?” Amara asks, brushing the last crumbs from her fingers. She is ravenous and bitterly resents the thought of Rufus sighing over Victoria’s breasts while denying her food.

“It’s so hard for him to leave the barracks! And I don’t think you’d like the bar where we meet. Rufus would have a fit if you started hanging out there.”

“As long as you’re happy,” Amara says. “And staying safe.”

Victoria is distracted, staring at someone. “Isn’t that the potter’s boy? Look! Over there.”

Amara looks. Menander is standing at the edge of the crowd, watching them. When Amara’s eyes meet his, he turns away. Without thinking of the consequences, she leaps up, desperate to catch him. He turns back again, and she knows he has seen her moving toward him. There is a brief moment when she thinks he might hurry off to avoid her, but instead, he waits.

The closer she gets, the more she is aware of how great the distance is between their past intimacy and now. Then she is standing in front of him, and his dark eyes are on her, no longer looking at her with the warmth she remembers. It brings back all the horror of the Saturnalia. “I didn’t mean to drop the lamp,” she blurts out, unable even to say hello. “I promise you. It was an accident.”

“I realized,” he says, obviously embarrassed. “Not at the time. But afterward, I realized.”

“It was so beautiful. And I’m so sorry. For everything.”

“Nicandrus told me that he freed you, that night. Your patron.” Menander can barely meet her eyes. She had never imagined he could look this stiff and uncomfortable. “And he told me that . . . he told me what happened to Dido. I’m truly sorry. She was a lovely person.”

“Thank you. I miss her.” Amara presses a hand to her mouth, not wanting to cry. She breathes in deeply, controlling herself. “I hope that you are doing well.” she tries to sound brighter, to look him in the face.