Ipstilla and Telethusa whirl their way past the fountain of nymphs, clacking their red castanets. Even the tedious Trebius has stopped talking, suddenly interested and alert. The two dancers are naked, though Amara realizes they have made liberal use of the gold paste she and Dido unwisely left unattended in the waiting room.

Their initial flourish over, the two women begin grinding in earnest. Amara stares. She has never seen dancing like this. It makes Victoria’s performance at the Vinalia look matronly. She is not even sure how they manage all that shaking and quivering, lowering themselves to the floor but not quite touching it, without toppling over. And the singing is worse. It’s a medley of wordless wailing and moaning, the least subtle imitation of sex she’s ever heard.

Trebius grabs her leg, and she flinches. She turns to look up at him, but he is not looking back at her, does not even seem conscious of her; his hand is grasping the flesh of her thigh purely because he wants to touch a female body while he watches the dancing. She resists an overwhelming instinct to pry his fingers from her skin, preferably bending them back until the bones snap, and instead glances round desperately for Fuscus. He too is mesmerized by the dancing. She keeps her eyes focused on him, willing him to notice her, sending out a silent plea. Eventually, he glances over. She locks eyes with him, determined that he should understand. He motions to Egnatius, pointing toward the couch where she is trapped with Trebius.

Amara has rarely felt more grateful to see Egnatius sidle over. “Please forgive me,” he murmurs to Trebius. “a most terrible oversight, this one is booked elsewhere . . .” Trebius looks at Amara, almost surprised to see his own hand touching her. “Take it,” he says impatiently, almost shoving her off the couch. “You’re blocking my view.”

Amara reclines next to Fuscus whose expression is smug. “Did the dancing put you in the mood for me, little sparrow?” he asks, hoicking her closer to him, breathing heavily in her ear.

“I couldn’t be with anyone else!” She sighs. Let the foolish man imagine she was longing for his body rather than his protection. At least she knows him. Even if he has no real affection for her, he won’t hurt her, he won’t use her body without any thought there might be a living woman attached to it.

She looks round for Dido, ashamed that she has only just remembered her friend. She spots her near the fountain with a man she does not recognize. At least he seems to be leaving her largely alone, too caught up in the women dancing to notice the one next to him.