The Gladiator. Carla Capshaw
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Caros returned to the beaten man and opened the pouch he held. Coins clinked into the trader’s outstretched palm as he counted out the correct sum.
While they waited for the new slaves to be released from the cage and led around to the barracks at the back of the house, Aulus counted the coins for a second time. Satisfied, he dumped them into his own drawstring pouch as they started back to the house’s side door.
“That’s only three men, Bone Grinder. You said you need four. If you won’t purchase the men or children I have on offer, would you consider a wench?”
“We have enough women to meet our needs.”
“I have one you could train for the ring,” the trader persisted. “The mob loves a woman who can draw blood. They’ll froth at the mouth when they learn she’s a Christian as well as a maiden. I can see it now—”
“How do you know she’s pure?” Caros interrupted, impatient. “Have you touched her?”
“Her uncle made the claim, and she’s remained unsullied while in my possession.”
“Her uncle?” A frown pinched Caros’s brows. “Her own kin sold her?”
The slave trader shrugged. “It happens often.”
“Were they starving?”
“Far from it. On a better day, I imagine the old man is quite rich.”
“How can you believe a swine who would sell his own family?” Caros asked, the question tinged with disgust.
“He swore it by the gods.”
“And why should I believe you?”
Aulus laughed. “Do you think I would lie to you when you could crush me like an acorn? Besides, why would I allow anyone to touch her and ruin a chance for greater profits?”
“Because you’re a swindler.”
Aulus didn’t deny the charge. A grin spread across his lips. He stopped beside an open wagon where three piteous women sat chained to the sideboards. He lifted his torch, pointing to a fourth female stretched out on the floor.
Caros’s gaze flicked over the sleeping girl. Purple bruises marred her small face. Long dark hair fanned out around her head, shining in the torchlight. “You intend to pawn this child off as a woman I can train for the ring?”
“I assure you she’s no child.”
“Why was she beaten? I’ve no need for a troublesome wench.”
“My scout said she disagreed with her uncle’s plans to sell her and the fellow disciplined her for it.”
“When?”
“Earlier this morning.”
“She hasn’t woken?”
“Once, not long after midday.” Aulus waved a fly from the tip of his nose. “She’ll come to, but there’s a nasty bump on the back of her head.”
Intent on the girl, Caros’s heart beat with an unfamiliar pang of compassion. Having been the recipient of the emotion so little himself, he’d almost forgotten it existed.
“I planned to sell her to a brothel, but since she’s a Christian, I’m weighing my options.” A wicked gleam sparked in the trader’s eyes. “I was told the authorities will pay…three thousand denarii for such criminals.”
His eyes narrowed on the slave trader. The claim wasn’t true. The authorities might send her to the arena if she didn’t deny her illegal sect, but they wouldn’t pay for the privilege. He knew what the other man was up to. Aulus thought he had designs on the girl’s virtue and would pay any price to have her. “I’ll give you fifteen hundred for her.”
Aulus laughed. “Oh, no, you won’t cheat me this time. I’ll take three thousand, nothing less.”
“I cheat you? It will cost me a fortune to fatten up those wretches you sold me. Fifteen hundred is an expected price for any female slave.”
“Ha! This isn’t just any female. Virtue is rare these days. Three thousand, nothing less.”
“Seventeen hundred.”
“Three thousand is my final offer, Bone Grinder. Take it or leave it, it matters not to me. I’ll have my profit from you or the authorities. Either way, she’ll end up in the ring.”
The girl moaned, drawing a concerned glance from Caros. A voice in his head warned him not to let her go. “You know the authorities will pay you nothing.”
“Perhaps.” A triumphant smile tugged at the trader’s lips as though he sensed Caros weakening. “If they won’t, a brothel will. There are few uses for a woman, but something tells me I’m bound to make a profit off this one.”
His pride chafing, Caros realized he’d fallen into the weasel’s trap. If he paid the three thousand denarii, Aulus would walk away with the exorbitant amount he’d originally demanded for the slaves and a healthy profit from the girl.
After another glance at the pitiful creature in the wagon, he didn’t even mind being bested. Why her plight touched him when he was surrounded by a sea of human tragedy confounded him, but he had to have her.
Calling for Gaius, he gave him instructions to fetch the necessary funds. Once Gaius ran to carry out the order, Caros took the torch from Aulus and returned to the wagon. Chains rattled as the other three women tried to scatter from his presence, but he ignored them. His newest slave consumed his concern.
He reached over the wagon’s side and caressed the girl’s flowing dark hair before examining the egg-sized bump on the back of her skull. With great care, he lifted one of her hands in his, noticing the fine bones and the soil caked under her fingernails.
“Master?” Gaius said, out of breath when he returned with a large bag of coins. “Shall I tell Lucia to prepare a mat for the new slave?”
The slave’s hand still in his grasp, Caros nodded. “Tell her to fix one of her herbal concoctions as well. When the girl awakes, she’s going to need relief from her pain.”
As soon as his steward walked away, Caros heard Aulus’s knowing laughter erupt behind him. “You’re already besotted with the wench, no? I wonder what she’ll think of you when she learns the number of Christians you’ve slain.”
Chapter Two
Angry, unfamiliar voices penetrated Pelonia’s awareness. Floating between wakefulness and darkness, she couldn’t budge her heavy limbs. Every muscle ached. A sharp pain drummed against her skull.
The voices died away, then a woman’s words broke through the haze. “She wakes. Fetch the master.”
Hurried footsteps trailed away, while someone moved close enough for Pelonia to sense a presence kneel beside her.
“My name is Lucia. Can you hear me?” The woman pressed a cup of water to Pelonia’s cracked lips. “What shall I call you?”
Pelonia coughed and sputtered as the cool liquid trickled down her arid throat. Swallowing, she grimaced at the throbbing pressure in her jaw. “Pel…Pelonia.”
“Do you remember what happened to you? You were struck on the head and injured. You have bruised ribs. From the swelling, one or more may be cracked, but I believe none are broken. I’ve been giving you opium to soothe you, but you’re far from recovered.”
Her eyelids too heavy to open, Pelonia licked her chapped lips, hating the rotten taste in her mouth. Uncomfortable heat warmed the right side of her face.
Gradually, her mind began to make sense of her surroundings. The warmth must be sunshine because the scent of wood smoke hung in the air, yet she heard no crackle of a fire. Her pallet was a coarse blanket on the hard ground. Vermin crawled in her hair, making her itch. Dirt clung to