Amara stares at the wall. No gamboling nymphs or lovers here. Everything is painted in a geometric pattern of black and white. The sharp-edged lines turn and interlock in an endless maze that’s hard to follow round the room without feeling dizzy.

They sit and wait, not talking, time stretching out. It starts to rain more heavily, water beating down on the roof. It’s impossible to tell over the noise whether Felix and his client are still doing business. Then Amara sees a downcast figure pass the doorway, hears him thud down the stairs. Nobody gets up from the bench.

Paris sticks his head around the door. “You’d best go through.”

Thraso rises, stalking past him. Amara and Victoria follow.

2

“She reeks of the soot of the brothel!”

—Seneca, Declamations 1.2

The room is large, dominated by red. Their master is sitting behind his desk. He doesn’t rise as they enter. If he is surprised by their arrival so much earlier than expected, he gives no sign. Felix has half Thraso’s bulk but twice his strength. His wiry frame is all bunched muscle. Amara knows there is no softness anywhere on that body hidden beneath the folds of the pale toga. Nothing to give the lie of tenderness when he holds you.

“That was a quick orgy,” he says. “The rich boys couldn’t keep it up for long then? But they paid you double, of course.” Felix looks at Victoria. “That’s what you’re here to tell me, isn’t it, my darling? How much money you made.” Felix is smiling, but Amara can feel his anger vibrate through the sarcasm. The room grows darker. She knows without looking that Paris has just closed the door to the balcony.

Victoria opens her mouth, but Thraso jumps in. “It was Simo,” he says. “Simo betrayed us . . .”

“He must have been in it with Vibo,” says Victoria. “All Simo’s girls stayed in the pool, but some old crone dragged the rest of us out. She forced us. She said it was Vibo’s orders. That fat slug! We never even saw the punters—”

“Balbus was in on it too,” Thraso interrupts. “I thrashed him for you, the lying little—”

“Thraso only stopped because Vibo made him!” Victoria says. “And Drauca was sneering at us; she knew, I’m sure she did . . .”

Amara watches Felix as Victoria and Thraso babble on, falling over themselves to shift the blame as far away from themselves as possible, shoveling it aside like shit from a latrine. She knows that if the boss doesn’t interrupt, they will soon start blaming each other. Felix listens in silence, absorbing everything, his anger visibly growing. If there were a way of making herself smaller and less noticeable, she would shrink to the size of a dormouse.