‘It is more than time for this boy to marry,’ John commented. Domitius had helped the old man keep steady in the crowd that had gathered as Princess Azátē had ridden into the city in her carriage, her escort of two dozen fully armoured cataphracts and as many archers going in front and behind. There were always plenty of people in any city happy to watch any procession or sight, and the royal lady was well known and liked. Behind came the younger Simon and three or four other groups who had been graciously allowed to tag along and enjoy the protection of the royal party on the last stage of the journey to Nicopolis.

‘Trust my brother to want a grand entrance,’ Sara said. ‘And the princess would never marry him – he’s far too vain.’

Domitius had seen the princess at the window of her carriage, smiling at the crowd. Her hair was covered and she had a high, ornate headdress, but did not wear a veil. From what he had seen the face was a very pretty one, and the royal visitor could not have been much more than twenty years old.

The younger Simon pointed in reply. ‘She knew you, sister, and when I said that I was Simon son of Simon of Nicopolis, she asked whether I was brother to you. Think of that? A man travels to the edge of the earth and back and the beautiful princess only wants to talk to him about his sister! There is no justice. Oh, and Father, she asked about the paintings in the synagogue because she remembered that you had thanked her for her gift. Is it finished?’

‘Nearly. They have done the crossing of the Jordan, but not yet the fall of Jericho.’

John shook his head. ‘It did not take so long in real life.’

‘They are craftsmen.’

‘They are lazy, Father,’ Sara snapped. ‘No matter. It must be finished before the princess makes her visit. While you were dallying, dear brother, did the lady happen to mention how long she planned to stay here?’

‘It didn’t come up, no. Maybe she is here for Passover?’

‘Maybe,’ Sara said, as if she did not believe a word. ‘But now it is time for you to rest and cleanse yourself and then we can feast to celebrate. Oh, and by the way, the barbarian standing over there is Domitius, a Roman who was of service to us and now works for Father. Can you paint, Domitius? No, then that is a pity. But that loom is still not fixed so I would be grateful if you could see what you can do.’

The younger Simon watched Domitius go. He was still smiling, but there was something harder in his gaze. Out in the streets, Domitius felt that he was being followed. Only in the last few days had the family trusted him to walk about on his own, and it was still an odd feeling. Most of the time he was in side streets, narrow, shadowed except when the sun was close to noon, and much like the back alleys of any city anywhere he had known. There was plenty of filth, and a wise man watched to see where the biggest piles and still more the traces of splashes were and then avoided those spots. It did not always work. Before he had gone far he was speckled by what he hoped was dirty water thrown off one of the flat roofs of a house. The best he could do was wipe his face with his cloak, which did not stop giggles from some of the women in the workshop. They were a friendly bunch, obviously devoted to Sara, who was firm, but paid and treated them well, so that nearly all of them had worked for her for quite a few years. She said that was important, because she wanted the best if their clothes and material were to fetch the highest prices.