‘Oh shit.’ Since he had found his faith, Domitius had managed to hold back from swearing out loud. He had never been a great one for cursing, at least by army standards, but he had tried hard and only once or twice failed to keep this pledge to himself. He did not seem able to stop himself from thinking these things, which worried him as so many things worried him.

Ferox showed no sign of recognising him, but that meant nothing at all. Wild thoughts flashed through his head, that the centurion had tracked him down and meant to take him back for punishment or kill him. He realised that he was gripping the staff he carried as if he could break it with his hands, and that his teeth were clenched.

No one showed any sign of noticing anything he was doing. Simon was talking to this Demetrios of Alexandria, and from the snatches he heard they were agreeing a visit to inspect some gems. In turn Simon asked about the wines. The merchant went to an opened barrel and reached for a cup, until he stopped himself and smiled in apology. He spoke softly to the pretty woman who was his wife, and she produced an amphora.

‘I am the only one who has touched this,’ Demetrios said. By chance the noise around them had grown less, so that Domitius could hear. The merchant held a cup, and let his wife pour the wine into it. Simon took it, and Domitius realised that the merchant must also be Jewish. For all their kindness, the family had made sure that he never touched food or vessel before they used it. Simon drank.

‘It’s good. May I ask the price of a small barrel?’

‘Please accept this as a gift in anticipation of dealing with each other,’ the merchant said. His tunic was so white that it almost gleamed, and his teeth even brighter, but there was sincerity in his smile. Still, that was true of so many merchants and plenty of scoundrels. An honest face was easier to trust than a dishonest one, which did not mean that it was wise to do so. ‘And be assured that the barrel will come to you unopened and untasted.’

‘That is good of you.’ Domitius knew that even dipping a cup used by someone else into the wine would pollute it. They were about to leave, and he glanced at Ferox and knew that he must do something. Simon had bowed to the merchant, and he and Sara were turning when inspiration came to him. Domitius took his staff in one hand, spun it round and rested the tip on the ground. Then he followed.

Ferox did not come with the merchant when he visited the workshop, and Domitius was not sure whether this was a good sign or not. Simon had gone ahead and asked him to escort Sara to join them again after she had visited her weavers and instructed them to prepare several garments as well as rolled silk for sale. On the way, Domitius wondered whether he should mention that the trader was escorted by a Roman centurion disguised as a hired bruiser, and decided that this was not the time. Instead of Ferox, the frightening, leering fellow and the youth came with the trader. That would have to do, and thankfully he had plenty of time, because this Demetrios spent a long while inspecting gems, some of them set in rings and most loose, while his escort lounged about. When Sara was busy with Simon – they had started discussing prices, and she was always involved in such matters – he wandered over to the tall, long-faced barbarian.