In Bed With Lord Byron

other side. Ovid waited until Adrasteia was engrossed in the games and then turned to me with a glint in his eye.
    ‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered.
    I looked into his eyes, trying to search his soul. I could hardly believe his cheek.
    ‘Oh really?’ I whispered into his ear. ‘And did you miss Tiryns too? And her baby? I know you’re the father.’
    ‘We’ll talk about this later,’ said Ovid, dropping his eyes.
    ‘We won’t,’ I hissed. ‘I want you to promise that you will treat her son as though he’s yours, and look after him and care for him and prevent him from being a
slave.’
    ‘Impossible,’ he whispered back fiercely. ‘You have no right to tell me what I should do! I am your master.’
    ‘I don’t care. You should take responsibility, and you’d bloody better, or . . . or . . .’ I searched wildly for a threat and came up with something pretty lame:
‘I’ll write that he’s your son all over the walls of Rome.’
    A wave of hysteria swept the crowd; they jumped up, cheering on their favourite gladiator. For a moment Ovid and I remained seated, locked in our private circle of shock. Then, carried by the
crowd, we stood up too, cheering weakly.
    We didn’t say anything at all for the next twenty minutes. I stared down into the amphitheatre unseeingly as two gladiators locked swords with ferocious clangs.
    It suddenly struck me that I was in exactly the right place to summon back the time machine.
    You could go back now,
I reminded myself.
You’ve done your best for Tiryns
. . .
    I saw it then, in an instant: a hover of gold, like the sweep of a bird’s wing.
    Then it was gone, and there was just sand and air again.
    Stay a little longer,
my conscience begged me.
Just try and see if you can win Ovid round. Your threat was foolish; see if you can charm him, be diplomatic
. . .
    I became aware that the crowd was dispersing. It was break time: no doubt they wanted to sweep up the bodies. Ovid turned to me before I could speak.
    ‘I have been invited to visit the Emperor’s box. Please accompany me and my wife as our slave.’
    There was steel in his eyes and his words. I felt uneasy, but I nodded. Once we had seen the Emperor, I would try to speak to Ovid again, and this time I would use my feminine wiles on him.
    The Emperor Augustus was seated on a throne. He smiled at Ovid with his mouth, but not his eyes. Ovid bowed slightly, nervous, eager to please. I suddenly felt a flash of
sympathy for him. In a year’s time the Emperor would exile him to the island of Tomis. Ovid blamed the exile on a ‘poem and an error’; whilst everyone knew that the poem was
Ars Amatoria,
nobody was sure of the fault.
    ‘Are you enjoying the games?’ the Emperor asked.
    ‘Oh yes.’
    ‘Almost the best we’ve ever been to.’
    ‘Not almost, Ovid. You mean the
best
.’
    Ovid and his wife competed with each other in the effusiveness of their praise. The Emperor Augustus smiled thinly, enjoying their bumbling more than their words. For a moment it was like a
twenty-first-century cocktail party, with a balding middle-aged man and his wife trying to please the boss in the hope of a good Christmas bonus.
    ‘And this is your new slave girl?’
    I jumped, for I thought I had remained unnoticed. But suddenly the Emperor’s eyes were on me.
    ‘Yes,’ said Ovid. ‘And no.’
    ‘Yes and no?’ said the Emperor. ‘Ovid, you are a man of poetics, I am a man of politics. Pray, give me an answer that is black and white.’
    ‘I found her on the street and she begged me for work, so I took pity on her and hired her as my slave. I have since discovered, however, that she ran away from Athens, for in the last
house she worked she stole all their jewellery and money.’
    I let out a shocked gasp. Adrasteia shook her head uncertainly.
    ‘And so, Great Augustus, my wife and I would be honoured if you could accept this girl as our gift – if she might participate in your games.’
    I shook my head wildly, as though trying to shake some words of protest from my numb mouth. Though I doubted words would have made any difference anyway. As far as the Emperor was concerned, I
was just a slave and a liar. Augustus gazed at me, and for a minute I thought there was hope, thought I saw pity in his eyes. I made the mistake of gazing back at him with a pleading look; his hard
heart was repelled and he looked away without interest.
    ‘Well,’ he concluded, ‘why not? She’ll certainly liven things up.