‘Wife?’ The guard licked his lips. Sitting beside the Brigantian on the waggon was Indike, Philo’s true wife. Both of them were former slaves, but while he was a Jewish boy from Alexandria, she had been a dancer and entertainer and had been born in distant India, though sold as a child and eventually ending up in Londinium of all places. She was small, moved with a rare grace, and pretty, something obvious even through the gauzy veil that covered most of her face.

‘Bet he’s going to ask which one is the wife?’ Vindex muttered in Greek, playing his part. He knew little of the language so this had taken some coaching.

‘Hold your tongue!’ Philo snarled. ‘Any more insolence and you can forget your pay and I’ll leave you here on your own!’ He turned back to the guard and shrugged. ‘Galatians!’ he added, switching to Aramaic and was relieved when the sentry seemed to understand, as you never knew with all the local dialects. ‘They are a vulgar folk, but have their uses.’ Ferox had decided that they might just pass as Galatians, descendants of the Gallic warbands that raided and then settled in Asia centuries ago. A lot of them joined the army, and he had met a few lads who looked like they had been born and bred in Lugdunum or even southern Britannia for all the generations that had passed. It was at least a little more convincing than the idea of posing as Arabs.

‘Aye,’ the guard acknowledged. ‘Good slaves so I hear, at least as labourers.’ At least that was what Philo thought he said in his outlandish dialect. It was a relief when the man switched back to Greek. ‘Your business in Nicopolis?’

‘Selling wine and looking to buy gems,’ Philo said.

‘You’ll find the best here, sir. I’d try Simon the Jew or Nicocles, if I were you, sir. Thank you, sir.’ Philo already had a coin in his hand and was impressed how quickly the guard’s fingers closed around it while still supporting his spear. The man raised his voice. ‘Follow the rest through the right-hand gate.’ He nodded in that direction. ‘Up the Cardo, past the three temples, and the market is on your left in front of the theatre. You’ll find the clerk of the Agoranomos there and they’ll register you.’

‘Thank you.’ The press was already moving, most going to the right and the main way out. The guards were only stopping those carrying goods, and the rest, local mostly, wove in and out to get past. With effort, and more use of spear shafts, the group managed to keep together. Ferox paid little attention as he tried to commit as much as he could to memory, and only hit out once or twice at the most persistent.

Most cities, like army camps, had grand entrances to impress all who came through with the might and majesty of the place or the empire they represented. Whoever had designed the West Gate at Nicopolis had allowed for this, but had not ensured that the visitor, awed by the height of the towers, was then struck by the dead straight line of the cardo, colonnades on either side, as it led into the heart of the city. Instead, whoever it was had thought long and hard about how to slaughter anyone attempting to break into the city, for if they got through the main gate they found themselves in a semi-circular courtyard, formed by a wall as high as those on the outside. A single wide-topped tower stood on this wall, directly behind the gate towers so that it was invisible from outside. The only ways out of the trap were a small doorway on the left, and a single arched gate on the right. If both were barred, then any assault party would need ladders or a ram to have any chance of getting further. If the defenders still controlled the main gate and were able to block or close it behind them, then the result would be a massacre.