‘Do you believe in the soul?’ Crispinus asked. The young tribune spent more time listening that talking, but when he spoke tended to be direct. Everyone’s face turned to stare at Ferox, apart from Vegetus, who continued to eat. Fortunata frowned as she looked at him, her face barely a foot away.

‘Yes. When you see a dead man all you see is flesh and bone.’ He tried to shrug, a difficult thing to do in this posture, and made do with moving his head gently from side to side. ‘I must apologise to the ladies.’ He glanced at each in turn. ‘I had not meant to speak of such grim things, but it does explain my sense. Our bodies are no more than meat. The spirit, the spark, the life itself leaves at death. That is the soul and that is eternal.’

Crispinus was interested. ‘Yet can it be seen?’

‘It is the life and light in a man or woman,’ Ferox said, ‘how can it not be seen? Without it we are no more than statues.’ He was not comfortable talking about such things, so hoped to end their interest. ‘You wonder whether you can see it. Well, my people say that the rattle in a man’s throat as a blade takes his life is the soul leaving. At least you can hear it.’ He did not apologise this time, largely because Fortunata screwed up her face in obvious distaste. Another slave girl, this time with black hair and golden-brown skin, appeared, offering freshly baked white bread, so he took some.

Cerialis began to talk of philosophy and the different schools’ ideas of the nature of life and whether or not men had souls. Brocchus joined him, Crispinus added a little, Sulpicia Lepidina made a joke about Cynics, and the conversation moved on. When the slave girl served Vegetus the top of her dress sagged a little and the fat man leered. Fortunata noticed, and when she turned back to face the main couch she shifted so that her body was pressed up against Ferox. She did not appear to have much on under the silk dress.

Philosophy exercised their interest for some time, and Ferox was left to listen and try to guess how much of the food he was obliged to eat for courtesy’s sake, and whether this amount would still cause his stomach to burst. The others picked at things, taking a little from each dish and leaving more. He had never acquired the knack of eating so lightly. To him it was a waste, and with meat, good bread or broth he felt a man should devour it all. As a strategy it was not comfortable.

Only for a moment did the conversation require anything from him, when Crispinus asked about druids and their teachings.