‘I am too old for hate. I don’t like Rome or its emperors, but some are worse than others and living here, at least I do not have to follow their rules.’

‘What about your journey to Antioch?’

‘Ah, the soldier senses a weak spot! Hah! Well, that was no great burden. It is good to travel. I cannot follow young Simon on his travels.’ This was Sara’s brother, who had gone away far to the east three years ago and might return with the spring or perhaps next spring. ‘For that at least, my body is too weak, but a journey now and again, gives life and pleasure for all its discomforts. I wanted to see the sea again.’

‘Were you ever a sailor?’ Domitius asked, suddenly wondering whether here was another similarity with Pausanias.

‘Hah! I hate boats, but as children we lived sometimes in Jaffa and I love to look at the sea in all its moods. That seems longer than a lifetime away, in the days when the Temple stood in all its glory. I saw it burn as well, years later, but since I had seen men fight and bleed out their lives on its walls and in its precincts, by then it did not seem the same. Yet my grandchildren have never seen a sacrifice performed, or the smoke from the altars.’ They were passing a temple to Dionysius, and by chance a bull was being killed in front of it. John shrugged as Domitius watched them. ‘All right, all right, I mean a proper sacrifice to the true God whose words you misunderstand. Well, you are a Gentile, so what do you know? And no, I am not in the mood to debate the true meaning of the Torah and the prophets with you yet again. Instead I want to talk of war, and tell the stories that are still satisfying or still funny after all this time. You may not have seen battle, but as a soldier you will understand more than anyone at home. So, you will listen and learn…’

‘Yes, sir!’ Domitius stood to attention.

The days passed with walks, a lot of talk, and visits to the workshop, where he marvelled at Simon’s ability to carve intricate details on tiny gems, not least because he had to do everything in reverse, so that they would mark a seal clearly. His attempts to copy were more destructive than useful, so instead he helped clean and sharpen the tools, and let Simon and the workmen he employed concentrate on their craft.

He saw little of Sara. Once he was well, they had moved him from the room high up in the main house to another above the small stables on the far side of the courtyard. There was a pervading scent of donkey sweat, hay and manure, but that was true of plenty of army bases so oddly familiar. Meals were brought to him by one of the servants, and while sometimes John would come to sit and talk, the others did not. Once or twice he had helped carry bales to and from the family’s other workshop, where Sara and a dozen women re-wove and dyed silk, but his offers to help more there had been met by a contemptuous snort.