Amara buys the smallest wine she can, missing the easy charm of Zoskales at the Sparrow. Sittius is notoriously tight. She walks through to the small courtyard behind the bar. It is partly shaded by a vine growing over a trellis and dotted with outdoor tables. A couple of guests sit drinking in a corner. Pitane is busy sweeping the flagstones. She brightens as soon as she sees Amara.

Amara did not just get the waitress a loan but her undying gratitude along with it. The abortion worked, and Amara paid off the last few pennies of the interest when it looked like Pitane wouldn’t manage it. Without telling Felix. It is not only that she couldn’t bear to endure another Marcella; she guessed it would be worth the money to build up a few favors. Felix might be able to rely on brute force, but she needs a different model, if she is going to win any clients.

“You look very well,” Amara says to her.

“I am!” Pitane replies, then lowers her voice. “And I’ve been using that sponge just as you suggested,” she whispers, with a sidelong look at the drinkers in the corner.

“You said there was another woman who might need help.” Amara perches on the edge of a table in the shade, sipping her wine. She makes a face. Sittius has given her the cheapest vintage. It tastes like vinegar. She is becoming spoiled by all the Falernian the rich men drink.

Pitane nods, clearly delighted to be called on. “It’s Terentia. You know, who runs the fruit stall, the last one on the corner before the Forum? Well,” she lowers her voice again, enjoying the chance to gossip. “She made a loss last month—some bastard sold her a rotten batch. She was telling me when I got our supplies for the inn, and I said I knew someone who could get her a loan, so she can get more stock in, make it back sooner.”

“Fancy selling rotten fruit! What a crook.” Amara tuts. “How much does she want?”

“Ten denarii.”

Amara calculates Felix’s extortionate rate of interest in her head. She hopes Terentia will be able to pay up—her own savings would never stretch that far. “I think I can help,” Amara replies. “I will call on her this week.”

“Beronice was telling me you and Dido go to so many parties these days!” Pitane says, clearly reluctant to let Amara go. “It must be exciting.”

“It makes a change.’ Amara smiles. She spends some more time chatting with Pitane, enjoying being out in the sunny courtyard rather than cooped up in the dusty storeroom. The guests in the corner fall silent and watch them, curious. Amara’s toga makes her low status obvious, and Pitane has no doubt had to serve them already, yet here the two women are, ignoring the chance of picking up an extra tip.