“Be sure to send them my best regards,” Pliny says. “Baiae is delightful at this time of year.” He glances over at Amara. “Your uncle told me you are very fond of the theater these days. This is Amara, a little guest of mine; she is a gifted musician.”

It is the first time Pliny has expressed any interest in her music. Amara stops playing, bowing her head modestly to Rufus. The young man looks a little uncertain, perhaps having heard the jokes about Pliny and his new Greek girl. “Lovely to meet you,” he says.

The two men chat for a while, but it is clear that, aside from a shared affection for Rufus’s uncle, Julius, who served with Pliny in the army, they have little in common. Secundus appears again, murmuring something in his master’s ear. Pliny excuses himself, asking Rufus to wait a moment while he sees a client.

Rufus and Amara sit in silence, both at a loss over how to navigate this particular social circumstance.

“That was a pretty tune,” Rufus finally says to her. “Might you sing something else?”

Amara obliges, playing one of the more haunting melodies Salvius taught her. She has never performed it in public—she and Dido decided it was too melancholy—but Rufus is enchanted.

“What a lovely voice you have!” he exclaims, like a delighted child. He seems so much younger than her, she thinks, even though he is almost certainly older. He is not exactly handsome, his nose is too big and his face too broad, but he is tall, and his smile is so open and friendly she finds it hard not to smile back. He does not have the careless arrogance of a Quintus or Marcus.

“Thank you.”

“How did you . . . er . . . meet the admiral?” Clearly, he has heard the rumors.

“I was performing at a dinner,” she says. “The admiral was interested in the work of my late father, who was a doctor, and asked me to assist him for a few days with his work on natural history.”

“Right,” says Rufus, looking dumbfounded.

“The admiral is a man who is interested in the pursuit of knowledge above all else,” she continues. “He does not have the prejudices or assumptions of lesser men. Meaning,” she looks directly at Rufus, “he does not pick up whores at parties for the purposes others might imagine.”

He blushes deep red. “No! Of course! I mean, I didn’t think . . .”

She quickly interrupts to save his embarrassment. “Forgive me,” she says. “The admiral’s respect means a great deal to me, and he has been so very kind.” She looks down, as if ashamed. “I should not have spoken so bluntly.”

Rufus looks even more discombobulated by the switch back to virtue than he did at the mention of whores. “How long are you staying to . . . help him with his studies?”