The others nod. “And we need to look after Britannica,” Amara adds. “It was the last thing Cressa asked me. She wanted us to be kinder to her.” This proposal is met with less enthusiasm. Paying respects to a shade is an easier task than caring for a large, angry Briton.

“I hope Ipstilla and Telethusa are alright,” Dido says. “They seemed very quiet this morning. It must be strange for them.”

“Pair of complete bitches,” Victoria replies. “I doubt they have any feelings at all. You should have seen them outside the baths yesterday. Shameless! I thought they were going to start screwing a man against the wall, in broad daylight.” She looks at Amara, her expression not entirely kind. “You’re in for a fun night tonight.”

Amara and Dido are due to perform at Cornelius’s house, but they won’t be going alone. Ipstilla and Telethusa have also been booked to dance.

“They can’t be that bad,” Amara says.

“Well,” Victoria says, “you’ll just have to tell us all about the party tomorrow. I’m sure none of us can wait.”

Amara knows it is grief making Victoria lash out, but the look she exchanges with Beronice suggests the bitterness the two women feel runs deep. She understands, watching them both, that there will have been many other conversations like this when they vented their jealousy in her and Dido’s absence. Perhaps Cressa joined in too. Amara knocks back her wine, wanting to blot out the thought.

Amara has never seen Egnatius make a scene like the one he puts on for Ipstilla and Telethusa. He bursts into the chilly waiting room, unable to contain his excitement at meeting the new girls. They all gabble in Spanish together, and Amara can see what an unfeigned joy it is for him to speak his native language. She knows that feeling, remembers what it was like the first time she spoke with Menander, the sense of instant recognition and understanding.

She and Dido practice quietly in the corner. It’s more Ovid tonight; they have set some of his Art of Love to music. Verses about dancing, to blend with the Spaniards’ performance. Egnatius pays them very little attention, and she remembers the first time she came here. Then the fuss was all for her and Dido, and the mime actresses were largely expected to fend for themselves. There is nothing like the lure of the new.

Eventually, Egnatius remembers them. He heads over, semi-apologetic, to dress their hair with garlands. “They’re quite perfect!” he gushes, tucking some leaves behind Dido’s ear. “Your master bought exactly the type of girls I requested.”

“That you requested?” Amara is stunned.

“Slave girls trained in Cadiz.” He nods. “Oh! I remember seeing them in my youth. No other dancing like it in the world. It takes years to learn the skill.” He raises an eyebrow, sly with innuendo. “Trained in other arts too, of course.”