She spots Drusilla almost instantly, sitting in her usual spot underneath a scene of Theseus arriving in Crete, the hero’s harbor looking suspiciously like modern Pompeii. Julia is with Drusilla, which Amara does not mind, but she is less pleased to see Fulvia there too. A waspish girl with a middling patron, Fulvia has been Drusilla’s friend for far longer than Amara, but Fulvia’s lover is no match for Rufus, and so, Amara has supplanted her in the courtesan hierarchy. Unsurprisingly, Fulvia is not delighted by this change in status. Amara watches her now, false blonde hair framing her face in a generous plait, no doubt sheared straight from a foreign slave girl’s head. She is leaning toward Drusilla with an obsequious air, almost spilling her glass of wine on the bench.

“Amara!” Julia gestures at her to join them, fingers glinting with gold. “How lovely of you to come.”

She smiles. Julia might put on a show for clients, but Amara has always sensed a seam of genuine kindness running through her professional patter. “Look at you three beauties!” Julia sighs, as Amara sits down beside her. “Oh, to be young again!” Julia cannot be much more than forty, and her handsome face is barely lined, but she knows how to lay on the flattery. “And how is your fine young man?”

“He sent me a harp this morning,” Amara replies.

Drusilla gives a cry of triumph. “Perfect!” she declares. “I knew he would.”

Fulvia’s cheeks dimple as she smiles. “But I thought you couldn’t play?”

“I’m learning.”

“Young love,” Julia says. “I’m sure every performance you give enchants Rufus, my darling, whatever the instrument. How could it not?” Amara catches the innuendo, the flash of mischief in Julia’s eyes, and raises her eyebrows. It is almost a moment of intimacy, but then Julia’s attention is caught by the arrival of other customers, spied over Amara’s shoulder. “Oh, there’s Sabina!” She exclaims, getting up from the bench. “Excuse me ladies, just for a moment.”

Amara watches Julia greet Sabina, a respectable matron, and sees her manner change to suit the customer. She feels a sense of admiration, even envy, at the control Julia seems to exert over her life, shaping events by sheer force of will.

“Shall we go through to the baths?” Drusilla says, rising gracefully from the bench. “Unless you want a glass of wine first?” Amara knows Drusilla is only asking out of politeness and stands up, shaking her head. “Guess who called on me unexpectedly last night?” Drusilla murmurs, as the three of them walk through to the changing room.

“Quintus?” Fulvia asks.

Drusilla gives her a pitying look. “Lucius,” she replies.

Amara pretends to be pleased, although she has never forgiven Lucius for failing to act as Dido’s patron. “Will Quintus be very jealous?”