“As long as he keeps paying,” Felix answers. She looks at him, standing there, an ugly sneer on his face, as if he can still pretend that he is any better than she is. Your mother was a whore and so were you. The words are too potent to risk saying aloud, but just knowing his secret makes her feel stronger. Amara has tried to find out more from Fabia, ingratiating herself with presents of food, asking what the old woman remembers of their master’s childhood. Fabia had opened her mouth, pinching her own tongue between her fingers. “He told me he would cut it out himself,” is all she said.

“Gallus let you know I brought in two customers today?” Amara says.

Felix nods. “I’ll let it pass this time. Next time I want at least three.” She says nothing, not letting her anger show. She hopes now he has thrown his taunt he will leave, but he doesn’t. “Posh boy never leaves any marks. A violent lover usually does.”

“You don’t.”

They stare at each other. Their silence is like that of two tigers, circling one another. Her hatred for this man is more ferocious than desire could ever be.

A loud rapping announces Philos’s arrival on the street below. Felix stands aside to let her pass, but she can feel his animosity follow her, even when she is out of sight and heading down the stairs. She opens the door. Philos, with his cheerful smile and friendly greeting, is like a visitor from another world.

Philos never speaks until they are walking side by side down the street, well out of earshot of the brothel. He turns to her when they are at a safe distance, and she can see the smile in his eyes, even though his face is solemn. “We’re going somewhere new tonight.”

“Not the theater?”

“It’s a surprise.” He laughs at her curious expression. “More than my life is worth to spoil it.”

Amara feels her pulse quicken with hope. “Is it . . .?”

“I’ve said too much already!” Philos exclaims, but his broad smile is surely her answer. “Just make sure you look astounded, that’s all I’m saying.”

Amara laughs too. She likes Philos; he has a kind, easy manner. Rufus relies on him for everything, in the way she remembers Pliny relied on Secundus. She suspects Philos is considerably smarter than his master, but far too discreet to show it. “Did you have anything to do with it?” she asks.

“Possibly.”

“Then I know it will be wonderful.” Philos looks pleased by the compliment. Amara knows only too well how little thanks any slave gets for his labor. They walk to the cheaper part of town, and she feels her excitement growing.