“Never mind that now,” he says, pulling her to the side to let an impatient man pass. “Tell me what’s wrong. Has somebody hurt you?” His concern for her is so obvious, it makes her want to cry all over again.

“Cressa is dead,” she says. “She was pregnant. We went to the harbor together.” Amara stops, not wanting to describe Cressa’s final moments, the flash of her cloak, the foam on the water. “She drowned herself.”

“It was just the two of you? You were left alone there? At the docks?”

Amara nods. “Nobody would help. Nobody. And when this man asked me why I was upset, I said I didn’t know her.” She covers her face with her hands, overwhelmed by her final act of betrayal. Menander puts down his bucket and embraces her. She clings to him, crying into his shoulder.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Menander says. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault.”

“Nobody helped, nobody cared,” Amara says. “They were just angry she pushed an amphora of oil in the water. She didn’t matter. And now she’s gone, and it’s like she never lived at all. Like she was nothing.”

“She wasn’t though,” he says. “You loved her, didn’t you? She mattered; she mattered to you, to her friends.”

“I didn’t help her; I let her drown.”

“You couldn’t help her,” he says. “And she chose to drown.”

Amara lets Menander hold her, until she becomes suddenly aware that they have attracted a number of gawpers, no doubt listening to every word. She straightens up, wiping her face. Menander confronts the small crowd, hovering with their buckets. “Just leave us alone, will you?”

“Fuck you,” one of the other slaves mutters, but the gossips still turn round to give them some privacy. Nobody here wants a fight, not when they all have masters waiting.

“You did nothing wrong,” Menander repeats, holding her shoulders, making her look at him. “You hear me? Nothing at all.”

Amara looks at his kind face, at the dark eyes she has tried so hard to forget, and knows that she will never love Rufus, not how she loves this man. “I’m sorry I sent Dido,” she says. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you myself.” As soon as she says the words, she can see how she hurt him. “I don’t love him,” she says. “But I owe him.”

“He bought you,” Menander says, letting go of her. “I understand.”