“Time for you to go back to the brothel,” Felix says. Amara bows her head, goes to walk back out again, but he stops her. “Not you,” he says. “Time for you to go.” He tips Victoria from his knee. She grabs the desk, only just managing to save herself from falling flat on the floor. For a moment, both women think he is joking. Then they realize he isn’t.
Amara knows something has broken in Victoria then; she sees it in her face. Victoria does not beg or even say goodbye. She turns and walks out of the room, her eyes dry, not acknowledging either of them.
When she has gone, Amara and Felix are left looking at one another. “I missed you,” he says. She cannot reply. For the first time since she has known him, Amara senses that Felix does not know what he wants to say. He gestures at the pile of tablets heaped up on her old table. “Who else do I have to do my accounts?”
She sits down, still without speaking, and opens the first tablet.
By the eve of the Saturnalia, Rufus has still not told her when he will buy her. The strain of waiting and worrying is so great she is afraid she will break down and beg the next time she sees him. She knows there are no depths she would not sink to, not if it means escaping from Felix. Even a lifetime under the same roof as Hortensius.
She sits at a table in The Sparrow, drinking with her friends, while they discuss what presents they can afford. The whole town is heaving, and street sellers ram the pavements, trying to shift a few more trinkets before the festival starts.
“I can’t wait to see what Gallus has bought me!” Beronice cries, giving Dido a smacking kiss on the cheek. She has had a lot more wine than usual. “Three whole days with him! Oh! Just think of it!”
“One more night, then we get a rest from customers,” Dido says with a sigh. “Are we buying something for Britannica? We ought to.”
“She do nothing,” Ipstilla huffs.
“That’s not really the spirit of the Saturnalia,” Beronice says, frowning. “I don’t mind chipping in. Though I don’t know what she’d like.”
A knife, probably, Amara thinks. But she doesn’t suggest it.
“Getting me anything, girls?” Zoskales calls from the bar. He is in an excellent mood, no doubt looking forward to a day off from his customers too.
“A kiss if you’re lucky!” Beronice shrieks. Everyone laughs, apart from Victoria. Beronice notices her silence. “Maybe Felix will get you something,” she says kindly. Even though Victoria has teased her relentlessly about Gallus for the past year, Beronice has been nothing but supportive over her friend’s heartbreak. Can you imagine, she had said to Amara after Victoria returned to the brothel, the pain of thinking a man’s going to marry you and then he sends you packing! What a shit!
“He always gives us a denarius each,” Victoria replies. “I don’t care anyway. Fuck him.”
“How should we do this?” Amara says to Beronice. “Maybe Dido and I can buy for you, Britannica and Victoria, then you and Victoria buy for Dido and me.” She turns to the Spanish girls. “And do you two want to buy for each other, or do you want a surprise?”
“We buy,” Telethusa says emphatically, looking askance at Amara’s cheap wooden beads, her token present from Rufus. Clearly, she doesn’t trust the other women’s taste.
“No more than five asses each,” Beronice says. “Let’s not go mad. Then we’ll split the costs of it all afterwards.”
They finish the last of their wine, taking their time, then part ways to go shopping. Amara and Dido stroll towards the Forum. “What would Britannica like?” Dido says. “She’s not going to want beads or anything pretty.”
“I can think of something,” Amara replies. “There was a hawker selling amulets of gladiators’ blood. To pass on their courage.”
It takes them a while to find the seller; he must have moved since the last time Amara saw him. It’s hard to walk in the crush; everywhere, people are jostling at stalls, haggling loudly to get a better price. It seems most of Pompeii has left their gift buying until the last moment. Eventually, Amara spots the man with his gruesome trophies, a range of goods soaked in the blood of gladiators killed in the arena. They range in price, depending on the fame of the dead. The women can only afford an unknown fighter, killed on his first appearance, though Amara tries to haggle for something better. There is nothing pretty about the leather amulet they choose, engraved with a roughly drawn sword. Amara suspects Britannica will like it.
Their enthusiasm for shopping has been exhausted from walking round and round searching for the amulet seller, but at least the other women are easier to buy for. A cheap hair clip for Victoria, some ankle beads for Beronice.
“I’m so happy that Rufus is buying you,” Dido says, as they start walking back home. “But I’m going to miss you so much.”
“I don’t know for sure that he will,” Amara says. “He hasn’t given me a day. I don’t understand why he hasn’t done it already, if he really means to.”
“Perhaps he wants to make a grand gesture during the festival,” Dido says, taking her arm. “That would be very like him.”
Dido is so kind, wanting to reassure her, but Amara can tell she is upset. She hates herself for not being more considerate; she should have paid greater attention to Dido’s feelings over the past few days. She would be desperate if their roles were reversed. “I will do everything I can to get you out,” she says. “Everything. I promise. I love you. You are everything to me.”
“I love you too,” Dido replies. She is on the verge of tears.
Dido is the only person Amara has told about her plans, but even she doesn’t know where the new house is. Amara had worried about the risk of them being followed, but now she realizes this will leave Dido with no way of finding her, no way of leaving a message. “Do you want to know where it is? The house, I mean,” she says, her voice quiet, even though it’s unlikely anyone is listening. “Then if Rufus keeps his word, you can visit.” Dido nods.
They walk single file, Amara leading the way across town. She remembers the first time Philos brought her to the house. She has never been down the road in daylight. Even on the eve of the Saturnalia it is relatively quiet. Living here will mark a big change from the brothel’s noisy crossroads. The thought of escaping brings her a rush of excitement, and when they stand outside the tall building with its golden doorframe, she finds herself believing that life might be kind after all. She raps on the wood, not expecting anyone to answer, but Philos opens it. He is astonished to see her.
“Come in!” he exclaims, hurrying them both inside. He shuts the door behind them. “Is anything wrong? Are you alright?”
“I wanted Dido to know where to find me,” Amara says. “If Rufus really does mean for me to stay here.”
Philos gestures at the atrium behind him. Vitalio is staggering past with a table. “I think you can see that he does. Has he not said anything?”
Amara shakes her head. “I didn’t like to presume.”
“You’ve no need to worry,” Philos replies. “He has every intention of buying you. Don’t distress yourself.”
“I told you it was fine,” Dido says, smiling at her. “And what a beautiful place this is!”
Vitalio walks back into the atrium, now relieved of his burden. He scowls at Amara. “Let’s see how long this one lasts,” he shouts, stomping up the stairs.