“A kiss if you’re lucky!” Beronice shrieks. Everyone laughs, apart from Victoria. Beronice notices her silence. “Maybe Felix will get you something,” she says kindly. Even though Victoria has teased her relentlessly about Gallus for the past year, Beronice has been nothing but supportive over her friend’s heartbreak. Can you imagine, she had said to Amara after Victoria returned to the brothel, the pain of thinking a man’s going to marry you and then he sends you packing! What a shit!

“He always gives us a denarius each,” Victoria replies. “I don’t care anyway. Fuck him.”

“How should we do this?” Amara says to Beronice. “Maybe Dido and I can buy for you, Britannica and Victoria, then you and Victoria buy for Dido and me.” She turns to the Spanish girls. “And do you two want to buy for each other, or do you want a surprise?”

“We buy,” Telethusa says emphatically, looking askance at Amara’s cheap wooden beads, her token present from Rufus. Clearly, she doesn’t trust the other women’s taste.

“No more than five asses each,” Beronice says. “Let’s not go mad. Then we’ll split the costs of it all afterward.”

They finish the last of their wine, taking their time, then part ways to go shopping. Amara and Dido stroll toward the Forum. “What would Britannica like?” Dido says. “She’s not going to want beads or anything pretty.”

“I can think of something,” Amara replies. “There was a hawker selling amulets of gladiators’ blood. To pass on their courage.”

It takes them a while to find the seller; he must have moved since the last time Amara saw him. It’s hard to walk in the crush; everywhere, people are jostling at stalls, haggling loudly to get a better price. It seems most of Pompeii has left their gift buying until the last moment. Eventually, Amara spots the man with his gruesome trophies, a range of goods soaked in the blood of gladiators killed in the arena. They range in price, depending on the fame of the dead. The women can only afford an unknown fighter, killed on his first appearance, though Amara tries to haggle for something better. There is nothing pretty about the leather amulet they choose, engraved with a roughly drawn sword. Amara suspects Britannica will like it.

Their enthusiasm for shopping has been exhausted from walking round and round searching for the amulet seller, but at least the other women are easier to buy for. A cheap hair clip for Victoria, some ankle beads for Beronice.

“I’m so happy that Rufus is buying you,” Dido says, as they start walking back home. “But I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I don’t know for sure that he will,” Amara says. “He hasn’t given me a day. I don’t understand why he hasn’t done it already, if he really means to.”