“Why not.” Hortensius leans back on the couch, gazing at her.

Amara does not have her lyre, but Drusilla beckons her over to the harp. “I will play Sappho’s ‘Hymn to Aphrodite,’ ” she murmurs. “But you sing it alone.”

“Thank you,” Amara whispers, grateful she will not have to compete with Drusilla’s superior voice. She sways to the music, using the graceful hand gestures she learned at Chremes’s house, pouring her heart into the song. Seeing Hortensius watch her, appraising her, it is almost like being back before Chremes, as if all the many changes in her life as a slave have brought her full circle to the point where she started. She thinks of Philos. If you were my wife, I wouldn’t leave you alone with him. Rufus is also watching, beaming with pride. It does not reassure her. How long before he starts to see her through his father’s eyes?

“Very well,” Hortensius says to Rufus, when she has finished singing. “She is delightful. You win.” He turns back to Amara. “But I really don’t understand all this nonsense about renting a place. When he’s bought you, you can just join the family household.”

“Really father, not now.” Rufus is crimson, looking anxiously at Amara.

“Fine, fine. Have your little romance.” Hortensius sighs. He shakes his head at Drusilla and Amara. “Boys. I cannot imagine how you pair put up with them.”

“Rufus is the kindest man I have ever met,” Amara replies.

“I’ve no doubt he is,” Hortensius says with a snort. “Well, I suppose I should let you all enjoy your night of young love.” Everyone rises with him. Hortensius goes to Drusilla, kissing her. “Delighted, as ever.” He turns to Amara but rather than kiss her too, he runs his hands down the length of her body, as if they were in the slave market. She is so shocked she cannot speak. “Very fine.” He smiles at her, though there is no warmth in his eyes. “Not a bad investment at all.” Nobody fills the silence. “Aren’t you going to show me out, boy?” Rufus hurries over and leads his father from the room. He doesn’t look at Amara.

When the men have left, Drusilla makes the sign of the evil eye. “What did he mean?” she hisses. “You told me Rufus was going to free you!”

“That’s what he said!” Amara is shaking.

Drusilla pinches her arm. “Don’t get upset! Don’t! This is too important. Use your head. Make it as hard as possible for Rufus not to do what he promised, use his guilt, whatever you can. You cannot let him believe you will be satisfied as a slave!” She steps back as Rufus returns, smiling serenely, as if she and Amara have been exchanging pleasantries. “I find I am a little tired,” she says, yawning. “I hope you don’t mind if I abandon you both?”