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Simo looked at the floor as he spoke. ‘My father and several others were at the bishop’s residence when the city sergeants came. They tried to resist and were arrested. They’ve been locked up while the governor decides what to do with them.’

‘And what news? Has anyone been able to visit?’

‘I don’t know, sir. But I found out there’s a meeting at a church-house tonight. An elder – a friend of my father’s – will be there. He may know something.’

‘I see.’ Cassius stood up. ‘When is this meeting?’

‘The second hour of night, sir.’

‘I shall come with you. And I’ll do my best to get you into that prison. The spear-head should help.’

Simo clasped his hands together. ‘My thanks, sir. Truly. I wish only to see him.’ The tears started again.

‘All right, Simo. That’s enough of that. We’ll find a solution. Can’t have my manservant in such a state – you’ll be useless to me.’

Cassius’s father had taught him that a wise man tried to solve his slave’s problems, especially if they were likely to hinder his work. But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to help. The big Gaul had made the most difficult period of Cassius’s life a lot easier. He genuinely cared about his master, Cassius knew that and – though he would never speak of it openly – he welcomed the chance to repay that debt.

Simo was still drying his eyes.

‘Why don’t you keep your mind off things by preparing some dinner?’ said Cassius. ‘What about that Gaulish dish with the tripe and onions? I could do with a good feed. But first I need you to pick some glass out of me.’

Simo frowned. ‘Glass, sir?’

‘Don’t ask.’

The church-house turned out to be a woodcarver’s workshop that backed on to the city walls just west of the Beroea Gate. Simo hadn’t been there before, and had to ask for directions several times. He was careful who he approached; apparently there had been a few violent clashes between followers of Paul and Bishop Domnus, now the official leader of the Christian community in Antioch. As they walked along a darkened alley towards the rear of the workshop, Indavara asked the latest in what Cassius considered to be a series of inane, annoying questions, most of which he’d been unable to answer.

‘So Christians and Jews both believe in one god?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it the same god?’

‘Yes. No. I’m not sure. Why are you asking me?’

Indavara hurried after Simo, who had stopped near a wooden door. Cassius put a hand in his way.

‘Not now.’

Simo knocked on the door. After a while it opened a few inches and a middle-aged man carrying a candle peered out. He looked over Simo’s shoulder. Cassius tried to look friendly. Simo had tactfully suggested that he wear a normal tunic and belt: the meeting was being held in secret, and a Roman Army officer was unlikely to meet with a favourable reception.

Simo exchanged a few whispered words with the sentry, who then closed the door again. When he returned, an older man was with him. This man smiled solemnly at Simo then opened the door wide and let them in. The sentry locked the door behind them as the older man led the visitors into a cramped courtyard. Most of the space was taken up with stacks of timber, the rest by pieces of furniture. Through an open doorway, Cassius saw a group of people inside the workshop.

‘Who are these men, brother?’

‘My master,’ answered Simo. ‘Cassius Quintius Corbulo. And his bodyguard, Indavara.’ Simo gestured to the old man. ‘This is Elder Nura, sir.’

‘Good evening,’ said Cassius.

Nura was still inspecting him and Indavara.

‘You look worried,’ added Cassius. ‘But you needn’t. I’m with the army but I have nothing to do with the city authorities. I am simply here to help Simo.’

Nura smiled warily. ‘The Lord tells us that we should look for the good in all men. Come, we shall talk inside.’

While the sentry remained at his post, Nura took another candle and led them through the doorway. There were in fact a dozen people stuffed into the small room, some on chairs, others standing, all listening to another older man, who sat reading quietly in Aramaic from a small book. Cassius was surprised to see there were more women than men. Wherever Paul of Samosata had found his young beauties it evidently wasn’t here – they were a dowdy, serious-looking lot. Though no one said anything as they passed, a couple of the men seemed to recognise Simo.

The next room was a store-front with a wide, shuttered window. Nura found some stools and Simo helped him arrange them around a table. As the others sat down, Nura lit an oil lamp. He was a very slight man, with bushy eyebrows and a patchy beard of grey and white.

‘Have you seen your father?’ he asked Simo.

‘No. I only found out about what happened today.’

‘I wish there were better news,’ Nura said as he too sat down. ‘The last time we were allowed in to see the prisoners was almost two weeks ago.’

‘How was he?’

‘He had been struck about the head several times during his arrest, but he seemed well enough, and in good spirits.’

‘You’ve heard nothing since?’

‘No. There are ten of them in there, and some have decided not to eat. Do you remember Brother Albar?’

Simo nodded.

‘He seems determined to martyr himself.’ Nura lowered his voice. ‘Though I sometimes wonder whether it’s truly the glory of God he wishes to honour. We went to the prison with food, but the women became hysterical – crying, hurling themselves against the bars. I should never have let them go. The guards threw us out and no one has been allowed back since. I thought of appealing to the governor, but I suspect we have become a troublesome inconvenience for him.’

‘And what about this Bishop Domnus?’ asked Cassius. ‘Surely you could appeal to him?’

Nura turned to Cassius. ‘Never, sir.’

‘Clearly I’m no expert in these matters,’ Cassius replied, ‘but there seems little chance a ruling allowed by the Emperor himself will be reversed. Surely you people would be better off accepting Domnus as your leader.’

‘I’m afraid there’s rather more to it than that, sir,’ said Simo.

‘This is not simply a matter of leadership,’ added Nura. ‘Domnus preaches ideas that we do not – and cannot – subscribe to.’

To Cassius, it seemed rather ridiculous that followers of a cult that had suffered persecution in recent years – and might easily face it again – could not even agree among themselves.

‘Such as?’

‘We, the followers of Bishop Paul, contend that our Lord Jesus Christ was a man, not a god.’

‘What was he, then? A priest?’

Nura grimaced.

‘An oracle?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘It’s rather complicated, sir,’ observed Simo.

Cassius glared at him. ‘I’ll manage.’ He turned back to Nura. ‘Go on.’

‘Christ was God’s son – his divine representative, the essence of God in human form. Yet he was not a god himself.’

‘But Christ has been dead two hundred years. If he was so precious and powerful to you, why is he not considered a god now?’

‘He is now one – with God,’ explained Nura.

‘Ah yes – the one god thing. I was forgetting. So Domnus disagrees with this?’

‘He considers it heresy. As does most of the rest of the Church.’

‘Wouldn’t it be wiser just to give in? You’ve lost your leader and you seem to have lost the argument. You’re here meeting in secret, half your number in prison. Why not simply alter your beliefs?’

‘Sir.’

‘People do it all the time, Simo,’ Cassius snapped impatiently. He nodded towards the other room. ‘Was every man and woman in there born a Christian?’

‘No,’ admitted Nura. ‘Neither was I.’

‘So you changed your beliefs. Why not change again?’

Nura leaned forward. ‘Would
you
, sir?’

‘If it meant avoiding prison, or death? Absolutely.’

Nura continued, apparently assuming Cassius wasn’t serious. ‘Bishop Paul taught us that a man cannot aspire to be God. But our Lord Jesus Christ showed us how a man might live the best life he can; so that when he faces the final judgement, he might be permitted to join the righteous in the kingdom of eternal joy.’

‘I presume that your Bishop Paul set a similar example, and that all the tales I’ve heard about him are mere slander?’

‘Evil lies, spread by our enemies. I can assure you that there is no such thing as “mere slander” for a man in such an important position.’

‘And where is he now?’

‘We don’t know.’ Nura sighed. ‘But we pray that he be returned to us.’

‘Then you seem to be on your own.’

‘No. Our Lord and his angels are forever with us, even in our darkest hours, when the black demons try to divide and destroy us.’

As Nura was beginning to sound like one of those men who harangued passers-by in town squares, Cassius decided he’d heard enough.

‘Where is the prison?’

‘On the east side of the island, not far from the hippodrome.’

‘We shall go there tomorrow.’

‘Please, see how they all are,’ asked Nura. ‘And would you take some food for them? The guards might allow it.’

‘I shall take as much as I can carry,’ said Simo.

They stood. Nura put out the lamp, took the candle and led them back through the building. The others were talking about marriage. They halted when Nura stopped.

‘Brothers, sisters. This is Simo, Abito’s son, and his . . . friends.’

The Christians all offered a greeting. Cassius and Indavara nodded to them.

Nura put a hand on Simo’s arm. ‘Will you stay a while and pray with us?’

Simo glanced at Cassius.

‘You may.’

Nura shifted his gaze to Cassius. ‘What about you, sir?’

‘I’m afraid it’s all a little complicated for my taste.’

‘As you wish. We shall pray for you too.’

‘You needn’t,’ said Cassius with a smile.

‘We shall. We pray for every soul; for every man; that he might eventually find salvation.’ Nura took a step closer to Indavara, and gazed keenly up at him. ‘What about you, brother, do you seek the light?’ He seemed to take Indavara’s silence as a signal to continue. ‘Would you like to join the righteous in the kingdom? Where we might dwell for ever in the warmth and the light with our loved ones. Who have you lost? Who would you like to see again?’

Indavara glanced at Cassius, then suddenly pushed past him and hurried towards the door.

The second hour of the day had just begun when Cassius, Indavara and Simo returned to the Jewish Quarter. They found the door to Nabor’s apartment open. The landlord was inside, awaiting a prospective new tenant. The only information he could offer was that the dead man had been a prompt payer and in the apartment for two years.

Cassius decided to start knocking on doors but many of the residents had already left for work. When a door did open, he took care to identify himself, and had Simo hold up the spear-head; but he swiftly realised his uniform was sufficient to command attention.

The smell of urine in the first-floor corridor was even worse than the previous day. A fuller’s mate had been collecting the liquid contents of bedpans, and though he’d just left with a full barrel, the stench remained. Cassius’s mood was not enhanced by the useless responses of the first five people he spoke to. The sixth, however – a young man who lived at number sixteen – said he’d known Nabor. He was about Cassius’s age: a ruddy-faced, unkempt fellow named Valgus.

‘How did you meet him?’ Cassius asked.

‘Don’t remember exactly. Saw him on work crews, the odd festival, at the inn now and again.’

‘Which inn?’

‘The Wheel. Two streets south. Though I’d not seen him there in a while.’

‘And these festivals? Jewish affairs?’

Valgus shook his head. ‘No, I mean the big festivals – the ones for the lads. Saturnalia and all that.’

‘And work?’

‘Last time would have been a while back. Year or two maybe. Water-carrying. That was a big crew. Fifty of us plus two hundred slaves.’

‘Did you work with Nabor on any other jobs?’

‘Don’t think so. He went to the glass factory after that.’

‘Do you remember anything else? Family or friends? Girls even?’

Valgus pursed his lips. ‘You see I knew him – to pass a good-day to, or have the odd drink with – but not that well. Not really.’

Cassius gave him two sesterces.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Valgus with a humble nod.

‘If you think of anything else, or come across anyone who might know more, direct them to me.’

‘Very well, sir. Where would I find you?’

Cassius had to think about that. It didn’t seem wise to give out the address of either his or Abascantius’s villa.

‘You can contact me at the basilica. There’s a man works there by the name of Petronax. You can leave a message with him. Petronax – can you remember that?’

‘I can, sir. Good-day.’

Valgus had almost closed the door when he suddenly spoke again. ‘Ah. There
was
a girl. I know he was sweet on her – I remember him buying her flowers a few times. Don’t remember the name though.’