They buy the lilies and wander slowly back. The streets are less crowded than usual, nobody who doesn’t have to be out is braving the heat, and if last night at the brothel is any indication, half Pompeii has a hangover. Amara rubs her arm where she knows a bruise marks the skin, a gift from a particularly aggressive customer last night. It will be a nuisance to hide the blemish tonight.

“Are you feeling better?” Dido looks anxiously at her arm. “I know last night was difficult.”

“I almost wish I hadn’t seen him now,” Amara says, and they both know she isn’t referring to the customer. But it hurts too much to talk about Menander directly. “It makes everything feel so much worse.”

“I told Nicandrus this.”

“Were you meant to see him yesterday too?” Amara is surprised Dido didn’t tell her.

Dido nods, then they pause their conversation to let a cart pass, standing close against the wall to avoid the dust. “What can we give each other?” Dido asks, as they start walking again. “Apart from a moment’s kindness. When you cannot be with someone, is it worth the pain, pretending it’s any different? I’m sorry,” she says, seeing Amara’s stricken face. “But I’m not sure what loving Menander gives you? If it were Salvius even, I would understand. Might he not buy you one day? At least it’s possible. Another slave . . . there’s nothing he can give any woman, however much he might want to.”

“I know,” Amara says, trying not to think of the feel of Menander’s arm around her or the laughter in his eyes. “I know he can’t.”

“Do you think Salvius would ever buy you?”

“No. I mean, I have wondered about it,” she admits. “But you should hear him talk about Sabina, her extraordinary virtue, her shyness. He’s not the type to keep me as a concubine, and it’s obvious I’m not someone he might think of as a wife.” She hesitates. “What about Priscus?”

“No chance!” Dido laughs. “What would he do? Keep me at Salvius’s house as a secret lover? He has that already.”

They reach the brothel and knock at the door to Felix’s flat. Paris answers.

“Master’s busy,” he says, scowling at them both.

“Doesn’t matter,” Amara answers, giving the door an impatient shove. “We’re here to practice for this evening. He knows about it.”

“No need to be a bitch and kick the door down!” Paris snaps, stepping aside to let them enter.

“Doesn’t he ever get lonely?” Dido whispers, after they’ve climbed the stairs. “I don’t think he has any friends.”

“Not surprising, with that attitude,” Amara replies, not bothering to lower her voice.