“Hurry, hurry!” their tormentor demands, throwing a cloak at Beronice who still looks as stupefied as she did in the pool. Amara needs no further encouragement. She bends down and begins rifling through the mass of material, handing a yellow toga to Dido who is shivering badly, perhaps as much from fear as cold. Dido is new to slavery, and every indignity seems to hit her like a knife to the heart. Victoria is the only one who doesn’t rush. She is still fastening her toga long after everybody else is dressed, gazing at the old woman with pure hate. When Victoria finally looks away, Amara sees the woman make the sign of the evil eye.

A final poke with the bony finger between the shoulder blades and Amara and the other women are bundled outside into the baths’ private courtyard. Drizzle hits their faces, and the wind from the sea is cold. They stand in a huddle, already damp beneath their togas and cloaks. Amara glances around, surprised they are alone, then notices two men sheltering under the colonnade, a pair of incongruous, hulking shapes against the wall’s painted nymphs and roses. One of the men strides over, face thunderous. It’s Thraso, Felix’s steward.

“What’s this? What’s happened?” His hands are balled up, ready to fight. Amara steps back. She knows how hard those fists can fall.

“Better ask him,” Amara says, pointing at the other man left standing in the shadows. “Isn’t he with Simo?”

“Somebody double-crossed Felix,” Victoria adds, as Thraso swivels round. “Simo’s women got to stay; we were all thrown out before the men arrived. Bit convenient don’t you think?”

Thraso doesn’t wait to hear more. He charges across the yard, swinging at the other man’s head. “Balbus! I’ll fucking kill you! You fucking liar!”

Balbus dodges, missing the full force of Thraso’s punch, though he still catches a blow to his ear, making him stagger. Thraso grabs the man’s shoulders, smashing his skull into Balbus’s nose. Balbus roars, breaking free, clutching his bloodied face. Thraso attacks him again, and the two men fall to the ground, throwing punches, biting and screaming. The women watch, unsure what to do.

“Felix isn’t going to like this,” Beronice says, stating the obvious.

Amara glances sidelong at Victoria, hoping for a sarcastic remark, but Victoria looks away.

There’s a commotion from the doorway. A group of male slaves rush out, forcing the women to scramble aside. They run over to the brawling pair, trying to intervene, one taking a kick in the face. Vibo, the bath manager, comes out next, huffing, his portly figure swathed in a green toga. He manhandles Cressa out of his path in his haste to reach the fight.

“Enough!” he shouts. “Or you will answer to your masters for disobedience!”