‘You will not.’ Sara shook her head. ‘Family can be a burden, can they not? Do you have family, Domitius from Berytus? Perhaps you let them call you Caius? Do they hit each other a good deal? That must get so tiring, but then if they are men or fools – and do not those words mean the same thing – it must be necessary for their own good. Now, sit up, Caius Domitius, for you are not as weak as all that.’

Domitius was not convinced, but forced himself up on his elbows, and Sara pushed cushions behind him to keep him upright. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen – his age, or perhaps a little older – and even in his weakened state it was a thrill simply to be near her. In contrast the room was bare neither large nor well maintained. There was a small window, high up on what must have been an outside wall. There was a band of deep red where the walls met the ceiling and the rest was thinly whitewashed plaster. Apart from the bed, there were boxes piled up in one corner and a single chair occupied by a wiry old man whose white beard reached almost to his lap.

‘There,’ Sara said, fiddling with the cushions, which were soft and out of keeping with the otherwise plain room. ‘Now sit up properly.’ The tone was irresistible and Domitius did as he was told. ‘You are going to eat, and in a moment I shall see to that and also fetch Father so that he can decide what to do with you.’

‘I’ve told you, give me another spade, child, and it will all be over.’

Sara ignored her grandfather. ‘First there is something I must do.’ She stood up, patted at her dress even though it did not appear at all out of place, and bowed again. ‘I wish to thank you, Caius Domitius of Berytus, for saving my virtue and for saving me from slavery or death.’ The words were nervous and her forehead creased in concentration as she tried to remember what she must have rehearsed in her head. ‘Whatever led your path to us that night, I can see only the hand of God, and I pray to Him, and show my gratitude to you.’

Domitius had wondered whether the screaming woman and the fight with the slaver had only been a dream. Yet his left shoulder still felt sore, and seeing the earnestness in the woman’s face he knew that it had been real. He felt his chin, and was surprised to find that someone had shaved him.

‘It is I who must thank you all,’ Domitius said. ‘I do not know how long I have been here, but know that I have been ill and surely would have died without your care.’

‘No,’ Sara snapped. ‘That was our duty. You had none to us. You are a stranger and a Gentile. So please accept my thanks.’