“I don’t know why that’s something to brag about,” Beronice says. Her cheeks are shining in the heat, which makes her look cross, and strands of hair are stuck to her face with sweat. “Felix is such a chore. And he’s always such an ungrateful bastard afterward. Hardly worth the effort. Not like Gallus. He always . . .” Beronice sees the others smirking and stops herself. She looks down at her feet and heaves a sigh, obviously desperate to share all the pent-up devotion in her heart but reluctant to face the ridicule. Amara feels sorry they’ve teased her so much.

Victoria smiles slightly but doesn’t say anything. Amara realizes Felix must have complimented her. He understands perfectly how to manipulate us all, she thinks.

“I don’t think Felix has sent for me in weeks,” Cressa says. She is slumped against the wall, arms folded over her breasts, hiding the stretch marks.

“Lucky you,” Beronice retorts, entirely missing the anxiety in Cressa’s voice.

Amara edges away on the bench and closes her eyes. Even outside the brothel, its wretched, violent world wraps round her like a shroud. She tries to tune out her friends’ voices, listening to another conversation.

“. . . you can’t let your sister make demands like that! Tell her you don’t have the money.”

“I can’t, her husband’s family are impossible. I don’t know what they’ll do to her.”

“You don’t mean . . .?”

She half opens her eyes, taking in the two women speaking beside her. They are seemingly without attendants and both have tired, careworn faces. One of them is sitting so close to Amara their thighs are almost touching. Her dyed red curls have smudged along her hairline in the heat. She is constantly fiddling with something on her left hand. A cameo ring.

“You’ve heard the rumors about his first wife,” says the redhead. “And the slaves are too frightened to talk. Fulvia says he beat her on their wedding night. What sort of monster does that? And always complaining about the dowry, even though he spent every penny.”

“Gellius will never notice if you take a bit more out of the takings, I suppose.”

“Even Gellius is going to notice eventually. And no point asking him for help. He barely moves his fat arse out of the tavern. All day I’m sweating away behind that counter. Just so he can drink the profits.”

“I’m sorry that I can’t help either,” the other woman fans herself. “I would give you the loan myself, but my husband keeps me so short. And business is always worse at this time of year.”