“Don’t do it,” Sour Face hisses. “Fulvia will just have to look after herself! You’ve done enough for her as it is. She’s a married woman now; she’s not your responsibility.”

“She’s my sister,” Marcella says. “I can’t just abandon her! I promised our mother.”

“I don’t want to be party to this,” Sour Face says, standing up. “I’ll meet you in the steam room.” She walks off without looking back. Marcella watches her go, shoulders hunched with anxiety.

“I understand your hesitation,” Amara says, lightly touching her arm to return her to the present. “But sometimes we have to take the opportunities Fortuna grants us.”

Marcella chews her lip, staring at the floor as if the answer will be written across the small diamond tiles. “Twenty denarii,” she says at last. “That’s what I need. And I can bring a necklace as surety.”

Amara knows exactly where Felix will be at this time of day. There’s an unspoken rule among the women to steer clear of the Palaestra, precisely to avoid him. She hopes he isn’t so angered by her presence that he doesn’t listen to her proposal. She goes over the details of the deal in her head as she walks swiftly along the Via Veneria. Surely, he will see the opportunity it offers?

It was difficult to hide her reasons for needing time off from her friends, but an offer to stay in for the entire day in return eventually secured their help without too many questions. They had set out as if in pairs, to fool Thraso, then met up again so that Dido wouldn’t be alone. She didn’t ask Amara anything, just pressed her hand and begged her to be careful. Amara knows Dido imagines she is going to see Menander, as if love could be the only possible reason for secrecy. Her friend’s naivety feels like a reproach. Amara knows Dido would never try to make extra money without telling the others. Even Victoria is open about her gambling. Amara walks faster, guilt pricking at her heart. It’s not a feeling she can afford, not if she wants to escape from the brothel.

The Palaestra is at the opposite end of Pompeii, a public park surrounded by a forbidding walled enclosure. Amara tells herself her breathlessness is due to the long walk, rather than nerves. A couple of men slouching by the entrance break off their chat to stare at her as she passes through the gate. Inside, she is greeted by high, piping voices. A gaggle of young boys sit learning their letters at the corner of the colonnade. She skirts between them, attracting a disapproving look from their schoolmaster. It’s clear he knows what she is.