Amara doesn’t trust herself to reply. When she is dressed, he fusses round her while she chooses a scroll or rather accepts the bundle he gives her, then he escorts her to the door, seemingly now anxious for her to leave so he can work. She steps out onto the interior balcony, the glorious sweep of the gardens below. “Just take the stairs,” he says with a vague gesture before disappearing back into his study.

She walks slowly down into the garden with a sense of total enchantment. It is the cool of early morning but already the sky is blue, a promise of the blazing day ahead. The scent of flowers she cannot name is sweet in the air, and the fountain sparkles as it falls, the gentle rhythm of its splash like light footsteps. The balcony of the upper floor forms part of the shaded colonnade, and there are a number of benches, already strewn with cushions for whoever might wish to rest. Amara stands and stares, unable to believe what she sees. All this is hers for the day. She has nothing else to do than sit and read and look at this beautiful garden.

“Would you like some refreshment, mistress?”

A man, who may or may not be the Secundus Pliny mentioned, is standing a polite distance away.

Amara is embarrassed by the formality of his address. She clutches the scrolls to her chest, hoping to cover the thin fabric. “That would be very kind, thank you.”

The man leaves, and she sits down on one of the benches, facing the fountain. It’s a little chilly in the shade. She inspects the scrolls Pliny has given her. Both are Greek. Homer, she is familiar with, even though her family only owned a copy of two sections of The Odyssey, but she has never seen Apollonius’s The Argonautica. She unravels the top carefully and starts to read, when the same man comes back with a tray and a blanket.

“I thought you might be cold,” he says.

“That’s very thoughtful, thank you,” Amara replies, wrapping the throw round her shoulders. “Are you Secundus?”

“Yes.”

“I am Amara. It is very nice to meet you.”

His mouth twitches slightly in amusement, but he remains studiously polite. “Nice to meet you too, Mistress Amara.”

“Thank you,” she says again, as he sets down his tray on a small table beside the bench. “Do you know what music the admiral likes? I am hoping to play for him later; he has been so kind to me. I should very much like to sing something he might enjoy?”

“I am certain the admiral would be delighted to hear whatever you might wish to sing,” Secundus says, gravely. “Given he has been pleased to invite you here as his guest.” He bows and leaves her.