‘I thought a lot of Titus Annius,’ she said, and one hand fingered the torn linen. Ferox guessed that this must be the way her people mourned. He had never been quite sure where Flora came from. She had olive skin, dark eyes and long thick hair – these days dyed a bright henna red. No doubt there were many stories from her rise from slave to prosperous businesswoman, but she hardly ever spoke of her past and he did not pry. Crispinus talked a lot about trust, and that was something Ferox did not give readily. Yet he trusted this little whore mistress and she had always been fair with him.

‘Here is the contract.’ She held out the sheet of thin wood, its surface carefully rubbed with beeswax so that the ink would not spread. ‘You have the money?’ For the moment she was all business.

Ferox took a bag from his pouch and poured the contents on to the table. ‘Sixty denarii, including the tax.’ The coins were the pooled resources of the men stationed at Syracuse. Every year or so they put together the cost of hiring a girl for a month. Ever since he returned, their spokesman, the Thracian, had pressed for him to arrange matters with Flora.

‘You will see their entitlements laid out in order. I’m letting you have Procla. She – and only she – will keep the tally and charge whatever is necessary.’ The initial lease would only cover so much, and once that allowance had gone the soldiers would have to pay each time just like any other customers.

‘She can come up next week when the cart brings our supplies.’

‘Good.’ Flora turned to the slave. ‘Wine.’ She looked questioningly at Ferox.

‘Thank you, but plenty of water.’

Flora nodded as the slave left on his errand. ‘Good. Glad to see that you are being sensible. Sometimes I worry about you.’

‘I’ll get by.’

She smiled, the creases around her eyes and mouth becoming deeper. ‘You have so far. Are you stopping for a while or just here on business?’ A burst of singing came from above them. The ceiling was made from thick beams, and normally kept out any noise from above, but a group of merry Tungrians were bawling out an obscene song about a centurion and an army mule. ‘That’s an old one,’ she continued. ‘It’s not a peaceful night, but I’ve kept the twins out of it, and young Cytheris.’

The twins, two women unrelated and utterly different in appearance, but of equally great skill in their trade, were the most expensive girls at the place. Cytheris was fairly new, not yet up to such a robust evening.

‘Thank you for the offer, but I shall say no.’

‘It will not cost, you know that. Not with everything I owe you.’

Ferox shook his head. ‘You’ve long since paid me back.’