“He won’t find out,” Drusilla says, slipping off the outer layer of her clothes, and folding them carefully into a wooden locker. “Although perhaps a little hint isn’t a bad idea, just to keep him keen. I had forgotten how very attentive Lucius can be.” She smiles to herself, remembering the night before. “It’s always better not to get too caught up in just one man. They grow too smug. Although I realize that’s more difficult for both of you.”

Fulvia and Amara, unlike Drusilla, own nothing other than what their patrons care to give them.

The three courtesans strip off their clothes. Another group of women have just finished bathing, leaving the small plunge pool empty by the window. Amara and Fulvia wait while Drusilla steps first into the freezing water. The pool is in an alcove overlooking Julia’s enormous garden. Amara gazes out at the view. Leaves are just starting to bud on the fruit trees. In the summer, this place must be a haven from the hot, dusty city. Drusilla splashes herself in the pool, wincing at the cold, then steps briskly out. Fulvia goes next, jumping in before Amara has a chance.

By the time it is Amara’s turn, she is already shivering before she slides into the water. “You’re getting very thin,” Drusilla says, laying a palm gently against Amara’s ribs. The touch makes Amara flinch. Her skin is blue, reflecting the color of the alcove walls. A shell mosaic of Venus sways through the ripples on the water. “Surely Rufus cannot like to see you like this.”

Fulvia misses the concern in Drusilla’s voice. “My mother always told me a well-born girl should be curved like Venus,” she says, seizing the chance to put a rival down. “It’s what men expect.” She purses her lips, looking over Amara’s body with satisfaction. “Slaves are thin.”

Amara thinks of Philos sitting in the garden, holding his arms to ward off the cold. I am even thinner than he is, she realizes. The memory of him from last night brings with it a rush of unexpected shame. Amara finds she cannot grasp the sharp retort that would usually come to her so readily.

“Your mother was clearly an even greater fool than you are,” Drusilla says to Fulvia, her voice cold. “If such a thing is possible.” Fulvia’s mouth opens in surprise. She had perhaps forgotten that both Amara and Drusilla were once enslaved. Drusilla flicks her fingers in a sign of dismissal. “Leave us.”

For a moment, Amara almost feels sorry for Fulvia standing naked in nothing but her borrowed hair, but then she is gone, flouncing back to the lockers, and Amara’s shoulders sag with the relief of finally having Drusilla to herself.

“So what is it?” Drusilla asks, helping her out of the pool. “Why aren’t you eating properly?”