The bar is in an unfamiliar part of town. It is low and cramped, barely more than a hole in the wall, and reeks of pipe smoke. Amara is the only woman present; she sits wedged against the wall, Felix between her and the men he is there to meet. Most of the others are drunk when they arrive, but even though he makes a show of ordering wine, she notices Felix stays sober. His hand is on her thigh, and she understands he is giving a signal to the other men: Don’t touch.

She is not the only one to express surprise at Felix bringing a woman along.

“What did this one do?” asks a man, gesturing at her with his wine. Some slops on the table. She recognizes him from the Palaestra, by the white scar across his face, but he doesn’t recognize her. “Something special, is she? Or is she bored of your cock and here to try some of ours?”

Others join in, but although they’re all talking about her, they’re only talking to Felix, as if she isn’t really there. She says nothing through it all, just looks down at his hand on her leg.

“Plenty more cunt where she comes from,” Felix says. “You can try some later.”

They lose interest in Amara and move on to business. She is so exhausted she could almost rest her head against the wall and fall asleep; it must be the early hours of the morning.

“I think the cobbler’s getting jumpy about paying,” says one man. He is thin and shifty as a weasel. “All the work we do, keeping the streets safe. Not very grateful, is it?”

The man with the white scar laughs, but Felix looks unimpressed. “Maybe he needs a little reminder. Nothing too drastic.” Amara realizes they are not talking about loans. “Best it’s someone he’s not seen before.”

“I know who,” says Weasel, nodding.

The conversation flits back and forth between business and banter: who is paying, who needs persuading, the latest games at the arena, the best whore by the docks. Amara is not surprised Felix is involved in a protection racket but is uneasy that he would take the risk. Doesn’t he earn enough already? What if someone retaliated? Can everyone at this bar be trusted? She hopes any trail to the brothel is well hidden.

Time drags, and she feels like a ghost, only Felix’s hand physically anchors her to the present. She remembers what he said about showing off his wares and doesn’t dare doze off. Instead, she makes occasional eye contact with the men then looks suggestively at Felix, ensuring they remember her role, what they might be getting.