She smiles back at him. “Sorry.” The thought of asking Pliny for gifts had in fact crossed her mind. But she knew Felix would only have taken them all. “Did he tell you what I did ask from him?”

“Your undying service. That’s a gift though. Not a demand.” He turns away from her. “We both know what service costs.”

They sit, united briefly by the unspoken understanding one slave has for another. “I also heard you crying last night. I think the whole house heard you.” He looks at her, not unkindly but with determination. “That cannot happen today.”

She blushes. “It won’t.” Secundus nods, satisfied. “You know, it wasn’t just for the life,” she says, gesturing at the fountain, the garden. “I mean, of course it was for that. But I believe I love him too.”

Secundus does not immediately reply. Then he stands, and she knows he is going to leave, that she will have to leave. Amara bites her lip, determined not to embarrass herself with more tears.

“You didn’t ask for a gift,” he says. “But he has chosen a gift for you, nonetheless. I have put it with your clothes.” He pauses. “I will give you a moment, so you can have the privacy of your thoughts before you leave. But it can only be a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” she says.

Secundus bows and walks away.

Amara picks up the bundle of clothes, expecting to find coins slipped between her robes. But whatever it is, it is much heavier. She draws out the scroll Pliny has left her. On Pulses by Herophilos.

25

“They must conquer or fall. Such was the settled purpose of a woman—the men might live and be slaves!”

—Tacitus on Boudicca, Queen of the Icenii, Annals 14

“Look who it is! Look who it is!” Beronice screams as Amara steps into the brothel. “We thought you were never coming home!”

Victoria and Dido rush out into the corridor to join her. “I’m so happy you’re back; I’m so happy to see you,” Dido flings her arms round her, crying into her neck. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

“It was only a week!” Amara says, torn between happiness at seeing Dido and guilt from knowing she spent yesterday begging never to return here.

“What was he like then?” Victoria also looks very pleased to see Amara but would never be so soft as to say so. “Bet he was a total pervert; the old ones always are.”

Amara hesitates. She had so looked forward to laughing with Victoria about that first, ridiculous night with Pliny, but now it feels too private. The thought of mocking him only makes her sad. “He was the kindest man I’ve ever met,” she replies, her voice quavering.