“Can you give this to Beronice and Fabia?” Amara asks, handing him half a small loaf. “We’re going to try our luck in the Forum.”

“Sure,” Gallus stuffs the bread into a fold in his cloak. She hopes he won’t eat it himself.

The air smells fresher after the downpour, though it’s left the narrow road looking more like a canal. Amara and Dido walk carefully, holding their cloaks up to stop the hems trailing in the water. In the winter, their profession is harder to tell on sight. Hidden underneath the outer layer, they wear togas, the uniform of men and prostitutes. Amara used to feel naked without swathes of fabric shielding her body from head to foot, but over a slippery pavement when agility matters, it’s almost a relief to have her legs free.

The journey gets easier when they reach the wide main street, the Via Veneria, which leads back to the Forum. They switch to walking side by side, rather than single file. Amara takes Dido’s hand, squeezing it gently. “You can’t look down all the time,” she says. “I understand it’s difficult, but we’re meant to be attracting men’s attention, not avoiding it.”

“I know,” Dido says. “But it’s really hard.”

“Not really. Your face is already doing half the work for you. You’re easily the most beautiful woman in Pompeii.” Amara has never seen anyone as lovely as Dido. Though it’s a loveliness shot through with fragility, like the exquisite glass statue of the goddess Athene she remembers from her childhood. It was so precious her parents kept it high out of reach.

“I hate it,” Dido says. “I hate men staring. I hate it when . . .” she trails off. “I guess I’ll get used to it, all of it, eventually.”

“No. Just endure it. Never get used to it.”

They pass a shop selling jewelry, stopping a moment to admire the cut glass and cameos. “My mother wore a stone like that,” Dido says, pointing.

“The red one?”

“Yes. She was wearing it the last time I saw her.”

Amara knows the rest of this story. How pirates swept through Dido’s hometown, stealing people to sell as slaves. Dido was kidnapped along with her younger cousin, her uncle killed trying to defend them. Her cousin died on the voyage from Carthage to Puteoli. Dido, like Amara, was completely alone when they first met, lined up, side by side, at the slave market. Amara wants to tell Dido that she may see her mother again one day but finds she can’t. She doesn’t believe it’s true.