'Never mind,' I said. 'I have no right to ask you such a question. Here, have some bread. Bethesda makes it herself and it's better than you might expect. A recipe passed down from her mother in Alexandria. Or so she says -1 have my suspicions that Bethesda never had a mother. And though I bought her in Alexandria, her name is neither Greek nor Egyptian. The milk and the plums should be fresh, though I can't vouch for the cheese.'

We ate in silence. The garden was still in shadow, but I could feel the sun, palpable, almost menacing, edging along the scalloped tile roof like a burglar planning his descent. By midday the whole garden would be suffused with light, insufferably hot and brilliant, but for now it was cooler than the house, which still retained yesterday's heat. The peacocks suddenly stirred in their corner; the largest of the males gave a shrill call and broke into a strut, displaying his plumage. Tiro glimpsed the bird and gave a start, unprepared for the spectacle. I chewed in silence, wincing at the occasional twinges of pain that flickered from my jaw to my temples. I glanced at Tiro, whose gaze had abandoned the peacock for the empty doorway where Bethesda had made her exit.

'Is that the cure for a hangover, sir?' 'What, Tiro?'

He turned to face me. The absolute innocence of his face was more blinding than the sun, which suddenly broke over the rooftop. His name might be Greek, but except for his eyes, all his features were classically Roman - the smooth moulding of the forehead, cheeks, and chin; the slight exaggeration of the lips and nose. It was his eyes that startled me, a pale lavender shade I had never seen before, certainly not native to Rome - the contribution of an enslaved mother or rather brought to the empire's heart from gods-knew-where. Those eyes were far too innocent and trusting to belong to any Roman.

'Is that the cure for a hangover?' Tiro was saying. 'To take a woman in the morning?'

I laughed out loud. 'Hardly. More often it's part of the disease. Or the incentive to recover, for the next time.'