No doubt he would eventually wed, but there would be no unseemly rush to marry him off. Meanwhile, his adolescent libido was being satisfied by Elira, a striking slave girl from Illyricum. She was part of the household, and slept on the floor of the atrium, which facilitated sneaking her into his room at night. Quintus had been bedding her for two months, ever since he’d realised that her sultry looks were being directed at him. As far as he was aware, no one else had any idea of their relationship.

Finally, she smiled. ‘You’re far too handsome for that to happen.’

He laughed off her compliment. ‘Time for breakfast,’ he announced, continuing to move away from the awkward subject of marriage.

To his relief, Aurelia nodded. ‘You’ll need a decent meal to give you energy for the hunt.’

A knot of tension formed in Quintus’ belly, and what appetite he’d had vanished. He would have to eat something, though, even if it was only for appearance’s sake.

Leaving Aurelia chatting to Julius, the avuncular slave who ran the kitchen, Quintus sloped out of the door. He had barely eaten, and he hoped that Aurelia hadn’t noticed. A few steps into the peristyle, or courtyard, he met Elira. She was carrying a basket of vegetables and herbs from the villa’s garden. As usual, she gave him a look full of desire. It was wasted on Quintus this morning. He gave her a reflex smile and brushed past.

‘Quintus!’

He jumped. The voice was one of the most recognisable on the estate. Atia, his mother. Quintus could see no one, which meant that she was probably in the atrium, the family’s primary living space. He hurried past the pattering fountain in the centre of the colonnaded courtyard, and into the cool of the tablinum, the reception room that led to the atrium, and thence the hallway.

‘She’s a good-looking girl.’

Quintus spun to find his mother standing in the shadows by the doors, a good vantage point to look into the peristyle. ‘W-what?’ he stammered.