Lupus felt sick: very sick. It was as if all the blood had flowed out of his veins. Every part of his body hurt as his muscles convulsed, tightening and tensing uncontrollably. He looked around, trying to work out where he might be. The walls were a curious mixture of plastered brick and the kind of wattle fencing that he had seen around some of the hovels in which the poorer Britons lived. In a few places where the plaster had not fallen away it was still possible to see the decorations – a headless nymph still played with an evil-looking satyr. A nude goddess was about to shoot an arrow into nothingness. A naked woman; that made Lupus think of Aureliana. Well, at least if he were going to die, he would not now die a virgin. Despite his predicament, he could not help but smile at this thought