Titus, as is the way with infants, contrived to find every possible way to drive his mother, and her domestic slaves, completely frantic with worry. There was no shelf, table edge or door he had not managed to crash his head against, no chair or chest he had not fallen off and no rug or mat he had not tripped over. The boy’s natural inquisitiveness meant that no safety audit of their quarters was ever completed thoroughly enough that Titus did not find something dangerous or unsavoury to stick in his mouth or poke in his eye or when the mood took him — which it frequently did — in the eye of some unfortunate slave. Now his nurses were having to contend with a fine range of needle-sharp teeth that closed unexpectedly on any exposed flesh that ventured within range.

Vespasian smiled at the thought that at least his son had spirit.

‘What?’ Flavia asked.

‘Eh?’

‘You’re smiling. What are you thinking?’

‘I’m thinking it’s time I spent some time with my boy.’ Vespasian pushed the travel desk back and stood up. ‘Come.’

As they left the study and walked along the covered walkway that ran along the private courtyard Vespasian looked at the sky. Beyond the dull flickering light of the courtyard torches the freezing night air was brushed with the first flakes of snow. It occurred to him that Vitellius had not yet returned and the thought of the cocksure tribune marching back from the village in a miserable blizzard would have been gratifying were it not for the poor men he was commanding.

===OO=OOO=OO===

As the door to the little nursery opened, Titus’s head swivelled round and, with a shout of pure pleasure, he jumped on to his little legs, pushing his nurse to one side, and ran across to his parents.

‘Dada!’ he squealed as he wrapped his arms around his father’s legs and tipped his head back, wide-eyed and smiling. ‘Pick up! Pick up! Pick up!’

Vespasian leant down and, firmly grasping the boy under the arms, swung him up above his head, provoking a fresh bout of excited screaming.

‘How’s my soldier? Eh? How’s my little boy today?’ Vespasian smiled and turned to his wife. ‘He’s growing up fast. Not long now before he gets to wear his first toga.’

‘He’s still a baby!’ Flavia protested. ‘Still my little baby. Aren’t you?’

Titus regarded his mother with a disgusted expression and pushed himself back from her tight embrace. Vespasian laughed and leant forward to ruffle the boy’s unruly hair. ‘That’s my little soldier!’

‘He’s not a soldier!’ Flavia said firmly. ‘And he’s not going to be a soldier, at least he’s not going to be one for any longer than is absolutely necessary. If I have anything to do with it, he’ll stay in Rome where I can look after him.’

‘We’ll have to let him decide for himself one day,’ Vespasian replied gently. ‘The army’s a good life for a man.’

‘No, it’s not! The army’s dangerous, uncomfortable and populated by uncouth louts.’