He had come to detest Murena, loathe the profession in which he himself served. Like a tide of filth, it undermined the foundations of anything good in his character. And now it threatened the only part of his life that had remained inviolate.

Marriage had come belatedly for him. At most weddings the man was in his late twenties, the girl fourteen or fifteen. His bride had been a little older, just turned nineteen. But he had been approaching forty. The days when it was illegal for a soldier to marry had long gone. Yet previously the demands of his service somehow had precluded thoughts of matrimony, and, of course, he had not met the right woman.

Tullia was the daughter of a vintner. The family poor, but respectable. Her father’s trade had been their introduction. He had been buying wine – a moderately astringent Sabine white, good for the pain he was beginning to feel in his joints – and she had been helping in the shop. Their courtship had been unhurried and formal. That he was a soldier was obvious, but, to avoid alarming her family, he had given out merely that he was in Rome on detached duty from his legion. After their marriage he had been happy to rent an apartment close to her father’s business in the Subura. Of course, some of its streets were unsafe after dark, but it was foolish to venture down many streets in Rome at night. Tullia brought him joy, and had given him a daughter.

To begin with, Murena’s threats had been indirect. At the meeting in that cramped, dusty office he had listened with mounting apprehension as Murena had revealed his knowledge of his family: their names and ages, Tullia’s relatives, their occupations, where they lived, and the state of their finances. If he undertook this mission, saw it through to success, he would be lavishly rewarded. The family would be financially secure for the next generation. Of course if he refused, things would be different. He had watched in horror as Murena had got out the account books of the camp. The evidence could not be argued away. His career would be over, and Tullia’s family ruined.

After he had accepted the mission, and been told what it entailed, Murena was less subtle. Should he either fail or betray his orders, he would be classed as a traitor. The family of a man convicted of maiestas were also held to be guilty of treason. The implications of that did not need spelling out.

He huddled his cloak around himself. His boots and trousers were still clammy. A chill wind had got up in the west. It was cold sitting here just below the skyline.