‘I do love Horace,’ Claudius Super declared. ‘Quite my favourite of the great poets.’ The generous condescension in his voice suggested that composing verses was something he could do in his sleep.

‘I am fonder of Virgil,’ Aelius Brocchus said. ‘And I should be loyal to Martial of course, if we include more modern singers of songs.’ Crispinus smiled in understanding.

‘Oh, because he is from Iberia, like you,’ Claudius Super said after a moment, obviously pleased with his deduction. The man was flushed, making Ferox wonder whether he had begun drinking before he had arrived. For himself it had been a long while since the vintage mattered. Drink was something to provide occasional oblivion, and strength had come to matter more than taste. Tonight, he drank slowly and made sure that each cup held far more water than wine. His knowledge of literature was modest, not because he disliked reading but because books were expensive and bulky, very hard to obtain in this part of the world and even harder for a man to carry around. He let the conversation flow around him and said nothing. Even he could sense that Claudius Super was not well read, but believed that he was. Cerialis’ knowledge tended towards famous passages, almost as if he had studied to masquerade as an educated man.

Ferox had half forgotten how much he hated reclining to eat. In spite of his schooling in Gaul, the spell in Rome after that and the formal dinners in the army since then, it did not seem natural. A man should sit at the table – something Romans only did as a sign of deliberate denial of comfort. He felt far more at home visiting the houses of local chieftains, sitting on stools or cross-legged around a fire, or eating alone in his quarters at Syracuse, without fuss or making a great pantomime of it all.

A slave girl with long brown hair offered him fish stew. She was a pretty girl, as were all the female slaves serving them, neat and tidy in simple buff-coloured dresses and slippers. He smiled in thanks, but declined.

‘It is good,’ Aelius Brocchus said encouragingly, spooning up the contents of his own dish with evident pleasure. Ferox saw a bowl filled with oysters being carried in and felt his usual revulsion at the sight of this delicacy.

‘I am not fond of food from river or sea,’ he said, for the man’s goodwill was genuine. ‘My people believe it is bad for the soul.’

Sulpicia Lepidina chuckled gently, mistaking his words for a pun, but the sound was covered by a guffaw of laughter from Claudius Super. No one joined in – not even Fortunata who giggled whenever she thought that a joke had been told – and he fell into embarrassed silence.