“Look at the goddess!” Beronice says, pointing. As the road to the Forum rises, they can see the plaster statue of Venus more clearly. Carried on a platform, she stands above the crowd as an immortal should, swaying on the shoulders of her temple’s slaves, draped in garlands. “I’m going to ask her to help me marry Gallus,” Beronice says, glancing round, trying to spy her lover in the crowd. “He’s bought me roses to give her.”

“Gallus bought them?” Amara asks.

“Well, he’s going to buy them,” Beronice replies. “When we get to the Forum.”

“He’ll be lucky if the sellers have any left,” Cressa says.

Beronice doesn’t reply; she has seen her beloved and rushes to the edge to be closer to him. “Won’t Felix notice?” Dido asks, watching her with an anxious frown. “She’s not very subtle.”

“Probably useful for him,” Cressa says. “All that foolishness keeps them both obedient.”

At the Forum, their river hits a bank of humanity. Hawkers ride slipstreams through the crowd, balancing trays on their shoulders, selling everything from garlands to hot pies. And of course, wine. Venus isn’t the only deity worshipped at the Vinalia, it’s also a day to thank Jupiter for Campania’s fruitful vineyards. Although she cannot see it, Amara knows the faithful will be pouring wine on his altar, a sacrifice to please the most libidinous of gods. Although looking at the state of the worshippers, she suspects even more has been poured down their throats. Those who aren’t already too drunk, cheer at the women’s arrival, pressing toward them. The surge brings their procession to a standstill. Ahead, the musicians blast on their pipes more insistently, driving the men back from the goddess. Amara feels a hand grip her arm and whips round. Felix.

“Keep close,” he says, as if she has any choice with his fingers digging into her flesh.

“What about the others?” she asks, realizing she can no longer see Beronice or Victoria. Cressa is stuck with Thraso.

“Gallus has them,” he says, looking down at her and Dido. “Just concentrate on getting to the temple.”

They shuffle forward, so slowly it’s almost painful. Felix’s presence stops her from getting trampled but also squashes her excitement. His hand on her arm, steering her along, owning her, makes this day more like any other, not the brief moment of freedom she had imagined. In her sweaty fingers, the sprigs of mint and myrtle are already wilting. Fabia went out early to buy their offerings but didn’t bring back any roses. Felix thinks they are overpriced.