Maria steps protectively in front of the doorway. Amara cannot help admiring her courage. “You know he does. That’s why that bastard’s been trying to smash the sign.”

Felix smiles at Thraso, who has just descended the ladder. “I think we can leave the lady her sign,” he says. “Though that’s a big fucking cock for a very small brothel, isn’t it? What’s your master hoping? Some of the dregs from my business will swill down the road?” Felix turns round to the watching drunks. “Which women would you rather fuck? That fat one there”—he points at Maria—“or my girls here.” Some of the crowd laugh, and Ipstilla with them, but Telethusa looks less impressed. Amara suspects she doesn’t fancy a night with any of the drunks on display. At least there they can agree.

“You can mouth off all you like,” Maria says, jutting out her chin. “You don’t impress me. Think I’ve never been called fat before? Well, my big, fat arse is staying right here.”

This time it’s Maria who raises the laugh. Felix nods, and Amara recognizes his smiling expression as one of pure cruelty. “No doorman though, is there?” he says, looking theatrically up and down the road for her nonexistent protector. “Simo can’t think much of you if he’s selling cunt straight on the street. Anything could happen. You leave your goods for a moment and”—he snaps his fingers—“somebody’s stolen them. Or smashed them.” He is staring at Maria as he says this, so that she cannot mistake his meaning.

For the first time, Amara can see that Maria is afraid, but she chooses to cover it with bravado. “If I’m so fucking ugly, not worth your while to threaten me, is it?”

Felix bows. “I’m sure, for your performance tonight, you will have the pick of all the men here.” In answer, a couple of the drunken bystanders jostle toward Maria’s small, dark cell, and Felix watches her discomfort as she realizes she will have no means of limiting or controlling her customers. He must really hate her, Amara thinks, to frighten her at the expense of making Simo some money. She thinks of Drauca and feels afraid of what might happen to Maria. Felix turns to the remaining men. “If you prefer wine to water, the brothel’s this way.”

Most were only there for the spectacle and slope off, not willing to pay for their fun, but a couple tag along. They walk along the narrow pavement in a gaggle. Ipstilla and Telethusa exchange anxious glances. Surely, the master doesn’t expect them to entertain drunks like this, not after their performance at the grand house? Ipstilla catches his arm. “Why does she go upstairs?” She points at Amara. “She is better in brothel. We make you much more money tonight.”