‘You look like you could use a clean too,’ she said, feeling a bit of his sleeve and grimacing. ‘Go on. It’s all right.’ She smiled, looking older than usual, and almost maternal in her fondness.

He began to sweat as soon as he stepped into the room, for even though the bath was not heated to a raging temperature there was steam in the air that for a moment masked the erotic paintings on the walls and ceiling. Ferox blinked, heard the gentle sound of water being stirred and then a voice that was softer still.

‘This is a strange night.’

Sulpicia Lepidina, clarissima femina, daughter of a consul and wife of the garrison commander, was floating on her back, now and then using her arms to push herself through the water. Its surface flickered in the light of many lamps supported on pedestals or bronze holders fitted to the wall. Her skin was pale, her limbs long and slim and her only covering was a red band around her breasts and a matching covering for her loins, the triangular material tied up with a thong on each hip. Once, during the months he was in Rome, Ferox had gone with some others down to Neapolis and the sea, and had seen the women dressed in the same way at the beach. It still baffled him that the Romans had devised a way to cover a woman’s modesty and yet somehow make her seem almost more naked than when she was naked.

‘You look as if you need a bath,’ she said, and there was no hint of reproof or hostility in her voice. He was already fumbling with the left shoulder fastening of his mail cuirass. ‘Did I tell you my family have estates near Bergomum? The country folk there have been Roman for centuries, but part of their hearts remain Cenomani. They celebrate Samhain, and when we were little we used to sneak out and watch. One of my nurses told me of how on this one night the dead walk among us and all the power of life and the world cannot prevent them, or hold sway with its laws and rules.’

Sulpicia Lepidina turned over and swam to the far side of the bath. Her skin was smooth, utterly perfect and looked very pale. ‘A night without rules and laws,’ she said, sitting on the shelf that acted as a step, and stretching her long arms out along the lip of the bath. ‘A night like no other.’

Ferox knew that one of the murals showed Pan charging out from some trees to chase naked nymphs and faced with such loveliness he felt as clumsy and ugly as the goat-legged and horned god. His armour seemed even more awkward than usual; his hands fumbled with the straps, but finally he dragged it off over his head and began to work on the quilted jacket underneath.