Barbarian's Soul: A Historical Romance

by Joan Kayse

  Another few minutes passed under the boy’s intense scrutiny. A test, Linus knew, and one that he evidently passed when Minos spoke at last. “You have potential, boy. Aid us in our quest and you could well see the completion of the Vipera mark.”

  Linus rubbed his sore shoulder. “What quest?”

  Minos signaled Linus to walk with him and the other Vipera melted back into the shadows. “An associate has put out the call for a missing person. There is a bounty of one hundred sestarces and ten full amphorae of wine for her return to Tiege, the thief who rules the fourteenth.”

  Linus pushed himself to keep pace with the leader. “Is she a runaway slave?”

  Minos laughed as he kicked at a mongrel pup. “No, she is a thief.”

  Linus’ steps faltered. He scurried to catch up, ignored Minos’ irritated glare. “A...a thief?”

  Minos nodded once. “Yes, a thief.”

  “Did she steal something from this Tiege?” Linus managed to ask through a suddenly dry throat.

  Minos gave a harsh laugh. “Only his pride, which is more valuable than gold to the prick. For certain, I wouldn’t want to be in the bitch’s place. Nobody crosses Tiege and dies an easy death.”

  Linus nodded mutely and prayed that he wouldn’t throw up.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Why?”

  Adria hid a smile at the simple question. Oh, there was still iron in Bran’s tone and the arrogance which was such a natural part of him was still present, but it wasn’t the overbearing manner that he’d used when he’d captured her.

  Captured. Oh, the brute had captured her in more ways than she’d ever thought possible. She valued her independence but there was no way to deny that the scowling barbarian in front of her had captured her heart.

  Which was why she had to leave.

  She had to see if anything remained of her former life, to convince herself Miriam and her family were settled. She had to find a way to dissuade Linus from the ruinous path he was on, to protect the family he cherished—the one that she cherished—and the only way to do so was to go back to the streets.

  “It would be for only a short while,” she assured him, rubbing her hand along the muscled arm propped on his work table. Her soothing gesture was met with a heated look that caused a curl of warmth in her own belly. “I’ll return before sunset.”

  “The answer is no,” Bran said, picking up a small mallet and an even smaller chisel. “It is not safe for you in the streets.”

  What a ridiculously touching thing to say. “You forget the streets are my home. I could travel from here to the Aventine with my eyes covered and never take a misstep.”

  “I’ve told you no,” he replied. With short, quick, light strokes he carved a long, flowing line along the edge of a gold pendant. He held the piece up to the light and studied it with a critical eye.

  “I am still a prisoner then,” she said, willing herself to keep disappointment from her voice. “I’d thought perhaps we had...” What? Begun to trust each other? “...we had moved past that.” Bran did not respond, moving Adria to lean against the door and rethink her strategy. She had to check on Miriam and the children, see if she could find out if Tiege had moved on with his decrepit life. To stop Linus from making the biggest mistake of his young life. She could not do it from within these walls.

  Long moments passed with only the sound of Cyclops chewing her cud.

  “Where do you go, and to what purpose?”

  Adria chafed a bit. She’d not answered to anyone for years and she didn’t feel the need to do so now. But how could she answer that she needed to find out how involved Linus was with a gang of cutthroats? She decided on a half-truth. “I wish to see how my foster mother and her family are faring. I’ve never been away as long as I have these past weeks.” She glanced away. “I often brought them foodstuffs.”

  Bran glanced at her. “This woman. She is your family?”

  Adria gave a short nod. “She took me in when I was young and alone. She saved me from...” She’d never given voice to what Miriam had done for her.

  “From what, agara?” asked Bran softly.

  Images of her mother’s cousin laying hands on her, gauging her young body’s worth flashed through her mind. There had been men there, leering at her, making crude comments. Emotion clogged her throat. She raised her eyes to Bran. “The ugly side of Rome.”

  Understanding flashed across Bran’s face, saving her from sharing the details. Adria gripped her middle, unwilling to allow the unbidden tears to start, for she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop crying if she did.

  Bran laid down his tools. “Then you must do so.”

  Adria straightened, astonished. But her elation slipped with his next words.

  “I will accompany you.”

  Damnation. She just managed to paste a smile on her face before Bran turned to look at her. “But the children...”

  “Cyma and Julian will be well. Menw will see to their needs and—” He shook his head. “—Gods know where Linus is off to.”

  Having the head of an asp burned into his flesh? Adria sent up a silent prayer. Once the stigma was completed Linus would be considered a full member of the gang. And in the Vipera’s eyes once a member, always a member. No one left the gang—alive. “We will be traveling into the center of Rome,” she cautioned. “You do recall you do not care for Rome.”

  Bran gave her a sardonic smile. “Rome is a cesspool,” he agreed. “But for certain people,” his gaze softened as he looked at her. “I would tolerate the experience.”

  Adria’s heart clutched at the tenderness in his voice. How she wished she could blurt out the true reasons for venturing out, have Bran take the situation in hand, rescue Linus and make it all right. But that was not going to happen. If Linus and Bran were to reconcile it had to occur by their own choices. She could only hope to steer them toward each other. There was precious little time and she could not afford to waste it arguing with Bran.

  “As you will,” she answered, rolling her eyes at his expression that indicated he held no doubt the world revolved at said will. “I would leave before the noon meal.”

  “Such urgency? It has been near to four weeks. Surely a few more hours cannot matter.”

  Every moment mattered, she thought bleakly. “Please, Bran. I need to check on them.” Check on Linus.

  She only hoped she would not be too late.

  *****

  Two hours later they were finally on their way. Adria had thought she might burst into a thousand pieces waiting for Bran to finish his noon meal. But she’d bitten her tongue and bided her time, lest her eagerness arouse suspicions.

  Bran said very little as they walked, surprised her with a teasing commentary about a fruit merchant with a trained monkey. Adria gave him a weak smile and pulled the edge of her veil to cover her face. The monkey let out a screech as they passed. She shot an anxious look over her shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief when the animal, ignoring them, scampered on his leash to snatch a piece of melon.

  Talking was near to impossible when they entered the Forum, the bustle and noise of the crowds swallowed any conversing they might do. Despite all the activity they drew a fair share of attention. Adria could see the speculation, the question, the wariness in the eyes of passersby at the unusual duo—a well-dressed Roman lady and the forbidding-looking barbarian. If they only knew that beneath the fine clothes was a girl as plebian as themselves.

  She inhaled the sharp, bitter air, glanced at the raw sewage puddled along the side of the street. The scent of spices, rotting food and sweating people assailed her senses. The crush of people set her nerves on edge. What was wrong with her? This was her home, she lived among this chaos. But now she thought she might scream if one more person brushed against her arm.

  “Bollocks,” she muttered under her breath, garnering a raised brow from Bran. She pulled the smothering veil out of the way, sent him a stiff smile, then glared at the knot of people blocking the shor
tcut to her district. She recognized the intersection. Two streets to the west and one would be in the heart of the Vipera’s domain. It was very close to Tiege’s and she knew the master thief used the vicious gang for some of his dirty work. A sinking sensation went through her. Dear Gods, how could she have forgotten the connection? Linus was in even graver danger than she realized. She craned her neck to see if she could locate the source of the jam.

  “Isn’t he magnificent,” purred a cultured voice to Adria’s left.

  She turned and looked at the two patrician women seated side by side in sedan chairs. They were ogling Bran and giggling behind bejeweled hands.

  “I wonder at the price for such a fine specimen?” asked the older one. Old because the face powder sank into the deep creases that lined her haughty face.

  “I don’t know,” giggled the second woman, reaching a hand out to stroke the curled hair of her handsome litter bearer.

  Adria looked at the slave’s face. Impassive, eyes staring forward, he endured being treated as a pet rather than a person. She glanced back at his mistress, whose appraising look had never left Bran.

  “A pouch of silver says he’d serve you well in stud,” wagered the matron.

  Had Bran heard? Adria glanced up at his profile and the muscle ticking in his jaw. Oh, yes. He had heard.

  How dare they compare Bran to some rutting animal. As if he had no pride, no identity past an object to be used. A sickening realization gripped her stomach that this was the way all slaves were treated. Oh, some may have benevolent masters, but at the end of the day, they were still chattel. A new respect for the depth of Bran’s control overcame her as the matrons made another crude observation. As a freeman and a foreigner, he may keep his tongue stilled, but Adria would not.

  She approached them, took a moment to enjoy the women’s startled expressions as she leaned in between the two sedans. “The truth, my ladies,” she said in a loud, conspiratorial whisper, “is he shares his charms with me, as he is a man of free will, not an animal.” She gave them a false look of pity. “You cannot imagine how wonderful it is to not have to force someone to satisfy you.”

  Adria spun on her heel, the women’s choked words of indignation ringing in her ears. She rejoined Bran who looked at her with a mix of astonishment and pride. “Come,” she said, grabbing his hand as the blockage began to break up. “It is not much farther.”

  ***

  If he did not know better, Bran would swear that Adria carried Celt blood in her veins. She was a true warrior in heart and spirit and he could almost envision her driving a war chariot, spear arm raised, battle cry upon her lips. He smiled to himself. Of course, he’d never have the type of thoughts he held of her for other warriors. Not even Beatrix.

  He wanted to get her back to the house, get her beneath him, make love to her until they were both senseless. No other woman had ever tempted him like this one, and if he could, he’d spend the rest of his time in Rome with her in his bed. His eagerness faltered.

  The time for his departure was rapidly approaching and so was the end of his time with Adria. A wave of uncertainty washed over him. He’d managed to survive so much—enslavement, the arena, the worry and fear for his sister and clansmen, becoming a surrogate father. The thought, unbidden and irrevocable rose in his mind that he would not be able to survive the rest of his life without his beautiful thief.

  “You look terribly grim,” Adria said, drawing him out of his daze. “I know that this part of Rome is not as prestigious as the Palatine but beneath the—” She expertly bypassed a gutter of liquid waste and gave him a sheepish look. “—the grime it is a strong community.”

  “This is where you grew up?”

  Adria looked around and sighed. “After my parents died, yes.”

  Bran frowned. “How old were you?”

  “Twelve.”

  Bran’s gut tightened. The dangers were dire enough, but for a young girl? In this depraved Roman world? “This woman, this Miriam. She took you in?” Or had she used her to her advantage? The smile that came to Adria’s face lessened his fear.

  “Yes, she did, though she was a widow with six children of her own. It was a burden to her.” She gave him a sideways glance. “I did what I could to lessen the burden.”

  By thievery. But as he took in the squalor, the scarce resources, imagined a woman alone feeding a family of eight? Would he not have done as much himself?

  You have done as much and more, to survive.

  The realization of just how self-righteous he’d been hit Bran like a boulder to the chest. Yes, he had suffered, his sister, his clansmen had suffered. But there were others who did, too, each doing what they needed to get through life. Adria had done what he had—survived.

  From the corner of his eye he witnessed a beggar reach up from where he sat crouched on the walkway and snatch a passing merchant’s purse. By the time the man turned his scathing gaze on the cripple, the purse was well concealed beneath his rags and the man was moaning his plea for alms.

  Bran kept his balance as Adria came to an abrupt stop in front of him. He tightened his hold on her hand, drew her back against him and joined her in looking up at the four story tenement. It was an unremarkable building, made of mud brick and timber, its varying levels obviously having been added on over the course of years. As ramshackle as it was, it still looked better than the dilapidated surroundings. “This is your house?”

  Adria nudged him with her elbow. “No, it is my home.”

  He made no reply as she led the way inside. To his surprise, there was a small courtyard in an open space around which the building rose. A cracked fountain dominated the central area. Women of varying ages scooped up bowls of water for cooking or buckets for washing the clothes that hung from ropes strung across the end of the space. Children scampered around, playing with a pair of mongrel pups. For all its poverty it was a very domestic scene.

  Adria raised her hand in greeting to a young woman who peeled a bowl of turnips nestled in her lap. “Hello, Lucia!”

  The dark-haired woman looked up, her smile fading as she saw Adria and it wasn’t because she was in the company of an obvious foreigner. No, Bran recognized fear for what it was.

  Adria looked puzzled and hurt. But she smiled weakly and started up the stairs. Bran glanced back over his shoulder and saw the residents in the courtyard scurrying over to Lucia, whispering excitedly, casting worried looks after them.

  Bran scanned the area as they climbed the flights of stairs. Something did not feel right, and when a burst of red flashed across his vision it took everything in him not to throw Adria over his shoulder and seek cover. The warning faded, but not the prickle of unease on the back of his neck.

  Adria’s eyes took on a glow of excitement as they reached the topmost floor. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath short from the exertion of the eight flights of stairs. The happiness faded from her eyes as she looked at him. “What is it? What is wrong?”

  Bran shrugged his shoulder and scanned the small hallway again. “I am not certain.” That much was true. His sight only indicated danger, it never shared anything useful such as what type of danger, who might pose the danger and how to kill the threat. He could hardly explain such things to her. He shook his head and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “It is nothing, I’m sure. Just the quiet is all.”

  She looked at him with solemn eyes. “Do you have visions like your sister?”

  Bran looked at her askance. Before he could respond she spoke.

  “Can you see the future like Bryna? Does it involve Linus?”

  He frowned at the anxiety laced within her words. “Linus? Why would I have visions of Linus?”

  Adria quickly averted her gaze. “No reason.”

  Something was indeed not right.

  Adria knocked on the rough hewn door before swinging it open. “Miriam?”

  The apartment was empty. Bran suspected it had never had much furniture in it to begin with, but what little was le
ft was either overturned or smashed to bits on the floor. A shredded heap against one wall may have been baskets at some point. Adria dropped his hand and picked her way around piles of ripped pillows and coverlets wadded into a sodden mess. Adria’s face paled. Bran followed her gaze and pressed his lips together at the dark crimson stains on the bed.

  “Get out!”

  Bran was beside Adria in two steps, positioned his body in front of her which earned him a strong shove from behind. He allowed her to step beside him but no further.

  “I said, get out!” repeated the balding man in the doorway.

  “Lycus,” said Adria, “it is I, Adria.”

  The man propped gnarled fists on his hips and spit on the floor. “I know it’s you. We have no business with the likes of you.”

  Bran saw Adria’s brows furrow in confusion. “What has happened?” she demanded. “Where is Miriam?”

  A flash of pain displaced the man’s anger. “She’s left.”

  “What? Why?” Adria shook her head. “I’ve not been gone so long.” She clenched her jaw. “Your rent increases have not gone into effect.”

  Bran felt a twinge of regret. He had forced her to stay with him for a month, kept her from her world, from her family.

  Lycus’ anger returned. “Perhaps if you’d been here, she wouldn’t have had to leave.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some thugs came looking for Adria, the thief. Questioned every one in the insulae. Didn’t take too many questions for someone to point out Miriam’s rooms.” He looked away, his rheumy eyes filled with moisture. “The manner of asking was not pleasant.”

  “Tiege,” Adria whispered in a horrified voice.

  Lycus gave a curt nod. “So we found out later, after they beat Miriam.”

  Adria gasped and if not for Bran’s support he believed she would have stumbled.

  “Is she...was she...”

  Lycus glowered.

  “Answer her!” Bran snarled.

  The landlord cast a belligerent eye at Bran and must have decided he did not wish to die. “She survived. The bastards finally decided she was telling the truth when she said you’d not been living here, had abandoned them weeks before.”