“She’s right,” Philos agrees, eager to repair the damage. “And I truly believe he loves you. I’ve never seen him do this much for any other woman. Not even close.”

Amara thinks of Hortensius, how he hurt her, insulted her, and yet Rufus said nothing. “The love a master has for his slave,” she says, looking at Philos who quails at the bitterness in her voice. “I suppose it’s as much as any of us can hope to build a life on.”

42

“The Saturnalia, the best of days!”

—Catullus, Poem 14

Felix’s study is crammed, his entire motley household of whores and thugs spread around on various stools and blankets like Pompeii’s most peculiar family. Felix himself sits on his desk, an unlikely paterfamilias, while Thraso and Gallus serve Paris and the women with sweet buns and wine. According to the true Saturnalian spirit, it should be Felix serving everyone, but nobody questions this departure from tradition.

“I’ll have another, maybe two more!” Fabia declares, ransacking Gallus’s basket for a bigger helping. He sighs but doesn’t push her scrawny arms away.

“That’s enough!” Paris snaps. Fabia recoils from her son, dropping the fifth bun back into the basket.

“Be nice to your fucking mother,” Felix says. “Surely you can manage not to be a complete shit for one day?”

Paris hands the bun back to Fabia, his cheeks flaming. Then he gets up and goes to sit on the opposite side of the room.

“Presents!” Ipstilla says, clapping her hands together. “Is time for presents, yes?”

They all go through the performance of Felix’s gift giving, passing round a purse, taking out a denarius each. He quickly gets bored of all the thanks, waving it away. By the time it is Amara’s turn to take the money, he isn’t even looking. She is sitting in the corner with Dido, her stomach too churned up to eat the sweet pastry. They told Philos the whole brothel would be heading to the Forum in the late afternoon. She cannot relax, wondering if today is the day Rufus will buy her. Every moment, she is expecting a knock at the door, dreading the thought it won’t come.

“Now for the rest of them!” Beronice gets out the small bundle of gifts, all wrapped in a blanket. Her cheeks are shining from the wine, and she looks by far the happiest person in the room. Gallus sits down beside her, getting as close as possible, childlike in his eagerness. Perhaps he does love her after all, Amara thinks. Or maybe he just wants a present. “Not yet! Don’t be greedy,” Beronice says, kissing him.