‘Neither of the twins, nor Probus, had that aberration,’ Quintus continued, after a quick glance at Maia. ‘Marcus and I checked the survivors. But we all know one other person whose eyes look two-coloured with some tricks of the light: Anacrites.’

Helena took up the story, taking the narrative from her brother as smoothly as the sacred torch is passed in a Panathenian relay race. ‘This explains many things. Let us go back to two slaves on an imperial estate in the days of the early Empire: Aristocles and Casta. Of course they could not marry while they were in slavery, but let’s assume they met, matched and even perhaps began to have children then. They were freed, some say to get rid of them because they were so difficult. They had many offspring. Some died. Some of the girls broke away, at least partly, and married. The eldest was Justus, who died not that long ago, perhaps of a bad conscience. Nobilis was among the youngest, pushed out more, perhaps; having to jostle more for attention, maybe even for clothes, space and food.’

My turn. ‘One of the boys was called Felix. His brother Probus sneered: Felix, the happy and fortunate—and a clever little sod too; well we lost him early, naturally . . . How did they “lose” him? We know now. When he was three years old his intelligence was officially noticed and he was removed from the family. In Rome, he was arbitrarily assigned a new name. It happens to slaves. So the man we know as Tiberius Claudius Anacrites began life as Claudius Felix. He may not always have remembered where he came from—but he certainly knows now.’

At that point, it was Maia, Maia who might have been expected to be harshest, who put in a word for him. ‘Imagine how it might have been for a child so young to be forcibly removed from the people he thought were his own.’ Shaking her head, she went on in a low voice, ‘Aristocles and Casta may have been distant, even violent, as parents, but I dare say they screamed and shouted when they had to give him up. From what we know, they were possessive; he was theirs, their property.’

‘Casta may have tried to hang on to him physically,’ Helena agreed. ‘I know I would. Imagine the scenes—with the child hysterically weeping, torn from his mother’s grasp by brutal overseers. Next, with Casta’s screams ringing in his little ears, he was taken many miles away, nobody telling him why or where he was going. Perhaps he felt it was a punishment for some unknown naughtiness. Plenty of punishment went on among the Claudii—he knew that concept. Dumped at the Palace, he wakes up in a cold dormitory. Other children there were strangers. They may all have been older, may have bullied him.’