‘It’s bust,’ Nicaea assured him when he examined the loom. She was about the same age as Sara, a former slave who was in charge whenever the owner was not there. She was one of the smallest women Domitius had ever seen, the top of her head no higher than the middle of his chest. Her skin was very dark, her features delicate and pretty, if showing lines around her eyes and lips that spoke of a hard life. So did the scars on her wrists, on the rare occasions she did not wear long sleeves. Domitius did not know the details, but had heard hints and sensed that the woman felt a deep gratitude to Simon and his family for giving her something better. More than that, she and Sara thought a lot alike and shared a deep pride in their work. Even though she was younger than most of the others, the rest respected and obeyed her. ‘I’m not letting it be used,’ she went on in a tone brooking no argument. ‘You can take it to pieces and rebuild it, but be less fuss to get a new one. We won’t need it for a month anyway. There’s plenty to do, so better to spend your time buying or making a new one.’

Domitius nodded. There was worm in the frame so that more than half would need replacing otherwise it would keep on breaking. Even with lighter weights it would simply not take the strain.

‘Well, now you are here, you can be useful. Go with Aphrodite to the dyers’ shops and carry for her.’ Nicaea turned to Aphrodite, the oldest woman there, whose white hair was thin and straggling, skin like old papyrus and bare arms heavy with loose skin. ‘You know what I want?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, then off you go and don’t let them fob you off with anything but the best. Quick now – and this is work so no flirting.’

Domitius grinned. ‘No promises.’ Aphrodite had a cackle worthy of a crone in a play and the other women all laughed.

‘I’m not that fickle, lad,’ Aphrodite told him.

‘Go on, the pair of you.’ Nicaea sometimes even sounded like Sara.

The rest of the day was spent on errands for Sara’s workshop and then, after he had returned to the house, for Simon. All the while he felt that someone was following him and once or twice he thought he spotted a man darting back into shadows before he could see him clearly. He did not think Ferox was seeking his death, at least not yet, but if the centurion was able to find him then so could others. That night he slept fitfully, and dreamed of a loom, whose weights kept changing size so that he had to make all the others match and by the time he had done it another grew heavier or lighter. He had a dim memory of being told that such a dream foretold a journey, but the next day there were simply more errands for the family, pushing through the busy streets. John wanted a walk, and wanted a long one, because the Sabbath started tomorrow and there was rarely much time in the morning before it began.