T
his cesspool was the answer to his problems?
Hands on hips, Jared ran a skeptical eye over the crumbling stone building before him. Ruin was more like it. So this was where the famous seer slave of Coeus plied her magical powers. His mouth lifted into a smirk. How successful could she be if her abilities had not earned her master a more habitable place to conduct business?
Follow the Heptastadion to Pharos Town, close to the Port of Pirates.
Gideon’s slave had directed. How appropriate, he thought wryly. No doubt this Coeus was as adept at plundering the purse of unsuspecting fools as the pirates.
Overhead a crow cawed drawing his attention. It swooped and glided, catching the currents of a stiff wind blowing from the sea, finally landing on the edge of the
taverna’s
roof where it preened and fluttered its wings. Cocking its head, it studied Jared with beady, black eyes.
A portent, his old nurse Zeva would have said, a warning from the heavens. He shook his head. That was Zeva’s first mistake, believing in a God that sent messages through birds. The old woman was as gullible as she was superstitious. Only the gratitude he held for her, had kept him from laughing in her face when she’d agreed it was an excellent idea to seek this oracle’s advice.
The misguided believed in such abstract notions as faith or magic. Tangibles, that’s what he believed in, the plain, simple realities of life. Those could be planned for, controlled. To think otherwise was to invite chaos, disaster and—his jaw tightened—incredible loss. That’s why he wore his mother’s medallion still—to remind him of the high cost of faith. She had believed in a God and it had cost her, her life.
Yet, here he stood, the most successful merchant in Alexandria’s Emporium, in a decrepit section of Pharos Town, ready to dole out good silver to a soothsayer. Who was the bigger fool? The crow called out again as if in total agreement.
Jared checked the knife sheathed at his side. Alone, it was a fine weapon, with a hilt of carved bone and a triangle shaped blade honed to a cutting edge. In the hands of an experienced man, it was deadly. He had experience enough, had learned to use it after his mother’s death. At night, when the nightmares came, he envisioned wielding the blade across that bastard soldier’s throat.
His hand was fisted around the hilt at the recall of the night terrors that plagued him even after so many years. He arranged the folds of his robe over the weapon. It would be hidden from view but within easy reach. He sent a glare to the crow and stepped through the door.
Pungent smoke from a half dozen oil lamps mingled with the biting stench of filth and rancid wine brought tears to Jared’s eyes. The smell was enough to make a man lose the contents of his stomach. He cupped his hands, and wiped his eyes, drawing his fingers down over his nose.
It was then he noticed the silence.
Every wretch in the place was staring at him, suspicion and distrust etched on their faces as if with an awl. This wasn’t unexpected. He was a stranger and any good rat would snap alert at intrusions. He’d chosen a simple knee-length tunic of natural linen, and his outer garment was the plainest of his wardrobe so as to lessen his impact. But within the sea of coarse woolen laid out before him, he stood out like a two-headed centaur.
“Oh, master, how may I serve you?” The silky question failed to hide the coarseness imbedded in the voice of scantily clad woman who sidled up to him. She may have been a beauty once, but the heavy kohl rimming her watered-downed eyes and red stained lips only accentuated her decline. The whore, oblivious to her decrepitude, insinuated herself against his thigh. The cloying perfume she wore failed to hide her lack of hygiene.
Jared extricated her scrawny arm from around his waist, pried her dirt streaked leg from his own and set her at arm’s length. She didn’t even seem insulted when he swiped the dirt from his clothes. Instead, she sent him a pouty frown that skewed her worn features into a grotesque mask.
“I seek Coeus, keeper of this. . .” He looked around with disgust. “. . .establishment.”
“I am the proprietor.”
A huge man clothed in a garish robe of bright yellow stood up, rolling out from behind the long wooden plank stretched across the length of the rear wall.
The riffraff scurried from his path as Jared strode toward the owner. It was not difficult to ignore them, but the reek of the haggard strumpet scurrying alongside of him was difficult. Jared rolled his eyes at the overt looks of triumph she cast to the sullen crowd. He’d cut off his own cock before he allowed her to ply her charms on him. “I have been informed that you provide a certain service here,” he said without preamble.
“I have the best women money can buy,” claimed Coeus, thrusting out his flabby chest with pride. “Ask anyone in Pharos.”
Jared felt a sharp pinch near his groin and knocked the trollop’s hand away from his crotch. He sent her a quelling look meant to dissuade her. It worked. Her eager expression dissolved into one of complete dejection.
“I do not have need of a woman.” Actually, it might go a long way to improving his mood, since he’d not been intimate with a woman since the beginning of the thefts, nearly six months past. It was no matter of pride that Jared ben Gideon had no need to pay a whore, only a fact that he had numerous females eager to serve him. At last count, three promiscuous daughters of business associates, two of his uncle’s willing slave women and, a small smile came to his lips, a wealthy widow who had a gift for using honey in
very
imaginative ways.
Unfazed, Coeus replied, “That is not a problem, my lord. I also have the most fetching boys.”
Several patrons sniggered behind him. Jared scowled at the
taverna
keeper. This was such a waste of time. He should be arranging for more guards, setting traps, putting an end to the thefts. “I am told you have in your possession a slave who is an oracle.”
Something flashed across Coeus’ face before it settled into an expression of indifference. “I do. Her talents are well known—and do not come without cost.”
Jared recognized the shrewd manner of an opportunist. The fear he sensed in the odorous fool would make it a simple matter to barter a low price. “Quality never does,” he replied with a benign smile. “What is your price?”
Coeus named an exorbitant sum. Jared snorted. This oracle must commune with the gods in person. He countered with a sum worth two skins of mediocre wine.
Coeus clapped his hands together. “You drive a hard bargain. Agreed.”
Jared cocked a brow. He liked to think he was a good judge of people and he sensed the proprietor was the greedy sort, yet the man had put no effort into negotiating a more advantageous deal.
“It’s not fair! Why does that barbarian wretch get to have the best ones?” the harlot screeched, earning herself a slap and a sharp reprimand from Coeus. Rubbing her reddened cheek, she shot Jared a sulky look and slinked back to a gaunt man with jaundiced skin who cackled in delight as she plopped down on his bony lap.
Coeus returned his attention back to Jared and smiled. “This way, master.”
Suppressing a growl at the time this was taking, Jared followed Coeus’ waddling body to the rear of the public room, through an archway and into a small courtyard—if it could be called such. The area was nothing more than a patch of dirt surrounded by decaying brick walls. There were no flowers or succulent greenery, only parched tufts of weeds and despite the open sky above, filled with stale air.
Coeus paused at the foot of a decrepit stairway, the outer portion of which was gone, disintegrated into a pile of stone along the edge of the dwelling wall. Jared doubted very seriously if the steps would hold his own weight, much less the hefty girth of his host.
Instead of climbing the stairs, Coeus led him to a wooden door partially hidden behind a stone column. He lifted a warped bolt, shoved it open, and stood back holding his hand out in invitation. Jared reached into his money pouch, dropped the coin into Coeus’ hand, then ducked beneath the lintel and entered the room.
***
Bryna’s head shot straight up with the creaking of the door. Her eyes burned from the sun streaming into the gloom of her cell. Against the blinding light, she could see only the silhouette of a very tall man. She forced herself not to rub her arms and betray the anxiety skimming along every inch of her body.
The man stepped inside. Coeus started to follow, but was stopped by a muscular arm stretched across the entry.
“I have paid my coin,” the man said. The rich timbre of his voice seemed familiar. “I would speak with the seer alone.”
Coeus’ face turned several shades of red before tilting his head in acquiesces. “As you wish, master.” He backed out but not before shooting Bryna a hard look of warning. The door slammed closed.
Accustomed to the dismal light, Bryna’s eyes adjusted quickly. The man stood with his back to the door, legs braced, his face draped in shadows. The long sleeves of his robe fell toward his elbows when he crossed his arms over the broad chest of a warrior. A furring of black hair jutted out from beneath the neckline of the tunic, eliciting a coil of warmth deep in her belly. She pulled her gaze away, trailed down his narrow waist and froze at the knife fastened to his belt.
The light of a thousand stars flashed in her mind and she was running along a dark path, her hand grasping that of a small child. Distorted sounds echoed around her, weeping, screaming followed by a weight of grief so heavy her vision-self fell to her knees. Blinking through smoke at the grove of tall palm trees, she looked down, bile rising in her throat. The sightless eyes of the beaten, bloodied woman stared at her and a wave of guilt ripped through her gut.
Bryna gripped the edge of her seat as she settled back to the present, still feeling waves of energy pulsing from him, unsettling impressions of anger and vengeance and resolve. Beneath the maelstrom she glimpsed gentler traits, but those were quickly swept away, unable to stand up to the stronger emotions. She bit her lip at the familiar power that flowed from him. It bombarded her from every direction, overwhelming her senses with one certainty—he was dangerous.
And she was going to lie to him.
She swallowed past the tightness in her throat, inclined her head. “How may I serve you, master?”
He remained silent. Bryna shifted on the hard seat beneath, the tension maddening. She wanted this to be over with, finished. She had spoken true to Coeus that she could only tell the truth, it was the strongest aspect of her gift. It did not sit well with her to use it for falsehoods.
But this was her chance to be free, to find Bran.
“Master?” she prodded.
“I do not recognize the accent that tints your words. Where are you from?”
She wound the ends of the rag veil nervously in her hands. What did he care about her accent or circumstances? She wanted to scream at him to ask his silly question and be gone. But slaves were compelled to answer. “My home is very far away.”
“Rome’s empire covers the world,” he countered.
His tone was arrogant and annoying. She fought to temper her reply. Through clenched teeth she answered, “Not my world.”
His chuckle was without humor. “Still, it managed to find you.”
The bitterness shading his words were unmistakable, needing no mystical gift to discern. From beneath her lashes she watched him walk to the window. He stood for a long moment, gazing at what she did not know. She found herself craning forward, trying to make out his face, but his features remained hidden.
Finally, he spoke. “Let me understand, then. You were born a free person?”
“Yes,” she answered cautiously.
“And did you foresee your capture?”
A pang of sorrow gripped her. “No.”
“Not very accomplished seers then, are you?” He pushed away from the window and started for the door and muttered, “I knew this was a waste of time.”
Irritation pricked at her. He didn’t believe in her sight, yet he was here, seeking her counsel. What nefarious force could compel such a strong-minded man to abandon his beliefs? She pushed that concern aside. He was a grown man, capable, from the looks of him, and free. But if he left without the message, she’d lose her chance to escape.
Releasing the breath she had not even realized she was holding Bryna closed her eyes, searching deep within, praying that her gift would not choose this moment to abandon her. Several precious moments passed as she sorted through the energies. They were all so strong. Please gods, let her coax something forward.
He reached to push open the door.
“When you were a wee boy, you took a jeweled brooch favored by your mother.”
He stopped. The silence was deafening.
She blew out a breath. Good. She had his attention. “You meant to keep it only for a while, to use it as a pirate’s treasure in a game with friends,” she continued. “But while you played, the piece was lost.”
He nodded once. “In a lake near our house.”
She knew. Moments ago, she’d been standing next to a frantic, dark haired boy, while a second boy dove beneath the water quipping that he’d already bathed that day.
Now he would listen to her and she could be finished with this sordid business. She opened her mouth to speak, but he spoke first.
“My father was furious. He thrashed me soundly and exiled me to my chamber without supper.” He released a quiet sigh.
“Later that night, my mother came to my chamber with a tray of food and assurances that she had no care for jewelry.”
You are the jewel of my life, little one.
The voice of his mother, so full of love that Bryna’s eyes pricked with tears.
The man’s voice was wistful and so full of longing that Bryna felt her heart constrict. The boy who she had walked with moments ago had felt the same sadness. She drew a silent breath, blocked the raw pain pulsating from him. She could not let this unexpected sentimentality distract her. “You have paid your coin, master. What would you ask of me?”