‘The king’s only wish is to rule here, far from your province. He does not seek to challenge, but neither can he be seen as a suppliant.’ Galla – or Tincommius if the words were solely his – understood a good deal about Roman diplomacy. ‘There can be no surrender or subservience. What he wants…’ She lost her thread for the moment and Ferox kissed her again on the forehead, on the neck and then on the lips. Their mouths parted and tongues met, until she pushed him away.

‘This is important,’ she said breathily. ‘It must appear as a friendship between great chieftains. Gifts would help.’

‘What sort?’

‘Gifts fit for a high king. Silver is good, weapons even better. He must be strong if he is to be a useful friend to you. There will be much to gain for you.’

‘“And your friendly thighs,”’ he joked, quoting an old poem about a queen promising everything if a warrior would swear loyalty to her, with her own virtue as well as her daughter in marriage.

Galla shook her head. ‘I am the king’s.’

‘His queen?’

‘We are not man and wife, but he is my love and I am his. I cannot be queen, but he has several of those and none matter beyond the alliance they bring with their father or brother. He needs me and I guide him.’

‘You are not from these shores?’ Ferox was curious about this tall, slim woman.

‘My people come from far away, across the Grey Sea. There was a war, and my father lost it to another man who stole his throne. My brothers saved me and led our loyal folk away. We were chased and at last took to boats. There were twelve when we rowed away from the shore. Five only reached this land. I saw three of the others sink, the heads vanishing in an instant under the rolling waves. One brother died, and only Gannascus was left to lead.’ Ferox realised why her manner of speech was familiar, for it was a softer, more fluent echo of the big German. ‘Although I was young he needed my help – he is not a thinker, but he is a brave and good man.