“I am still in debt to Felix for Victoria, and I cannot be left vulnerable to him if Rufus leaves me. This is too much to ask, and I know it, but please, I am begging you, as your friend, to lend me the money. I swear to repay you, at whatever rate you choose, and relinquish any claim on my investment in Phoebe or Lais.”

“How much?”

“Three thousand sesterces.”

Drusilla breathes in sharply. “How will you ever repay this if Rufus abandons you?”

It is a brutal question, but no more than Amara expects. “I am not completely friendless,” she says. “The admiral still has some loyalty to me as his freedwoman, and Julia has already made me aware of other possibilities.”

They are so close to the sea that, in the silence that follows, Amara is conscious of the sounds of the port, ships unloading, the cry of gulls. Drusilla is making her wait, and for that, Amara cannot help but hate her friend a little. “I will lend it to you,” Drusilla says, and Amara clutches the bench with relief. “Without interest. But this is the last favor you may ask of me until it is repaid. And I must warn you that, if Rufus leaves you, I cannot have you stay at my house.” She sees Amara’s hurt expression, and softens her voice. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to tell you when things are so unstable with your patron, but Ampliatus has asked me to marry him. I intend to rent the place in town and live here.”

“You are more than generous. Truly, I cannot tell you how grateful I am.” Amara places her hands over her heart in a formal gesture of sincerity. “And many congratulations on your marriage—this is wonderful news.”

“Neither of us intend to make a fuss over the arrangement,” Drusilla says, looking embarrassed. “I’m hardly a young virgin, and as a freedman, Ampliatus cannot hope to make some illustrious match with a freeborn woman. His wife died two years ago, and he’s lonely. As for me, well, you know how precarious the life can be. This suits us both very well.” She gestures at the maid to come over, signalling the end of their private conversation. “Send Philos to see Jospehus with a contract this afternoon. I will make sure he has the money.”

The porter looks in better spirits when Amara returns to the atrium. He is standing, chest thrust out, recounting some anecdote to Philos who is listening politely, no doubt having worked hard to win the man’s trust. The pride Amara always feels in Philos, for his ability to dissemble his feelings, is somewhat undercut by the knowledge Drusilla has managed to snare a man who owns half the port, while hers doesn’t even own his tunic. She crushes the thought, ashamed, when Philos turns to her and smiles.