They were moving her to the cells beneath in the morning. Una rose suddenly from the bed and marched to the door as if she expected to find it open, went back to the bed and sat with her arms wrapped round herself again. She had not pulled back the blankets, or closed her eyes: she didn’t want to sleep. The lights had been turned out hours ago. The blackness was tight around her. ‘Marcus,’ she said aloud. How long had it taken him to die? Twenty minutes, half an hour. Probably it would be no longer for her, whatever Drusus had said. It would feel longer than it really was, but still it was a very little time out of a whole life, or even a life that wasn’t whole. If Marcus had undergone that, she could too. ‘Marcus. Marcus,’ she said again, but barely even whispering now, mouthing the words into her hands, her fingers cupping her warm breath against her face. ‘I’m nearly there. I won’t be long now.’ She waited in the dark. ‘Come and meet me. Please, if you can, if it’s possible, come now.
