All the times they have exchanged messages without words, only with glances, and Amara knows she cannot hide her own anguish. She kisses Dido on the forehead. In her head, she hears her father’s voice. Nobody should die in fear.

“I’ve seen people recover from worse than this,” she says. “All those patients my father treated. You’ll get better; I know you will.” Dido’s hand is cold, so she holds it against her own body to warm it. “You’re going to be alright, I promise.” Victoria arrives, breathless, and sits down beside her. “And Victoria’s here now too. When Beronice comes, she can get Gallus to fetch a doctor.”

“We’re here with you,” Victoria says. “You’re not on your own. We’re here.”

Dido closes her eyes. “You can have a rest,” Amara says. “It’s alright to have a rest.” She lies the palm of her hand against Dido’s cheek so her friend can feel her, even though she cannot see her. She is still cupping Dido’s face in her fingers, long after she knows she has died.

“She is gone,” Britannica says. Nobody remarks on the fact that she can speak.

Amara shushes her. “Just a moment,” she says, not wanting to let go of Dido. “Not yet. She’s not gone yet.”

“She’s dead, my love,” Victoria says, putting her hand on Amara’s knee. “She’s gone now.” Amara cannot see, tears are blinding her. Victoria drags Amara’s arm around her own shoulders, pulling her upright. Amara realizes a man is watching them. Felix.

“You did this!” she screams. In her grief and rage she knows she could kill him, tear him apart where he stands, but Victoria is holding her, preventing her. “That knife was meant for you. You killed her! You did this!” Felix is silent as Amara shouts at him, threatening him, screaming out her hatred until her voice breaks.

Then a man is picking her up, lifting her over his shoulder, taking her away. She thinks it is Rufus, beats her fists against his back, sobbing, ordering him to put her down, to let her go back. Eventually, she gives up, collapsing against him. It is only when they reach the edge of the Forum and she sees Rufus standing, waiting for her, that she realizes who is carrying her. It is Philos.

44

“We thus began To imprison animals to which nature had assigned the heavens as their element.”

—Pliny the Elder, Natural History, on the caging of birds

The Saturnalia is over. Amara sits at her desk, dressed in black. The sound of the fountain does not reach this room, but she knows it is there, murmuring gently in the garden below. She is safe in the house with the golden door. She has her freedom. And her heart is broken.