‘I fear so, my lord. And the sentry wounded at the gate says that they were attacked from behind. Some men in uniform approached them. They were not men he knew, but he did think one was from the cohort. Then half a dozen men in trousers and tunics sprang out from the shadows. He heard them speak and thought that they were Brigantes.’ There was a murmur at that. ‘Britons at the very least.’

‘My lord! My lord!’ The shout came from the courtyard. Other voices answered in anger, but the man persisted. ‘My lord! I must speak with you.’

Cerialis gestured to one of the soldiers. ‘Bring him in.’

It was Privatus, the head of his household, and for once he did not display his habitual calm assurance. He ran past the soldiers and crouched beside his master, whispering in his ear.

‘She is not an early riser.’ Cerialis frowned as he spoke. The chamberlain whispered again, and although he spoke louder and with more force Ferox could not catch the words.

‘I did not see her last night,’ the prefect said, his face scanning the men around him in case they could offer an explanation. ‘She can drink a lot. Probably sleeping it off.’

‘She has gone, master. The Lady Fortunata is nowhere to be found.’ Privatus must have decided that he needed to speak out loud if the message was to get through. ‘You should see the room. Her slave is dead.’

‘We’re humped,’ Vindex muttered under his breath, but Ferox was more concerned when the prefect turned towards him.

‘I would be glad of your company, centurion.’

Cerialis said little as they went to his house, and only once was there real emotion in his voice. ‘Do you know they slaughtered three of my dogs? Chopped ‘em up. Bastards.’

Privatus led them through the entrance to the left wing of the house, where the rooms were better decorated and furnished. The wife of Vegetus had been given a room on the ground floor, away from the family. Sulpicia Lepidina waited by the door, wearing a spotless dress in the pale blue she favoured. The corridor was in shadow for the sun had not yet risen high enough to reach into the courtyard alongside it, and yet she glowed. Long ago Ferox had served with another centurion who was devoted to Isis and the man had spoken of the goddess appearing in visions, a perfect statue of ivory and gold, and for the first time he understood something of the man’s ecstatic description. Seeing such splendour was thrilling and terrifying at once. Mixing with gods rarely ended well for a mere mortal.

‘My lord,’ she said to her husband.

‘My lady,’ he replied, inclining his head. ‘It is good to see you safe.’ He pecked her on the cheek with no great suggestion of warmth.