Helena Justina had taken in our British waif because she was so spirited, so torn with grief and loneliness, and had been so unjustly served by fate. Found as a baby in the ruins of Londinium, no one knew or would ever know whether Albia was a Briton or some half-and-half little bun, a dead trader’s offspring born to a local woman, maybe. She could even be fully Roman, though it was unlikely. When we offered to adopt her, we had wormed a certificate of citizenship out of the British governor, who owed me favours. We now gave Albia education, sustenance, security and friendship, though not much more was feasible. In the snobbery of Rome, she would have a hard fight. I was middle-class now, with the Emperor’s approval, but since I had plebeian origins, even my own daughters would need more than elocution lessons if they were to be accepted. I lived with a senator’s daughter but that was Helena’s choice. It was legal, but eccentric.

‘I hope Aulus did not make you any promises.’ I broached the subject tentatively, still not brave enough to say I hoped he had not slept with her.

‘Of course he wouldn’t; I’m a barbarian!’ Albia snapped furiously. Her voice then dropped. ‘I was just stupid.’

‘Well, it must seem impossible at the moment, but one day you will get over him.’

‘I never will!’ Albia retorted. Her loves and hates were equally intense. I had a dark feeling she was right; she never would recover. After knocking about with street life in Londinium, Albia knew how to stay safe at that level, but she had trusted Aelianus. He was one of the family, her family now. She had dropped her guard.

‘Maybe it’s a good thing we are going to Antium, or I might rip his head off myself.’

‘You never would,’ sneered Albia bitterly.

‘Since he is actually married, there is not much I can do about the situation, and you know that.’

‘If he wasn’t married would you do anything?’

I gave her no answer. Aulus was overdue for marriage. I thought his choice was a disaster, but I would have seriously opposed any offer for Albia—for both their sakes.

‘You talk about righting injustice, but you never do it,’ she grumbled.

‘Conciliation—there’s a fine Latin word . . . I hope you never have to see me stick a sword in someone’s ribs.’ It had been known. But I believed retribution should fit the degree of the crime. ‘Aelianus has been thoughtless and disloyal. Young men are like that. Young women can be just as bad—or worse.’

‘Oh I don’t expect anyone to stand up for me!’ Albia was back on the verge of tears now. My heart ached for her. ‘You are both men. He is your friend, your relative, your assistant. You will stick by him—’