‘It’s an outrage,’ grumbled Festus, an ardent follower of the blue team. ‘Typical of the greens. They lose several races and of course it’s someone else’s fault. Never mind the fact that Barmoris can’t drive a chariot to save his life.’

‘Oh dear.’ Portia made a sympathetic expression. ‘It does seem to have upset you.’

Festus stared at her. ‘Upset? This is not some minor matter, mistress. We’re talking about chariot racing.’

‘Of course, I’m sorry.’ Portia reached for a dish of stuffed olives and held them out as a peace offering.

‘Thank you, but I’ve eaten enough.’ Festus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘If you don’t mind, it’s been a long day. I’m tired. I think I need a good night’s sleep.’

Portia nodded. ‘As you wish.’

Rising from his couch, Festus bowed his head curtly and strode out of the room. Portia could not help smiling, and once he had gone she shook her head and muttered, ‘What is it with men and chariots?’

Marcus shrugged. Despite having lived in the capita! over the last year he had never quite understood the passions evoked by the sight of four teams racing round the Great Circus. He broke off another hunk of bread, dipped it in the fish sauce and began to chew. There was a brief silence as Portia slowly pushed a slice of sausage round her platter with the point of her knife. At length she cleared her throat and spoke without looking up. ‘So, what happened to Lupus?’

Marcus finished chewing and swallowed. ‘As your uncle said, he was killed in an ambush.’

‘I know what he said,’ she replied tersely. ‘I want to know what happened.’

Marcus paused to recollect the ambush before he responded. ‘We were caught in a narrow pass and hopelessly outnumbered. Caesar decided our only hope was in cutting our way through the brigands. So we charged them and escaped. Lupus was bringing up the rear when the avalanche struck.’

‘Avalanche?’

Marcus nodded. ‘It looked like half the mountain was coming down. It fell into the pass and blocked it, burying everyone in its path.’

‘Is here no way Lupus could have escaped?’

‘No. I saw it myself. Saw him crushed and buried.’

Portia shivered as she imagined the scene. ‘I hope it was quick and painless for him.’

Marcus pursed his lips. He had no way of knowing and was not prepared to put a good face on the tragedy. ‘I have been instructed to cake his place. I hope I can do half as good a job at him.’

Portia looked up at him and smiled warmly. ‘You will do fine, Marcus. I know you will. Nothing is beyond you. I’ve seen enough of your courage, strength and determination to know that much. Even if your writing skills do not match those of Lupus, they will do very soon. I am sure of it.’

Marcus felt a flush of pride at her words. ‘Thank you, mistress. I will do my best to serve Caesar well.’