Hadrian guessed that Lepidina was in her thirties, yet her pale skin was flawless, her hair thick and golden, tied back in a simple bun. She was a beautiful woman, a rare intelligence in her eyes, her pale blue dress, like her hairstyle and modest jewellery, in contrast to the opulence of many fashionable ladies and far more elegant. He liked her, wondered whether she might be interesting company, and regretted that she was not even better connected for he suspected that she might have a formidable instinct for politics. That was a guess, for the lady was also reserved and he had not yet had the time to see whether this could be broken down. If she were ten years older he was sure that he could soon make her laugh enough for the walls to drop and for her to take him into her confidence.

There was a little shriek as the rowers drove the boat against the current and the prow dipped, sending a spray of water over the ladies and the tribune escorting them. The cry was from the second lady, the younger one, Claudia Enica. She was laughing, flirting with the tribune and soon she was talking again, as she had jabbered away from the start. Claudia was green eyed, her flaming red hair rolled and piled high in a style more suited for a dinner than a boat trip. A number of red strands had worked loose of the pins and blew around her. She was younger than Lepidina, perhaps twenty-five, with an expensive green silk dress, almost too much make-up and almost too much jewellery that almost took away her own beauty.

Hadrian was beginning to think that Claudia was not quite what she seemed, and was no longer so ready to dismiss her as an empty headed nobody. She was an equestrian, a third-generation citizen, from the royal family of the biggest tribe in Britannia, claiming to be their queen, although not formally recognised, at least so far. There were plenty of would-be kings and queens throughout the empire, most of little account except locally. The red hair was a distraction, contrasting with the would-be fashionable Roman lady, and reminding the world that a barbarian lurked underneath. Hadrian could not help thinking that this was deliberate, for surely someone wanting to pose as fully Roman would have dyed it some unexceptional shade.

The tribune offered Claudia his cloak, apologising to Lepidina that he only had one. The redhead refused, very politely, as did the older lady when the embarrassed officer proffered the garment to her. So different in so many ways, the close bond between the two women was obvious, which in itself hinted that Claudia was play-acting the part of a frivolous young woman. There was something else, although Hadrian struggled to pin it down. Claudia moved well, almost like a dancer, and yet not like a dancer, and for all her good looks there was almost something boyish about her.