Thalius sighed. ‘I pay my dues,’ he said. So he did, but he knew that what she said was true. The worst tax by common consent was the chrysargyron, the ‘gold-and-silver’ levy imposed on manufacturers and merchants, from owners of the great pottery factories right down to the humblest cobbler. Like farmers of marginal lands, small merchants were being squeezed ‘until their bones cracked’, Aurelia said. ‘In fact literally! You must have seen it, Thalius. How the collectors summon the people from the town and country to the forum - how even children are forced to give evidence against their parents.’

‘I have seen such things,’ Thalius said stoically. He was well aware too of the shocking corruption that was rife in every level of the system, making it even more of a burden.

She put down her wine cup and leaned forward, her face intent. ‘You have already decided I am a selfish old woman who is solely concerned about the contents of her own purse. Don’t bother denying it, it’s plain enough on your face. But I hope you’ll see that my imagination goes beyond my own welfare. I believe that Constantine’s taxes will, in the long run, lead to the ruin of us all, and I don’t exaggerate. And if the system falls, I fall with it. So I’m concerned. Call it enlightened self-interest.’

It was a hard argument to refute, and Thalius had heard it rehearsed many times before. But just as in his talks with Cornelius he wondered if Aurelia had ever considered that the Emperor, crushed by rising military costs and with no other revenue sources, might have no other choice but to tax his citizens until they bled white. ‘Is there any other way?’

‘There may be. Do you know how my husband died? Of course you don’t. He fought with Carausias. And his father fought under Postumus, the Gallic Emperor, twenty-five years before Carausias. Twice in living memory these islands have broken from Rome. Why not again? Why must Britain pay for Rome? Why must we pay for the upkeep of the Emperor’s court - you’ve seen it, Thalius - and his bureaucracy and his extravagances and his building programme, his endless churches, churches, churches? And now there are rumours that Constantine is planning to build a new capital even farther away, in the east somewhere. Why should we pay for that? That’s what I’m asking.’

‘And so,’ he said carefully, ‘would you oppose Constantine?’

‘Ah,’ she said. She smiled and leaned back languidly, quite unreasonably erotic. ‘That’s the question - and that’s where your Prophecy comes in. I’m no gambler, Thalius.’

‘You will oppose Constantine if you think you are sure to win. You want the reassurance of the Prophecy.’