‘Yes, yes. Indeed I suppose I ought to say better than well. Did, um, I mean to say, were you also…?’ The young aristocrat trailed off. ‘I am not quite sure how to put this, but did women come to you while you were waiting?’

‘No,’ the centurion said. Vindex was sniggering. ‘But you are our leader and the guest of honour and hospitality in these parts demands certain courtesies.’

‘She just came in,’ he said in a tone of disbelief. ‘Smiled as if I was an old friend and undid the brooches on her shoulders so that her dress fell to the ground. Pretty thing, and without the falseness of your usual whore, but very direct. Walks over and starts…’ Again he seemed lost for words.

‘It is courtesy. And she will not be some tart, but one of the King’s household. A wife perhaps, or a daughter.’

‘His daughter?’ The aristocrat was shocked at the thought. ‘You cannot mean that. Who would send his own daughter to…’

‘Hump a stranger in welcome,’ Vindex suggested. ‘Begging your pardon, my lord, but you’re a lucky sod.’

They walked on in silence, and were soon near the hall.

‘Wish I’d known,’ Crispinus said wistfully. ‘I might have enjoyed it all the more.’

They entered to a great roar of noise, and Ferox was glad that he had gone in first because the shout of greeting made the tribune flinch in surprise. He hoped that no one noticed this as he raised his arms and bellowed in reply.

There were low tables forming a circle with the fireplace in the middle. There was one gap in the circle to allow the servants to come and go, and opposite it Tincommius sat on the carved chair. Men stood beside the table, arms lifted high in welcome. All were splendidly dressed in brightly coloured clothes, and most wore gold or silver torcs and bracelets and had jewelled brooches pinning their cloaks into place. Ferox guessed that they were chiefs and kings for behind them stood more plainly garbed warriors, resting long shields on the ground. These were men sworn to the high king, or ones he wished to win over, and it could not be coincidence that they gathered for this feast. Tincommius was showing his influence.

There were two gaps, and the bald-headed steward led them to the wider of the two. Crispinus took his place between them, with Ferox on his right and Vindex on his left. The big warrior who had beheaded the thieves glared at the centurion before moving to make room.

‘You should have attendants,’ the German rumbled in his guttural, thick-accented voice.

‘We have no need,’ Ferox replied and hoped that he was right. Batavians were fine soldiers, but apt to be aggressive, especially if drink was freely available, and he did not regret leaving them behind.