‘That’s Artemis Eileithyia,’ Ferox explained, reading the inscription at the base of a statue of a goddess holding an infant in her arms, outside one of the larger temples, and seeing Vindex’s interest. ‘And no, it’s not,’ he added. Vindex and Bran’s faces both fell in disappointment. Ferox knew that Artemis was not always the virgin huntress of the old poems, but had no idea of the stories associated with this cult, other than the obvious connection with birth and children. Philo might have known, but it would not do for his rough Galatian bodyguards to be heard discussing religion with their employer.

By now they were near the marketplace, a great square of open space – or at least what would have been open space were it not for the little shops set up in rows, each with a canopy against the sun, and each with its goods spilling over an ever wider area. That was not supposed to happen, but always did, and the stall owners carried the risk; anything broken by a passer-by was their loss, counted as an accident and with no chance of recompense through the courts. The buildings around the square were bigger, grander than those nearer the gate, let alone the ones on the side streets. Better yet, there was no sewer, or at least none visible, only a few drains to help carry off the rainwater. Ferox suspected that it would flood whenever a storm came, which meant that these did not come so often to persuade the citizens to do more to deal with them.

They found the clerk, even saw the Agoranomos himself, a sleek young aristocrat who gave every impression of being bored by his duties. Still, Philo, accompanied by Ferox while the others waited, was given a spot to set up his stall. That was a tribute to his apparent status, and his generous gifts to the clerk and the magistrate. Most visitors would be pointed in a rough direction and left to their own devices. Inevitably, others had started to occupy the spot allotted to Philo, but by the combination of Agoranomos’ name and the burly presence of the Brigantes, these moved on, albeit after a good deal of shouting on both sides. Once they had unloaded the waggon, the driver drove off, accompanied by another of the Brigantes leading all their horses. Slaves appeared, sweeping up the manure left by these and the other animals, letting other odours take over. When they were ready to trade, another clerk appeared to test their scales and weights. Philo had none, given his business, so instead the man tasted a sample of their wine to ensure that it was safe, and after briefly and half-heartedly assuring them that no further generosity was necessary, departed with his attendant carrying a small amphora. All in all, it was much like any market anywhere within the empire.

Ferox did his best to lounge and loaf with Vindex, Bran and the other warrior, snarling at anyone who became too curious, unless they were a woman and young in which case they flirted and winked at them. Philo gave every sign of enjoying himself, as did Indike, and they both haggled with great enthusiasm. By chance, or perhaps the hints to the clerks, no doubt rewarded by gifts from the recipients, the two merchants named by the sentry at the gate came to call. Nicocles came first, tasted some expensive Falernian, talked volubly about engraving and the properties of different gems, took some more of the wine, spoke of silks and spices as if these were wonders new to his audience, drank another cup, and finally left, having invited Philo to the stall, apologising that he would not be present, but assuring him that his every need could be catered for.