Sulpicia Lepidina began to sing, the words in Greek. Ferox did not have much call for the language these days, and it took him a while to understand that she sang of love, passion and loss. It was from Sappho, set to music, and her voice was deeper than that of many women, powerful and resonant so that the room filled with the song and with music. Claudia Severa wept, her husband touching her cheek fondly. Fortunata began to move closer to him again, so he stood up, wandering a few paces away to listen with more concentration. After a few minutes, the Tribune Crispinus joined him.

When the song ended there was silence for a long while before they all applauded – Claudius Super with violent force, and Fortunata with surprising enthusiasm. Ferox wondered whether she had been an entertainer and listened with the educated ear of a professional.

The next song Sulpicia Lepidina sang was an ancient folk song from Achaea. Ferox recognised the tune, but not the words, which told the story of a shepherd boy and a nymph. After that the lady turned to Latin, and sang verses by Horace and Ovid, the last a frivolous tale. Her voice had grown richer.

‘I have rarely heard better,’ Crispinus said quietly as Sulpicia Lepidina paused and took a drink. ‘She is a truly remarkable woman.’

‘“Abundantly favoured by fortune,”’ Ferox quoted from distant memory, ‘“well read in Greek and Latin literature, able to sing and play the lyre more skilfully than an honest woman need…” At least I think that is it, and I mean no offence.’

Crispinus smiled. ‘Sallust always took a jaundiced view, though our hostess might have softened even his cold heart and won true praise. Although if I recall the lady in question danced rather than sang. Like that one, I suspect.’ He spoke quietly and gave a nod and smile towards Fortunata, whose elaborate hair remained in order.

‘Conversation in the audience is not considered a compliment,’ Sulpicia Lepidina told them, one eyebrow arched in mock disapproval. ‘Now perhaps something fitting for this place and this land.’

The tune was very familiar, but Ferox was paying no attention and watching her fingers as they moved and plucked the strings of the lyre. Someone gasped in surprise when the lady began to sing, but he was intent on her playing. It was one of many regrets that he had not learned an instrument.

To his amazement he realised that she sang not in Latin or Greek, but in the Celtic tongue of the Gauls and Britons, and the tune was a favourite of Vindex.

‘And the Hound caught sight of the girl’s full breasts over the top of her dress,’ the lady sang, and he realised that she was watching him. ‘“I see a sweet country,” he said, “I could rest my weapon there.”’