“Yes, of course. I hadn’t even realized you used one in the first place.”

“Well, afterward, I started wondering if maybe it was such a mistake after all. That perhaps I should stop using it with you but keep using it with him. Because if I fell pregnant, then Rufus would be more likely to let you stay, as I would need the help of a reliable steward to care for the child. And also . . .” She swallows, embarrassed. “Also, we have so few choices. I don’t know if we will manage to be together, or if I might lose you. But this way I won’t lose you completely.”

“You meant for this to happen?”

“Can you forgive me?”

“Why would I need to forgive you for wanting my child.” His eyes are bright with tears. He blinks, wiping his face, but the tears keep falling, and she is worried he might start sobbing. Amara takes Philos in her arms and holds him, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other stroking his shoulders, the same way he comforts her. “I’m not allowed a family,” he says. “I can never call myself a father. I’m not even a man. And you want to have a child with me.”

The words cut through Amara, knowing every one of them is true. “I’m not sure how you got me pregnant, if you’re not a man,” she says, her voice light, hoping to make him laugh and succeeding.

He moves away from her embrace, so he can look at her, and she sees the anxiety in his eyes. “But this is so dangerous for you.”

“Hundreds of women give birth every day. I’ll be fine.” Amara smiles, but she is frightened too. They both know hundreds of women also die in childbirth. It is, after all, what killed his wife, Restituta. “I will be fine,” she repeats, leaning forward to kiss him. “I promise. And it’s early yet, I’m not even showing. When the time comes, I will ask Drusilla for the midwife who delivered Primus.”

“But you’re taking such a risk for me—”

“No,” she interrupts. “Not just for you. This is for me, too. I want to have a child by a man I love. This might be the only chance I ever have to do that.”

“How do you think Rufus will react? Obviously, he will believe the child is his.” Philos stops, and Amara can tell from the expression on his face, that he has reached the same point as her. “The child will think I’m just a slave. They will never know I’m their father. We can never tell them.”