“So what can you offer me?” Egnatius is swilling his glass, staring at the dregs dancing on the bottom. Light from the brazier shines through the wine, making it glow. “Cornelius doesn’t accept boys, sadly. Although I’ve often suggested it.”

“I have a very talented singer, with an exceptional figure,” Amara says. “And two delightful flautists. The singer in particular, is very skilled at pleasing a man, in whatever way he might wish.”

“Where did you buy them?”

“The singer is my freedwoman,” Amara says. “We used to . . .” She hesitates. There is no point being coy with Egnatius. “We used to work together. At the brothel. The flautists I bought with Drusilla, on her recommendation.”

“Sounds delightful. I’d be happy to book them all for an evening to try them out. We can always make space at the Floralia. As I’m sure you remember.”

“Given I am providing you with three women, I would expect the payment to be more than Felix received for Dido and me.”

Egantius smiles, but without warmth. “If they pass the trial, we can discuss an increase in price.” He glances over at Philos who has brought out the tablets and is balancing them on his knee. “Do you deal with all her affairs?”

“I am Rufus’s steward,” he replies. “I do whatever is required.”

“You must have seen all these women. What would you advise me? Are they worth as much as she is?” Egnatius flicks his fingers playfully at Amara.

“Ignore his teasing,” Amara says, irritated. “He’s just being mischievous.”

“How much did Rufus pay for her? Or was it the admiral? I can’t keep track of all these wonderfully wealthy men!” There is an uncomfortable pause as Philos ignores the question. “You’re the steward, aren’t you?” Egnatius presses. “You must have drawn up that contract too?”

Philos is gripping the tablets so tightly Amara can see his knuckles are white. “Six thousand sesterces,” he says. “Of which my master contributed a third.”

“As much as that,” Egnatius splutters, genuinely taken aback. “Darling,” he looks at Amara, impressed. “Six thousand sesterces? What on earth did you do?”

“Enough now,” Amara says, uncertain what has upset Philos, but aware of his embarrassment. “Or I shall be offended you did not expect it to have been eight thousand, at least.”

Egnatius laughs. “With you, nothing would surprise me.” She laughs with him, more out of politeness than amusement. He looks at Philos’s glum face and sighs. “Rather serious, isn’t he? Never mind, I meant no slight to your master’s judgment, boy, I assure you, or the admiral’s either.”

Philos makes an effort to smile. “Of course,” he replies. “And I took none. Except, perhaps, at the idea you can put a price on perfection.”