Claudius walked forward, his gait uneven but his command now obvious. ‘Another warrior woman. You were right about their temperament, Narcissus. But this one seems rather more presentable, under all that dirt, than the muscular hags you paraded before me today. That rather attractive strawberry hair ...’

Narcissus, breathing hard, a knife at his neck, seemed to be trying to regain command of himself. ‘I apologise for my poor taste, Emperor.’

Vespasian growled, ‘Sir, we must end this.’

‘Now, legate, have patience. I would rather enjoy seeing how this little drama plays out. Quite a cast - a hairy savage, a beautiful girl, and a weakling boy who, from the moon-eyed glances he throws, is more in love than fearful.’

Agrippina hissed, her anger overcoming her fear, ‘I understand every word you say, Roman.’

‘Yes, you spoke Latin, didn’t you?’ Claudius peered at her, his small face creased with curiosity. ‘But accented. Are you Gallic?’

‘I am Brigantian.’

‘I don’t know what a Brigantian is.’

‘An as yet undomesticated strain of British,’ Narcissus said tightly.

‘I was educated in Gaul,’ Agrippina said.

‘Then you must know who I am.’

‘You are Claudius.’

He smiled. ‘Tiberius Claudius Nero Germanicus, to be precise.’

Germanicus. Named with a German name ... The recognition shocked her, and her blade at Narcissus’s throat faltered. Vespasian saw this; his eyes were hard, waiting for an opportunity to move against her. She summoned her concentration. ‘My name is Agrippina.’

Claudius clapped his hands. ‘A good Roman name! Your parents had sound instincts, even if you don’t share them. How ironic, then, that the logic of your life should lead you to this point.’ He turned to Cunedda. ‘And you?’

‘I am Cunedda.’ Despite his uncertain Latin he spoke firmly, and Agrippina was proud of him.

Nectovelin growled in his native Brigantian, ‘What are they saying, ‘Pina?’

With interest Claudius turned to him. ‘Ah, your attack dog speaks too! But this hairy fellow has no Latin, I should imagine. Not very friendly, is he?’

Vespasian growled, ‘Emperor—’

‘Oh, don’t fuss, Vespasian. You,’ he snapped at Cunedda. ‘Speak to your comrade in his own guttural tongue, if you know it, and relate his words to me.’ Claudius turned back to Agrippina. ‘So you are here to kill an emperor.’

‘That was our plan.’

Nectovelin said darkly, translated by Cunedda, ‘And I swear by Coventina’s ravaged arsehole that if I get the chance I will do it, little man.’

Claudius nodded, as if this was quite matter-of fact. ‘Of course you will. And who sent you?’

‘You have invaded the island. Every Briton, from the Brigantians to the Atrebates, is your enemy.’