Amara doesn’t disbelieve Beronice when she says these things. She is a bit on the dim side though surely not a liar. But it’s a struggle to picture Gallus coming out with these flowery phrases. Does he clasp his breast too? Kiss the hem of Beronice’s robe? He’s clearly a more enterprising little shit than he looks. Absolutely none of the other she-wolves—not even Dido—have ever considered the possibility Gallus might be genuine rather than devious.

“Does he tell you how much his mother would have adored you?” Victoria asks.

“Yes!” Beronice says. “He does! He told me I remind him of her, that I have the same kind eyes, that . . .” She stops when she realizes the others are trying to suppress their sniggers. A man reels in through the doorway, no doubt fresh from one of the nearby taverns. Beronice stalks toward him, almost bundling him into her cell in her hurry to get away from her friends. “You’re all just jealous!” she shouts, before dragging the curtain across with a scrape.

“You shouldn’t tease her so much,” Amara says.

“I know, I know. But she’s too easy to tease.”

“Like his mother!” Dido is still incredulous at Gallus’s love talk.

“What a weasel,” Victoria says. “He’s got no shame at all.” A stifled, not altogether happy, yelp comes from the direction of Beronice’s cell. Beronice herself is ominously quiet. “She’s really cross, isn’t she? That one won’t be bringing his cock back here in a hurry.”

“In this way.” It’s Thraso’s voice. “We’ll make sure you’re well entertained.”

The women look at each other, suddenly alert. Thraso doesn’t normally give the punters an introduction. A large figure steps over the threshold, flickering into view in the light of the oil lamps. A cloak, a flash of green. Vibo.

“Oh!” Victoria gasps, flinging off her blanket. “Who is this vision? He must be for me!”

“Felix said to be sure to fuck the one called Amara.” Vibo’s voice is not friendly.

“But of course! You can’t have just one woman.” Victoria is already winding herself round him, kissing him, helping him off with his clothes. She glances back at the others. “You must have three! Look!” She snaps her fingers. For a moment, Amara cannot think what to do. Then she grabs Dido’s hand, spinning her round. It’s not the most graceful move, but the pair of them end up pressed against Vibo in a bare-limbed tangle which she hopes will give him the right idea.

“Three? All at once?” He doesn’t sound altogether certain. “Two would be fine.”