The big warrior boomed out something the centurion did not understand, and the dark-haired woman appeared, her white dress almost luminous in its brightness. She whispered to the high king who gave swift orders to three of the warriors standing in the shadows behind his chair. The men wore mail that glistened a dull red and had rich fur cloaks that must have been almost insufferably hot in this hall with its blazing fires. In silence they walked to stand behind the three Roman envoys, and in silence they stood there, faces wooden.

Crispinus glanced back and up at them, for they were all taller than him by a good six inches. ‘Are they here to guard us?’ he whispered. ‘Or worse?’

‘They’re here to carry us home when we can no longer walk,’ Vindex replied before Ferox had a chance.

The tribune laughed and then saw that he was serious. He looked at Ferox who nodded in confirmation.

‘Better,’ the German rumbled.

They waited for a short while, until the high king looked at the last remaining empty space at his table, his calm expression unchanged, and then beckoned with his arms for his guests to sit. Ferox and Vindex readily sat down cross-legged like the others. The tribune took a little longer, the act awkward for a man in a toga. As he spread his legs his tunic bunched up over his thighs.

‘Glad that table is in front otherwise this might not look too elegant for an envoy of Rome,’ he whispered.

Sitting next to Vindex was a lanky warrior who must have been fifty if he was a day, his long white hair hanging down on to his shoulders and his moustache bristly. From his speech he sounded a local man, and was affable enough, although he talked mainly to his neighbour on the other side. Most of the men wore tunics and trousers, the wool in a wide range of intricate tartan patterns. There were also several bare-legged wearing long tunics, a habit most common among the Hibernians, and Ferox wondered whether they had come from that island to the west.

They began with wine, Gallic by the taste of it, poured out unmixed and strong into cups placed in front of them.

Vindex glanced at Ferox, and Crispinus’ face was concerned. ‘Will you manage?’ he asked.

‘We shall see.’ Ferox nodded towards the far side of the ring of tables, not far from the king’s seat. ‘More surprised to see that one.’ Venutius, face still mottled with bruises, saw that they were looking at him and raised his cup affably. Behind him stood the young warrior Ferox had beaten and allowed to go.

‘He’s not hiding anything from us, is he?’ Crispinus whispered. ‘He’s letting us see his power and connections that include some of our allies.’