‘You didn’t hear what this one said.’ His companion took a swig of wine. ‘Don’t feel too bad for him. He’s a wealthy man – a hell of a lot wealthier than if he’d stayed in the navy. Any sailor with an evening to kill comes in here. A few of us soldiers too.’ In his short time in the city, Einar had learned to appreciate the distinction.

‘So if I tell him his wine tastes like pig piss he won’t have too much to say on the matter?’

‘Not much,’ the soldier chuckled. ‘Then again his wine’s cheap and there’s plenty of it. That’s all most in here want.’ The owner himself seemed entirely indifferent as to the quality of his wine.

‘And the women?’

‘What about them?’

‘Well, I take it these aren’t your comrades’ wives.’

‘Hah! I hope not. A few whores. Some actors. Like that one.’ He pointed out a woman with light brown curls falling over startling green eyes who had more admirers fawning over her than the others. ‘She can fill the Hippodrome, that one.’

‘What’s an actor? Or the Hippodrome, for that matter?’ He vaguely remembered something about horses.

‘You’re a foreigner here I take it.’

‘Oh, you could tell?’ Einar sculled back his wine.

‘Well, you’re in the right place. This is a city of foreigners.’ He swept his cup around the room. ‘Thrace, Cilicia, Italia, Greece, Macedonia, Illyria, Bithynia. . . Everyone comes from anywhere but here.’

‘Yet here we all are.’

‘Aye.’ The man tapped the rim of Einar’s cup and drank. ‘Go on then. Where are you from?’

‘Which way’s north?’

The man raised a hairy knuckle.

‘Well, head that way a few thousand miles and you’ll be getting close. And you? Just another foreigner?’

‘Armenia.’

‘Never heard of it.’ Einar found his attention momentarily distracted by the green-eyed girl whose gaze kept darting over a bare shoulder at him.

‘You will. We’re the best fighters in the empire. Maybe the whole world.’

‘I know a few back home would dispute that.’ Einar took another sip, this time holding the woman’s glance over the rim of his cup.

His drinking companion noticed this and uttered a knowing chuckle. ‘You like actors, huh?’

‘Hey?’

The Armenian grinned and turned to the room. ‘Hey, Orlana – you’ve got an admirer over here! How about one of your acts, eh?’ The deep boom of his voice carried over the tavern hubbub. The woman turned, slow and supple as a cat. ‘And which act d’you have in mind, darling?’ Her voice was like liquid honey.

‘The Empress, of course!’ the Armenian roared. The crowd liked the suggestion and the little tavern was soon filled with bellows of ‘Aye – the Empress! Show us the Empress!’