The Greek suddenly looked grave, partly because she had referred to the nature of his late master, but more for the wistful look on Claudia’s face. To Cholon, there had never been anyone like Aulus Cornelius, the conqueror of Macedonia, the man who had humbled the heirs of Alexander the Great, yet never lost that quality of modesty which defined him. It had not been for his military prowess that his Greek slave had loved him, but for his very nature. Sitting here with Claudia, he was reminded of how she had hurt him, and how he had withstood that for year after year with a stoicism that made him even more of a paragon. He knew the reason and had to compose himself then; too much deliberation on the life and death of his late master was inclined to induce copious tears.

‘No, Lady, he would have freed them all, and then dared the Senate to override him.’

They sat silently for a while, each with their own recollections of a man who had stood alone, not aloof, but one who refused to support any faction, yet was there when the call came if Rome needed him. It was Cholon who finally spoke. ‘I am about to commit a shocking breach of manners.’

‘You?’

He ignored the irony, given he was always accusing Romans of being barbarians.

‘It is not often polite to allude to a friend’s private situation, to the lack of pleasure, the emptiness in their lives.’

Claudia wanted to say that he alone had the power to change that, he who had helped her husband, but she had promised never to ask again the only question that mattered to her, the one that haunted her dreams — where had Cholon and Aulus exposed her newborn son that night of the Feast of Lupercalia — so she bit her tongue.

‘I wonder that you do not take another husband.’ Her eyes shot up in surprise as he continued. ‘There, I’ve said it. I have wondered for some time and now it is finally out in the open.’