They went home – and to his surprise Domitius realised that he thought of the house of Simon as home so that there was not really any more to consider, though there were more tasks and chores for him to do. Now that young Simon had returned, the family were busy, preparing to use what they could of his cargo, and working out how best to sell the rest at profit. There was silk of a quality Sara had rarely seen before, and she and Nicaea spent hours discussing how best to employ it. Domitius carried bales to the workshop, took apart the broken loom and carried the pieces back to a side room next to the stable in the house. He accompanied Simon, for once without Sara, to speak to some ironworkers who might be interested in the ingots, and while they discussed prices nothing was agreed, just as Sara had insisted. So Domitius lugged the sample ingot back with them. It was certainly the finest he had ever seen, and he had spent some time at the forge in the fabricae. Still, to buy it a man had to have some special work in mind to make the cost worthwhile.

‘My son says that the wealthiest Parthian warriors make their arrow- and spear-heads from this Margianian iron,’ Simon told the potential buyers. ‘The princes have swords and armour from it.’

Domitius wondered again at talk of war, but then men needed weapons and armour whether there was war or the mere chance of war and it might mean nothing. He was still wondering when he was sent to take another bale of material to the workshop. The sun had almost set, which made the back streets almost dark, for unless a house kept a window open and let light escape, the only lamps were at each crossroads. A man had to be a good deal more careful where he trod, not to mention paying attention to the roofs above. A lot of people emptied chamber pots once it was dark. There were still enough folk abroad to make theft unlikely, although not impossible, and he had tucked a dagger into his belt.

Part of him did not want to believe that the Romans – his people – would attack Osrhoene or this city for no other reason than that they could. He was happy with Simon and his family, at least for the moment, and did not want to leave. Yet he was not sure whether he could fight, still less kill, even to protect them. The problem had bothered him ever since he had found Christ – or as Pausanias the preacher assured him, Christ had found him. Killing was a sin, but also might be a soldier’s duty and Christians were supposed to obey the laws and keep their promises. He was not sure whether his arrest and desertion meant that he could break that oath. Would it matter if other legions came here instead of his own? He had killed the slaver, and that had not really bothered him at all. It was the right thing to do, for the sake of good people.