His bad breath? His high-pitched voice? Julia resisted the temptation to add these attributes to the list.

'Furthermore, if you cross me on this, I will…I will have that dog of yours put down.' Sabina's eyes narrowed.

Bato bared his teeth and gave a low growl.

'You wouldn't dare.' Julia curled her fingers around Bato's collar. She gave a wild look at Sabina, standing there, one hand on her hip, the other pointing at Bato. 'Hush, Bato, be good. She's only having her little joke.'

'Try me.' Sabina made a shooing motion. 'Now, go and get rid of the gladiator. Then we'll talk, and remember what happened the last time you tried to get the better of me.'

Julia clenched her jaw. She remembered all too well what happened—Sabina had consulted her favourite augur and she had been married off to Lucius before she had had a chance to voice a protest.

She covered her letter to Claudia with several scrolls, then placed her stylus on top. The last thing she needed was Sabina prying into her private letters. She snapped her fingers. 'Come, Bato. We have a gladiator to disable.'


Valens stood with his tablet in his hand, his foot blocking the porter from shutting the huge iron-and-oak door. The pain between his eyes had reached a crescendo. After he had answered an ever-growing crowd of supporters' questions, he arrived back late to the School's temporary headquarters only to discover the memories of Spartacus's rebellion cast long shadows. The Senate had passed a law forbidding more than three gladiators to be housed in one place. And Strabo wanted the situation sorted out yesterday.

Now, all he wanted to do was leave his gear, find the nearest public baths before they closed and try to soak some of today's problems away. It was highly unlikely that this family would have its own private bathing suite, because as far as he could tell, they were equestrian, rather than senatorial in stature.

It had seemed straightforward when he left Strabo and Caesar. Unfortunately, the place where he was supposed to stay seemingly had no knowledge of him.

The fine drizzle dripped on the back of his neck, echoing his mood.

'But I'm expected,' he explained again to the grizzled porter cowering behind his table. For Hercules's sake, he had kept his voice low and deadly calm. The man behaved as if he had tried to strike him. He only wanted to go to his room.

'I know nothing about this—' the porter said in an officious tone.

'It's fine, Clodius. I will handle this,' a firm but melodious voice said.

Valens raised his eyebrows in surprise. The matron from the marketplace. Julia Antonia. Another sign from the gods?

A shaft of sunlight appeared through the clouds, lighting the doorway and the woman standing in it before vanishing. She looked lovelier than he remembered. No longer covered in a mantle, her hair had a dark black sheen like the wing of a blackbird he had once owned as a boy. Her movements reminded him of that bird—quick, sharp, nervous. At first, the bird had pecked his finger, but after his mother had shown him how to be patient, the bird had taken crumbs from the palm of his hand.

'At last, someone with a bit of common sense.' Valens made his voice sound playful but there was no relaxation of her shoulders, no answer to his smile. If anything, she looked more wary. There had to be something he could use to recapture the camaraderie of the marketplace. He frowned and reached into his satchel. 'I found your perfume flask. It had rolled a little way along the gutter.'

He held it out as if he were holding crumbs for his blackbird. At the sight of the flask, a cloud seemed to lift from her face, and she gave a smile that could have lit a thousand lamps. Cautiously she stretched out her hand. Her cool fingers closed around the flask, touched his and sent a jolt up his arm.

His eyes traced the relaxed curve of her neck before locking with her sober hazel eyes. Valens's lips curved upwards into a smile of triumph—he had her tamed.

A slim greyhound peered from behind her skirts, and then raced forward, breaking Valens's gaze, returning him to the present. The dog's cool muzzle touched Valens's hand, his tongue lapping at his palm. Valens reached down and stroked the dog's ears. Instantly the dog gave a whine of pleasure, turned over and wriggled on its back, exposing its belly and nudging Valens's leg.

'Bato, come back here,' Julia said, tugging on the dog's collar and her face growing bright red. 'I'm so sorry. He's normally very wary of people, men in particular. I can't think why he should behave like that. Bato, sit!'

The dog gave another lap of his tongue—this time to Valens's sandal.

Valens went still. For a breath, he thought he knew the dog. It reminded him of one he'd left with his father before he went off to fight in North Africa more than five years ago. But that would be too much of a coincidence. He shook his head at his folly. The poor thing probably smelt the pie he had had for lunch. Mystery solved.

'It is quite all right. No harm done,' he said. 'I like dogs, in particular greyhounds. I used to have one as a pet when I was a boy. Have you had Bato since a puppy?'

Julia gave a wistful smile and her shoulders tensed. The blackbird look was back.

'He belonged to my ex-husband, but Bato tired of my ex's uncertain temper, decided he was my dog and took to defending me against my ex. When I left, he came with me. Except when I am at the baths, he is rarely more than a few feet from me.'

Her words held a wealth of hidden agony. It was no wonder she looked poised for flight, Valen thought.

'A wise dog.' He lifted one eyebrow and watched her cheeks stain with colour. A small laugh escaped her lips.

He regarded Julia with the practised eye of someone whose life depended on reading other people correctly.

The muscles had relaxed and she held her shoulders less defensively. He followed the line of her softly caught-up hair to where the curl brushed her neck. Her lips curved into a soft smile, rather than the rigid expression she had had when she had first appeared in the doorway, but her eyes were wary.

One or two more nuggets of carefully controlled conversation, and she should be at her ease. After that he'd introduce why he was here. He hoped she actually knew how to read.

He gave Bato one last pat. 'A very wise dog to stay so close to your mistress.'

Julia tilted her head to one side, and stared at him, trying to assess the situation. She had to find out why he was here. It had to be more than the flask she held in her palm. They could not stand here making polite conversation about Bato all day.

His blue cloak billowed slightly and she could see his massive chest, barely contained in the white woollen tunic. The damp had made his dark hair curl at his temples. Her eyes travelled up to his face and met his dark brown eyes. The gaze held for a breath before she dropped her glance and examined the flask in her hand.

He looked as if he were free from furies and demons, but appearances could be deceptive. She had thought Lucius was kind and considerate until they married and she had had to witness his rages.

She played with the lid to the flask, twisting it back and forth, as she waited for him to state his reason for being here. Silence. She peeped again at his shoulders, and thought of the strength that must be in those arms, the way he could slay men with a single slice of a sword.

A shiver ran down her back. Perhaps she ought not to have come out. She should have let Clodius handle it. It was his job, after all, to vet callers. But Clodius had disappeared, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

She took a step backwards towards the safety of the house and winced as pain shot through her bad ankle.

'I forgot to ask—how is your ankle?' he said, putting his hand on her elbow and steadying her.

Sensation darted up her arm, making her heart pound faster. Her breath came in short gasps, as if she had just finished an arduous exercise session at the baths.

'My ankle?' Julia swallowed hard, warmth spread like a fire from his hand infusing her body with its sweet languor. He wasn't supposed to ask about her ankle. He had returned her flask. He was supposed to make his excuses and leave. 'It is getting better. I rested it this afternoon.'

'Have you had someone look at it? It might need treatment. I can arrange for—'

'There is no need—' Julia broke in.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sabina advancing, her stiff curls shaking with rage. Julia pressed her lips together and shook her head. If she needed reinforcements, she'd call for them.

'But it is no bother,' he pressed. 'Proper medical treatment can make a world of difference. Too often in my line of work I've seen men die, because they trusted the soothsayer or augur rather than the surgeon. Thankfully, the gladiator school I belong to employs a medical team to oversee all aspects of training. I'll ask my surgeon to have a look at it for you. He's an expert on breaks.'

Julia rubbed the back of her neck. Dismissing him was proving far harder than she had anticipated. Her heart kept whispering to her to prolong the encounter, to enjoy feeling that someone might be interested in her welfare. But was it worth risking her father's wrath?

The beginnings of a headache pounded between her eyebrows. She shook her head and refused to let confusion take hold of her tongue. She had to get rid of the man, no matter how much her heart wanted him to stay.

"Thank you for the offer but I would hate to think I put you to any trouble.'