All in all, Philo was pleased so far, while remaining intensely nervous. He watched every step taken by the girls as they carried the pies to the table, his mind racing with nightmares of someone slipping and dropping their precious cargoes. Thankfully, they arrived safely, were placed without fuss, but in the most convenient places, and then their carriers gave the slightest bow and retired.

Hadrian was in mid flow, speaking of the genius of poets and slipping easily between Latin and Greek and back again as he quoted. Now and again the ladies said a line or two, and Philo noted that Claudia Enica tended to get the words slightly wrong, no doubt deliberately for this permitted the legatus to correct her. This was always done with good humour and better manners – or almost always. Piso tried to take the lady’s side more than once, saying that her change was an improvement. The others said little, and if Philo had not been so occupied he would dearly have loved to listen to the legatus, for he seemed a man of immense learning and considerable insight. He was also obviously fond of all things Greek, unlike so many Roman lords who privately were Hellenes, but paraded in public a boorish disdain.

The conversation seemed to be nearing a natural break, for they had moved on to descriptions of food, with Sulpicia Lepidina saying that at last they were eating their tables, which Philo remembered as an allusion to Virgil, when Privatus came to his side and whispered a message.

Philo sighed, but orders were orders and he did not feel that he could ignore them. Privatus waved a questioning hand, indicating that he was willing to do the fell deed, but Philo stilled him.

He tapped his staff – another item borrowed for the night – on the flagstone floor. ‘Noble lords and great ladies,’ he said. ‘Please beg my pardon for interrupting.’

‘Not at all, Philo,’ Hadrian said. ‘Do go on.’ There were not many senior officers – or junior for that matter – who would have learned his name and used it, and Philo was impressed.

‘I am pleased to announce that Flavius Ferox, praepositus of the numerus Brittanorum and curator of the praesidium has returned. He apologises profusely for his absence on duty at the time of your arrival and thus for his inability to greet you in a fitting manner.’ Ferox had never apologised profusely for anything in his entire life, but Philo was not about to let the truth get in the way of fitting words.

‘He also apologises for the limitations imposed on his hospitality in this desolate outpost, but hopes that the humble hospitality his household was able to offer such distinguished guests did at least do a little to refresh them after the rigours of their journey.’ Philo considered this to contain the essence of his master’s ‘I bet the mongrels are complaining.’

‘It has indeed, dear Philo,’ Sulpicia Lepidina replied.