‘How else should I be treated?’ Portia replied miserably. ‘Roman girls of my class are raised to forge alliances between men. Traded between men. Why, we are no better off than slaves when it comes down to it.’

Marcus could not help being surprised. He had seen how slaves lived, how they were beaten, abused and treated as just another form of property. The conditions in which they lived were a world apart from the pampered lifestyle of Rome’s finest families. Yet there was something in what Portia said. Despite her luxuries, she had no more say in how she wanted to live than the slaves who served her. While other women might choose to marry someone they loved, she had no choice.

Suddenly she put her arms round him and drew herself into his shoulder, beginning to cry again. He reached a hand up to stroke her hair. ‘It’ll be all right, Portia,’ he mumbled, not sure what to say. What words could make it all right for her? ‘In time, it will get better. You’ll see.’

She let out a soft whine of despair. ‘I wish I could tell my uncle. But I can’t. All I have now is you.’

She drew back and looked at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes, her face streaked with kohl and her lips trembling. Then she leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips, and closed her eyes. Marcus nearly recoiled in shock but found that he liked the feeling. A warm gush of affection filled his heart and made his head swim.

Then, with a shudder of anxiety, his lips froze. What was he doing? What utter foolishness was this? If they were seen, he was as good as dead. Portia would be in danger too. Her husband would beat her; he would be within his rights to. Marcus pulled himself free and hurriedly shuffled away from her. Portia looked at him with a surprised expression, before it turned to hurt.

‘Marcus, what is it?’

‘This is wrong, Portia! Wrong and dangerous. We must not do it.’

‘But you are all I have. You are all that is special to me now. The last link I have with the way things were.’

‘I know it’s hard. But I can’t do anything about it. Neither can you.’

‘Marcus —’

He held his hand up. ‘Please don’t! It’s too dangerous for both of us.’ He stood up. ‘I have to go.’

‘Stay. Please.’

But Marcus knew that he could not. He strode across to the doorway and paused. Looking back, he saw the hurt in her expression and his heart urged a return to her side, but he hardened himself to speak. ‘We must forget this ever happened. For both our sakes. Even our friendship is risk enough. This...’ He shook his head. ‘This is nothing less than suicide, Portia. It must never happen again.’

Marcus turned and left, striding along the colonnade that ran round the garden towards the slave quarters. He clenched his jaw, not daring to look back.