“Simo kept her. She’s about five now, works doing odd jobs at the tavern in the day.”

Amara knows Cressa never talks about the child she lost but, somehow, not mentioning him, not acknowledging her pain, feels even worse. “I’m so sorry about . . .”

“Don’t,” Cressa stops her. “Don’t say it. I just can’t.” They sit in silence.

Amara fidgets. Cressa is shielding her eyes with her hand, as if to shade them from the sun, but really, Amara suspects, to hide her grief. It’s uncomfortably hot, between the simmering pies and the sun. She feels strung out with nervous energy, waiting for her debtor, still not sure how she is going to persuade her to pay but knowing she must.

Marcella rounds the corner, and Amara darts forward, blocking her path. “There you are!” she exclaims, taking the other woman by surprise, not giving her a chance to escape. “What a day! The sun’s scorching, isn’t it?” She gestures at the bar. “Gellius still leaving it all to you?”

“What do you want?” Marcella asks, eyes flicking to her slave girl, well aware why Amara is there.

“Just to see how you are. I can’t believe Gellius isn’t here! You have to do all the work.” Amara moves in closer as Marcella edges away. She lowers her voice, as if in sympathy, drawing on her memories of that first overheard conversation at the baths. “Does he even know what goes on at the bar? This bar, I mean. He probably wouldn’t notice if half the stock went missing, would he?”

“Mind the store,” Marcella says to the slave at the counter. “I’m just going to have a talk with . . . my friend.”

“You’re not having a drink?” Cressa asks, surprised at being abandoned.

“In a minute.” Amara smiles, squeezing Cressa’s shoulder as she passes. She follows Marcella up the narrow ladder to the rooms above the bar. It’s even hotter here, a small airless space that adds to Amara’s tension. It is hard to know who is more agitated, her or Marcella.

“You have to pay up,” she says, anxiety making her voice sound harsh.

“No, you have to stop this,” Marcella hisses back. “I’ve fiddled the takings as much as I can. Either take less or give me longer! Your master must understand. The rate was never reasonable.”

“Then you shouldn’t have signed for it.” Amara gazes around the room. There is very little of value here, at least not on display. She wonders where the amber necklace came from. Perhaps the sisters’ family fell on hard times, like she and her mother did. Anyone’s fortune can turn on a knife edge.

“Keep the necklace then,” Marcella says, her voice cracking. “I can’t pay any faster.”

“The necklace doesn’t cover the interest.”

Marcella looks at her, for a moment, too shocked to speak. “You can’t be serious!”