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.
‘They have gone now,’ Ferox explained. ‘The real ones at least. We’ – this was the Roman ‘we’, but they all instinctively understood – ‘have suppressed the cult. It used to be organised, the senior druids standing outside the tribes, schooled by twenty years of training. All that is long gone. Some claim to be druids now, but they are little more than magicians and medicine men wandering the lands. Only a few are dangerous.’
‘Here you go again.’ Claudius Super spoke louder than was necessary. ‘Our friend Ferox sees trouble and druids under every bed. They’re gone, as you say, and good riddance to the murderous bastards.’
Claudia Severa’s lips twitched in restrained disapproval, and Ferox noticed Lepidina glare at the man.
‘That sounds like business and this is not the time for that,’ Cerialis told them, before steering the conversation to less sensitive subjects, asking whether there were natural philosophers and if true learning had all begun in the East.
Ferox found it hard to listen, in part because he did not care, but mainly because Fortunata had begun to shift back and forth on the couch, rubbing her round bottom against him. It was difficult to ignore, and even if he found her foolish and vulgar, she was an attractive woman. His body began to respond in spite of his distaste for her. She moved slowly at first, but as time passed the rhythm little by little became faster. All the while she whispered in her husband’s ear, chiding him lightly when he eyed up another slave girl. Still she moved, the silk smooth, almost like a second skin, as her body slid up and down against his.
‘And what do you think about it, centurion?’ Sulpicia Lepidina asked and the room went silent as they turned to look him. Fortunata went still.
Ferox had not the remotest idea of what she meant. ‘I am not a learned man,’ he said, ‘so I would not dare to offer an opinion.’
‘Indeed,’ she said with a knowing expression. Beside her Crispinus looked amused.
‘Well, one learned man is our new consular,’ Vegetus put in, speaking with force for the first time in the dinner. He had the assurance of a man with private information, which he planned to make public. ‘Our Legatus Augusti, Lucius Neratius Marcellus, should arrive in the province before the year is out.’ The imperial freedman spoke with the satisfaction of a man who had just rolled Venus on the dice.
Britannia was one of the major military commands in the empire, given only to senior senators and former consuls to command as provincial legate. The last governor had fallen sick and died in office almost a year ago. Nerva had been too ill to choose a replacement, and it had taken months before his successor made the appointment. The new provincial legate did not appear to be in any hurry to get here.
‘Well, centurion, you must have an opinion on our new governor,’ Sulpicia Lepidina asked. ‘Or are you not sufficiently learned for that either?’
Fortunata began to rub against him once more, and Ferox did his best to ignore her. ‘I would not presume to judge a former consul and my commander.’ The other officers nodded in agreement, even Claudius Super joining in.
‘However, I will say this. It will be a good thing to have a governor again. Many in the tribes see us as weak, and who can blame them.’ He warmed quickly to his theme and shifted in his seat so that he knocked Fortunata. ‘I am sorry, lady,’ he lied as she was forced to move away from him a little.
‘They live in mud huts, and yet they see us as weak?’ Crispinus spoke, eyes fixed on him, looking very alert and not like a man who had been eating and drinking for hours.
‘Why should they not? Tomorrow the cohorts celebrate Mons Graupius. When Agricola was legate we overran all the lands to the far north. A few years later we abandon them and withdraw more than a hundred miles. In the last decade a legion and many auxiliaries have been posted away. Most of the units we have left here are short of recruits and scattered in detachments here, there and everywhere. The tribes do not see a great army any more, but they do see tax collectors. The last governor died, the one before that was summoned home in disgrace by Domitian and executed.’
‘We do not speak that man’s name here,’ Cerialis cut in. Ferox assumed he meant the Emperor Domitian, whose name had been formally damned by the Senate and chiselled off every monument in the empire. On the other hand he might have meant Lucullus, the legate killed for letting a new lance be named after him. ‘And while this is very interesting, my friend,’ he continued, ‘it is once again business and not suitable for this gathering. So since I believe we have finished, I shall tell the slaves to clear away. Then, may I beg my lady wife will play and sing for us?’
A modest refusal, persistence from the husband, supported by the growing pleas from Crispinus, Brocchus and Claudius Super – the last almost shouting and clearly half drunk – and once the things were cleared away a stool was brought and with it a small lyre.
‘I am not sure this has travelled well,’ the lady said, picking up the instrument, ‘and setting up house has not given me much time to practise. That is apart from such minor interruptions as barbarian attacks!’ They laughed, Claudius Super red-faced and loud.
After some tuning and plucking a few chords, Sulpicia Lepidina began to play. The room went quiet, not simply from courtesy but because she was well trained and gifted. The tune was soft and mournful. Claudia Severa’s eyes soon were glassy in the flickering lamplight.
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.