Egnatius, Cornelius’s freedman, is in the doorway, arms thrown out in the theatrical expectation of an embrace. Amara runs over, kissing him on both cheeks. “And who’s this?” Egnatius eyes Philos up and down, lips pursed, an unmistakable look of appraisal on his face.

Amara is embarrassed, fearful that Philos will be offended, but instead, he seems amused. “The steward,” Philos replies. “Here to draw up the contract.”

“Very pretty for a steward,” Egnatius whispers to Amara with a wink. To her annoyance, rather than managing to think of a witty reply, she finds her cheeks growing hotter. Egnatius laughs. “Well, my fine pair, let’s have some wine and talk about parties. And contracts,” he adds glancing back at Philos, one eyebrow raised.

They follow Egnatius into another slightly larger room, perhaps his own private chamber, with two couches and a small table, set with wine. The walls are painted a deep red, with images from the legend of Hercules. Iron lamps blaze in each corner, and a small brazier is lit. Amara has been to Cornelius’s house many times, but always as a hired entertainer. She does not suppose the master of the house even knows she is here. The business of buying in women and performers is surely beneath him.

“Sit down, darlings, sit down,” Egnatius exclaims, waving his hand. Amara and Philos cannot recline together so, instead, perch awkwardly on either end of one couch. Egnatius throws himself across the other with a sigh. “I’m so very sorry,” he says. “Your little friend, my dear little lark. Such a loss.”

Amara knows he means Dido. “Thank you,” she replies.

“What a voice she had! Did you ever hear her?” he asks Philos, who shakes his head. “Quite exquisite.” For a moment, a look of genuine sadness crosses Egnatius’s face. “May her shade find peace,” he says, reaching over to pour the wine. “I’m glad you, at least, my love, escaped that ghastly master of yours.”

“Do you still do business with Felix?”

“He has excellent stock.” Egnatius shrugs. “One can’t be too choosy about pimps. Not the most endearing breed.” He smiles at Amara. “Present company excepted, of course.”

“As I mentioned in my note, sadly I can no longer perform in public.” Amara leans over to accept the wine Egnatius offers her. Philos, she notices, holds up his hand to decline. “My patron would be most upset by the idea.”

“Of course!” Egnatius exclaims. “Young Rufus, isn’t it? Or is it Admiral Pliny? Your new name leaves it a little unclear who you belong to.” He takes a swig of wine and nods indulgently at Philos. “Not that there’s any harm in a girl having two fine patrons, as I’m sure you would agree. We’re none of us young forever.”

“Rufus is my patron,” Amara replies, not responding to the innuendo. “Although, I owe the admiral a debt beyond words.”