‘I cannot think what to call it, husband. What is the bearing of another man’s child, if it is not disgrace? I prayed that you would not find me, prayed that you would never know.’

He had raised his reddened eyes, as if trying to see through the canvas roof of the wagon so that he could ask the gods for help. He knew what he should do, adopt the same lack of sentiment with which he had campaigned all his life, the same obligation to his race that had him personally strangle the Macedonian King in front of the Temple of Jupiter Maximus; he was a Roman soldier and he should behave like one. How many women with child had died at the hands of his legionaries, how many children would be born as slaves who had been conceived in freedom? He had a choice, to kill Claudia or to disown her, both actions the society of which he was a member would applaud. How could he be so strong in battle, so callous when necessary in conquest, yet so weak in his private affairs? Would the gods not damn him for such frailty?

‘I will not put you aside, in any way.’

Her voice was still even, masking disappointment. ‘So all you have achieved will come to nought? The great Macedonicus, a laughing stock, because his wife bore the child of a barbarian Celt?’

Aulus had taken her hand then, his voice thick with emotion, but his mind was active, seeking and arriving at a solution, daring the deities to object. ‘There is a way, my love, there is a way.’

Bending to kiss that hand, he had failed to see the look of deep pity in her eyes.

Aulus put his wife in the care of Cholon and a villa was found on the coast where Claudia could remain out of sight, with temporary, local servants who were not told of her identity.