In the bright spots and blackness behind her eyelids, she conjures another memory, one that never existed, a vision brought to life solely by Felix’s voice. You could have been the goddess Diana, from the way you held yourself. As if you would call on your hunting dogs to tear apart every man who had dared to see you naked.

Amara feels her breathing grow easier, soothed by more familiar feelings. The rage she had been searching for is still burning. Felix has seen her, seen all her loneliness and need, but she will not be torn apart by him. “I hate you,” she says. “I will always hate you.”

She swings her legs out over the bed, the wood cool beneath her feet as she stands. Her expensive silk clothes are still folded in a neat pile on a nearby chair. She cannot wear those; it will have to be nothing but her cloak. With the palms of her hands, she smooths out the bed, flattening it, hoping to wipe out all trace of her presence. Then she slips from the room.

Dido is alone in the brothel when she goes downstairs. At the sound of Amara’s footsteps, she rushes into the corridor.

“Are you alright?” They ask one another the same question at the same time, then laugh.

“Did you spend the whole night with Fuscus then?” Dido says, leaning her back on the wall. She looks tired. “He seemed very keen.”

“I had to see Felix afterward.” Amara says, glad she doesn’t have to meet Dido’s eye as she changes into her toga. “But that was nothing; he was fine, pleased we had earned so much.” She changes the subject. “I want to know what happened to you! Egnatius said he would look after you; I hope he did.”

“He did,” Dido says. “As much as he could. You wouldn’t believe how odd that house is. Cornelius has a whole brothel at the end of his garden! A lot more luxurious than this place, and the paintings are better. But it’s a corridor with cells, hidden behind the baths. And the finest room has a window looking into another cell.” She makes a face. “He likes to watch.”

“I should think he was too drunk to do anything but watch,” Amara replies, grateful she only had Fuscus to entertain. He had been a dull lover but not a taxing one. Again, she can feel the warmth of Felix’s body lying close to hers and pushes the memory aside.

“It’s more than that,” Dido says, with a certainty about men’s tastes that would have been unthinkable a few months ago. “He’s a watcher. I’m not sure he ever does anything else, drunk or not.”

“Did you have to entertain a lot of customers?” Amara asks. “I hope they all tipped.”