There is very little left from Nicia’s coin when Amara and Dido leave Cominia’s shop. They buy the largest jar of gold paste on offer, planning to decant some into another pot for the others to use.

“We’ll have to give the dresses to Felix,” Dido says, holding her parcel close to her chest. “We can’t risk leaving them lying round the brothel. One of the customers will steal them.”

“He wanted proof of where we spent the money anyway,” Amara replies. They are walking the main road home, and she knows they will soon be passing the lamp shop. She is desperate to stop.

“Isn’t that where Menander works?” Dido says.

“Oh, yes.”

“Give me that.” Dido motions for Amara to hand over her new dress. “Why don’t you go in?”

“I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t.” Amara hesitates, half-craning to get a view into the shop while they tussle with the fabric. Menander is inside. She gives up and lets Dido take her parcel. It takes him a while to see her loitering on the street. He is with a customer and gestures for her to wait.

“We were just passing,” Amara says when he comes out, anxious to include Dido. “And we wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Yes. Because you got us to sing. Our master was listening, and he bought the lyre.” Amara remembers the street musician’s face and hopes Felix did really pay for it. “And now we are booked to sing at the Floralia. At a party.”

None of it is quite what she wanted to say. But at least she is talking to him. “I’m glad he bought you the lyre,” he says. “You played it so beautifully.”

“Menander!”

“I can’t stay now.” He looks nervously over his shoulder. “Can I write to you? On the wall, outside the Sparrow?” He lowers his voice. “I will use Timarete and Kallias, so nobody knows.”

“Yes,” Amara says. “Yes.”

Menander turns and hurries back inside without saying goodbye.

16

“I pawned earrings with Faustilla for 2 denarii. She has deducted an ass a month in interest”

—Pompeii graffiti

The line at the well stretches along the street. Not that anyone is paying much attention to waiting their turn. Amara and Dido don’t bother to shove ahead with the rest, loitering in the late morning sunshine instead. It’s not the most restful place to stop. Hammering, banging and shouting rings out from one of the grander houses nearby. It has been dilapidated for as long as Amara can remember, the owners killed in a terrible earthquake, or so Victoria told her. Somebody new must have bought it, decided to spend their money on decking it out like a palace. One of the team of builders leans out from his ladder, whistling at her and Dido. They ignore him. He won’t be buying a woman for hours. Barely worth their notice.