Aulus had knocked Quintus out with a strong dose of poppy juice, judging by a beaker I sniffed and by the patient’s smiling, unspeaking acceptance of everything that was happening. Quintus knew people were there. He had no idea who we were or what was up with him. Tomorrow would be soon enough – too soon – to grapple with his pain.

Six entirely silent children held hands in a row on the opposite side of the couch from where Aulus was perched. Children here were generally sheltered, but not excluded when they wanted to know what was going on in a crisis. They were a bright, pushy bunch.

Aulus looked up and nodded to us without speaking, since at that point he was suturing a cut on his brother’s elbow, the kind people get when they go down heavily on one arm. You had to know Aulus very well to understand how nervous he felt. Some of the little boys on guard beside their father were critically watching every move their uncle made. When he tied off the thread, he puffed out his cheeks, suddenly sweating.

‘He’ll live.’ Now he was calmer, bandaging with a slow rhythm. ‘No broken bones, just this cheese-grated skin, which was full of grit from the roadway. I hope his internal organs are intact. The worst is bruising. He’s already feeling that.’

‘Weapons?’ murmured Faustus, standing behind me.

‘No. Fists. And boots. But they must have been big buggers.’

I wondered what had happened to the bodyguards. I assumed they were similarly beaten. Faustus murmured to me that this looked different from the attack on Nicostratus. Was that bad or good?

I made soothing noises to reassure the children. They viewed me as a peculiar aunt, but my being from Britain explained most of it. A row of dark brown eyes stared back at me with the sketchiest politeness, then they concentrated again on their father. Their mother came in; Claudia hugged me, as if consoling other people helped her cope. A couple of the youngest children set up pathetic cries, wanting her attention.

‘Silence in the ranks!’ commanded Aulus, no lover of the young.

Although Claudia Rufina often seemed distracted, in emergencies she grimly took it upon herself to be the one person who stayed strong. While everyone else was weeping over a broken vase, Claudia would sweep up the shards and move the other antiques along the shelf so the gap was less noticeable. In any crisis, while disorganised Romans were colourfully panicking, Claudia Rufina came along, tutting under her breath, to show practical Baetican womanhood in action.