She was dressed in a bright yellow tunic with her arms and legs bare. Her skin was tanned to a dark bronze, the gift of her Egyptian mother. She ran through the gate and skipped quickly along the path, passed the goat pens and the vineyards and disappeared in the olive orchard at the foot of the hill. Through the foliage I glimpsed the yellow tunic approaching and heard her laughing: 'I see you, Papa! I see you, Papa!'

A moment later she was rushing into my arms, giggling and out of breath.

'Diana, do you remember our neighbour? This is Claudia.' 'Yes, I remember her. Do you live up here in the woods?' said Diana.

Claudia laughed. 'No, my dear, this is only where I come to visit your father from time to time. I live down in the valley on the other side of this ridge, on my own little farm. You must come and visit me some time.'

Diana looked at her gravely for a moment, then turned to me. 'Mama says you must come at once or she shall throw your food into the pen and let the goats eat it!'

Claudia and I both laughed and rose from the stumps. She said farewell and disappeared into the woods. Diana wrapped her little arms around my neck and I carried her down the hillside all the way to the house.

After the midday meal, the day grew even warmer. Everyone — animals, slaves, and children alike — found a shaded place and dozed in the heat. Everyone but me. I went to the library and took out some parchment and a stylus. I began to draw wheels with notches that fit into other wheels, trying to imagine the water mill that Lucius Claudius had planned to construct down on the stream.

All was peace and contentment, yet I was not bored at all. I had been mad, I decided, to tell Claudia that I missed the murderous intrigues of the city. Nothing and no one in this world, neither man nor god, could ever persuade me to return to such a life.

II