“I think you could charge this one a little more,” she says, referring to the account she’s been looking over. “When you think about his business, Manlius definitely has other assets he could draw on. You’ve noted here that the brooch on his cloak was bronze.”

“It’s his third loan,” Felix says. “And he’s never late. He’s too safe a bet to squeeze too hard. Only go for blood if you think they can’t afford to come back again.”

Amara thinks of Marcella, wonders if he has sold her cameo yet. She remembers the other woman’s finger, the pale circle where her mother’s ring had sat, the way Marcella struggled to get it off. “I ought to go to the baths today,” she says. “You’re right, I can’t keep Rufus waiting forever. Would you allow me the money to get my hair done? I could do with it being styled.”

Felix squints, looking at her hair, clearly debating whether it’s a necessary expense. Then he takes some coins from a drawer. “You can go in a couple of hours,” he says. “After you’ve been through the rest of those files.”

Amara steps onto the street, relieved to have some space from Felix. His clients’ accounts make her wonder what notes he might have made on his women, what observations he has stored away about her. She hesitates as she walks past the back door of the brothel, torn between the desire to see if Dido is in, to ask her to come too, and worry that it will look like she’s lording it over everyone by getting her hair done. Gallus is on the front door.

“Is anyone in?” she asks him.

“Just Victoria,” he says. “Can’t you hear?” Amara realizes she can indeed hear Victoria’s voice, talking to a customer, cooing over his virility. “The others are out fishing. Apart from the savage.”

“Thanks. Give Beronice my love.”

“I’m not some girls’ fucking messenger slave.” Gallus scowls. “Tell her yourself.”

Going to the baths by herself is another new experience since she moved upstairs. Amara stores her cheap toga in one of the cubby holes in the changing room, pressing past a couple of gossiping friends who are still loitering after packing their own clothes away. The stone walls echo to the chatter of women’s voices and the shriek and splash of some bathers cooling off in the small plunge pool in the corner. She finds a beauty attendant touting for business and goes through to the hot room, strapping on wooden clogs to protect her feet from the scalding floor.