She stands at the edge of the road, looking toward the brothel. His shape, even his walk, is so familiar, that when Felix appears, it is almost like seeing an old friend. Then he gets nearer, his face coming into sharper focus, and Amara’s hatred blazes into life. Dido took the knife meant for this man. She steps back and feels Philos brush his fingertips against her arm. It reminds her of the way she and Dido used to communicate, the silent gestures between slaves. But I am free now, Amara reminds herself. Felix does not own me.

Beronice and Victoria are walking behind their master, and the sight of her friends squeezes Amara’s heart—she has missed them both so much. It is all she can do to stop herself from rushing over to embrace them. Felix wastes no time with greetings, nor does he leave a respectful space. He comes so close to her she can sense Philos tense up by her side.

“Which one do you want then?” Felix says, gesturing at his women. “Or are you here for both?”

Amara looks at Victoria’s and Beronice’s hopeful, desperate faces and feels a rush of anguish. Felix has immediately wrong-footed her. “I came . . .” She falters. She cannot admit the truth to Beronice. “I came for both of them.”

“That will be fifteen thousand sesterces then,” Felix says. There is laughter from the men standing on the square, seeing the pimp put the posh girl in her place.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” Amara says, anger making her more like her old, coarser self.

“Too high?” Felix raises his eyebrows. “They aren’t worth that much to you? Look at you, putting a price on friendship.” He turns back to his women. “Seems she doesn’t love you after all.”

Felix is looking sidelong at her, expecting her to crumble, and anger numbs her to the pain. “Nobody ages faster than a whore,” she says, her voice as cold as his. “That’s what you once told me. This pair are going to do nothing but lose their value with each passing year, and you know it. So I wouldn’t stand there sneering. Not if making a profit is still important to you.” Amara cannot bear to see her friends’ reactions, so she keeps her eyes fixed on Felix instead. A slight twitch betrays that he is clenching his jaw. Nothing will annoy him more than being disrespected in front of an audience.

“Like I said, the price is fifteen thousand.”

“Three,” Amara replies, choosing the amount she had hoped Felix might agree to accept for just one of the women.