He wants a sob story, Amara thinks, so he can rescue me. She has acted many parts, she tells herself. At least this one has the virtue of mirroring real life. “No, you are very kind.” She looks down in what she hopes is a show of shyness. “I am only sad because I must return to my master today and leave the admiral’s protection.”

“Where is your master’s house?”

Amara hesitates, wondering if it is too soon to relay the crucial information. “The Wolf Den.”

“The town brothel?” Rufus recoils.

Amara hides her face in her hands, defeated. Reality has proved a plot twist too far.

“You poor girl,” Rufus says. “How utterly tragic.” He takes her hands from her face. “Please don’t cry. I won’t think any less of you, I promise. I will call at . . . I will call and take you to the theater. It would be a pleasure to know you better.”

Amara is in danger of crying genuine tears of relief. “I should like that so much,” she says.

He leans closer, his hand resting on the bench, close to her knee. There is a more familiar look on his face. “Might I kiss you?”

She feels a flash of annoyance. After everything she has told him about her past, about the way Pliny has treated her, he still wants to own her after five minutes’ conversation. She lifts her hand for him to kiss.

“Of course,” he says, taking it. “Of course, not in the admiral’s house.”

“Thank you,” she says, giving him what she hopes is an adoring smile. “It means everything to be treated with kindness.”

“You deserve nothing less,” he says, gallantly. They sit awkwardly for a moment. “I’m going to have to leave now though.” He stands up. “Perhaps you could pass on my goodbyes to Pliny. I promise I will call on you this week.”

“Thank you,” Amara replies. “Don’t leave it too long.”

When he has left, Amara sits in the garden, lifted by a current of hope. She is looking forward to thanking Pliny for the introduction. Then she sees Secundus step from the shadow of the colonnade. He is carrying a small bundle. Her things. Instantly, she understands. Pliny will not be coming back to say goodbye.

Secundus walks over and sits next to her on the bench, putting her clothes down between them. “When he brought you here,” he says, looking straight ahead to the fountain, “I told him he would be lucky if you didn’t demand your weight’s worth in gifts every day. At the very least you would leave here with one priceless jewel. He wagered me a denarius I was wrong.” He smiles at her. “So you cost me a denarius.”