Before she has time to turn round and tell him to back off, Britannica has seized him. Amara drops the bucket, splashing herself. The man is almost off his feet, Britannica has lifted him by his scruff like a dog. He takes a swing at her, but she blocks it, grabbing his arm, twisting it hard. He cries out, and Britannica smiles. One of her front teeth is missing, a memento from a violent customer.

“Alright, no need to overreact!” the second man shouts, darting over. “Look,” he points at Amara. “Nobody is touching her!”

Britannica does not respond. She stares at the man she is holding, still smiling her unfriendly smile. Then she lowers him. She waits a moment, like a cat toying with a mouse, before finally letting go. The two men look at her, then each other. It’s clear neither of them has the stomach for a fight with this unnerving stranger. They hurry off down the street.

Britannica watches them go. “Savage,” she says. Her voice is harsh and rasping from lack of use.

“What?” Amara gasps. “What did you say?”

“Sav-Age,” Britannica repeats the Latin word slowly, as if savoring its hard edges. She smiles again, her fierce gap-toothed grin.

“You speak Latin?” Amara exclaims. “You can speak!”

Britannica inclines her head. The barest acknowledgement. It is the closest she and Amara have ever come to genuine communication.

“I knew you could understand! I knew!” Britannica does not look entirely pleased by this effusiveness. She walks past, starts filling up the abandoned bucket. Amara follows, unable to restrain her eagerness. “Please, talk to me. You can trust me. Please.” Britannica does not answer, just gestures impatiently for the jug she left on the ground. Amara hands it to her. “I promised Cressa I would be your friend. I promised her.”

Britannica stiffens at Cressa’s name. She yanks the bucket from the well, dumping it in Amara’s arms with such force that she staggers and almost drops it. Then Britannica picks up the jug and strides back to the brothel. Amara has no choice but to totter after her. The bucket is too full and heavy for her to have any hope of catching the other woman up. By the time she gets back, Britannica has disappeared into her cell.

“Making yourself useful?” Victoria steps out from the latrine. She leans against the small wall, rubbing her abdomen. “Only good thing about a period is it means you’re not pregnant.”

“Britannica just spoke to me!” Amara says, dumping the bucket. “She just spoke Latin!”

Victoria is surprised. “Really? What did she say?”

“Savage!”

“Savage?” Victoria wrinkles her nose. “Nothing else?”

“No, that was it.”

“That’s not talking then. She’s just repeating sounds she’s heard.”

“She understands though.” Amara looks over at Cressa’s old cell and lowers her voice. “She got upset when I mentioned Cressa.”