Barbarian's Soul: A Historical Romance

by Joan Kayse

  Minos crouched down and met her gaze. “If we play our hand right, perhaps Tiege will let us have a taste of your female charms.”

  Adria bared her teeth. “What do little boys know of such things?”

  She had only a moment to enjoy the flare of anger in the Vipera leader’s eyes before Minos backhanded her. Adria ran her tongue over the cut on her lip, the copper taste of blood sharp in her mouth. The other gang members snarled and cursed her for insulting their manhood. Gods.

  “Let us rout her good now, before Tiege has his way!” shouted one while another yelled, “She dares to insult the Vipera?” He grabbed his cock. “Let us all show her the bite of the asp.”

  The assembly shouted in agreement. Adria met Minos’ black stare and realized he was no fool.

  He held his hand up for silence. “She is less than nothing to the Vipera, nothing save the wealth her delivery to the old man will bring us.” Minos leaned in so that only she could hear. “But I will relish the entertainment Tiege has planned. Every cry. Every scream. Every. Plea. For mercy.”

  A cold rush went through Adria at his words and it took everything in her to keep her bravado from slipping. Only one thought, one hope kept her upright on her weak legs as two boys unbound her ankles, removed the collar, and retied her wrists behind her—Linus was safe. Minos produced a thick round leather bit, with which he personally gagged her.

  The leather gag was bitter and foul and the fear she’d been keeping at bay was clawing its way to the surface. She searched the room for Linus, relieved when she could not find him in the crowd of jeering boys. A cloth sack slipped over her head, plunging her into smothering darkness. Though her hearing was muffled by the cloth, Minos’ words rang clear.

  “Let’s take the offering to the altar.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “I said I wanted roast pigeon!” Tiege kicked the platter filled with braised pork from the hands of the emaciated slave.

  The haggard young man scrambled to pick up the food from the stone floor while protecting his head from his master’s blows.

  Tiege threw the platter after the retreating servant and barked to one of his men, “Give the cook ten lashes for his boldness.”

  “Yes, master,” said the man, a grim frown on his face.

  Tiege plopped down on his self-proclaimed throne and held out his chalice in silent demand for more wine. A female slave managed to fill it despite her shaking hands.

  Albion raised his own chalice to his lips. The master thief had the resolve of a spoiled child. He sipped the bitter wine, scanned the thief’s lair, gauging the mood. It wasn’t good. Tiege had been adamant to the point of obsession that the female thief, the one who had humiliated him in front of his men, be hunted down and brought to him. His men and other minions had failed. Tiege’s temper was becoming more unstable with each day until everyone in his service measured their actions and stayed as far away from his attention as possible.

  Except Albion.

  He suppressed a snarl. Albion was his slave name, one given to him and every slave from Britannia by the overseer of the salt mine where he’d been sold. How he had survived three months there without dying with dust-filled lungs Gair couldn’t say. The force of his will? Possibly, but his wager lay on the overwhelming need to seek vengeance on that bastard, Bran, son of Fynbar.

  The sorry son of a whore had been the cause of Albion’s enslavement. It was of no consequence that he had been the one to arrange Bran’s own attack, wanting the favored son of the clan dead. It had been a perfect plan, save for one fatal flaw. Albion had not counted on one of his Ileni co-conspirators being greedier than he. The whoreson had taken those not killed in the attack, including himself, and sold them all to the Romans.

  Idly he watched two men argue over a whore. Escaping had not been easy and had cost three overseers their lives, but he’d managed to do it. Stealing clothes from the farmer who he’d forced to remove his chains had aided his bid for freedom—and the farmer his death. He’d learned enough of the Roman language to get by, relying on silence to speak for him. Combine that with his imposing physique, already well honed as a warrior and improved upon by months of hard labor and finally enough food and there weren’t many who dared challenge him.

  Gair found he liked that.

  But he still was a foreigner in a strange land and a hunted one at that. When he discovered that he was close to Rome itself, he’d disappeared into the wretched city’s throng. And that’s where he’d met Tiege, master thief, hard-fisted supreme ruler of Rome’s fourteenth district.

  Mealy-mouthed idiot, more like.

  Still, the master thief served his purpose. Gair had decided the decadence of the Empire and power that could be wielded against the weaker suited him. That’s why he’d signed on with Tiege as a personal guard. He could play the part of sycophant and had done so with the egotistical lunatic, working his way into his confidence, doing dirty deeds such as murder and extortion until he gained his trust. And now? Gair smiled into his chalice. And now there would soon be a new leader of the fourteenth.

  “Albion! I’m speaking to you!”

  Slowly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, he lowered his chalice and looked at Tiege. “Yes?”

  “I want that girl!”

  He just managed not to roll his eyes. No use inciting the prick. “The search continues,” he answered with care. “I’m certain your men will find her soon.”

  Tiege’s smiled sharpened, his eyes crazed as he lost himself in his new obsession. “I’ll make her suffer. I’ll have her whipped, I’ll pierce her with my sword,” he laughed with delight at his euphemism for rape.

  Albion turned a deaf ear to his ramblings. The time was nearing when he would displace the wretch. Tiege would find himself begging for mercy. He’d not been present when the girl had usurped Tiege but he’d heard the other men remarking on her beauty and courage. Yes, the time was nearing and Tiege would be the one watching as Albion availed himself of the girl’s sweet offerings and took his place on the miserable wretch’s throne.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Adria sucked in fresh air as the sack was ripped from her head and grimaced as her skin on her knees scraped against rough stone. She blinked against the brightness of stars in her head, fought the waves of dizziness and nausea that washed over her. The hushed silence surrounding her erupted in loud guffaws and shouts of triumph.

  She was in Tiege’s lair.

  Slow, even breaths helped the churning in her stomach very little. But she had to keep her wits, think of what to say and how to say it to assuage the man’s pride without begging. She pressed her lips into a tight line. That she would never do.

  “Welcome back, bitch.”

  Adria winced as a hand fisted in her hair and jerked her head back, forcing her to look up at Tiege’s sneering face. With the gag in her mouth she could not tell him to go to hell but her glare must have sent the message all the same because he slapped her. Her head snapped back, the rope around her neck pulled taut. She felt her air cut off but Minos righted her with his foot, relieving just enough of the rope to allow her to breathe.

  Tiege circled her like a mad dog stalking a meal. “You thought to steal from me? You thought you could negotiate terms with me?” His voice raised on a shrill note. He pulled her hair again and turned her head toward the far corner. “She thought to escape too, but see what price she pays?”

  Bile rose in her throat. The butcher’s wife hung naked from a low beam, her legs spread wide over an iron post inserted in her sheath. Chains secured her ankles to iron rings and a blindfold bound her eyes. Adria thought her dead till she saw her draw a shallow, shuddering breath.

  Tiege snickered. “Do you think you will enjoy time on my fucking rod? Hmmm? You’ll find it a relief after the other entertainments I have planned.”

  Words would not dissuade this madman.

  Tiege nodded to someone behind her who sliced the gag free, nicking her cheek in the process.

/>   “Where is that bastard barbarian who aided you? I want his head as well!”

  From beneath her lashes Adria noted movement next to the master thief’s dais. A man with braids like Bran’s swinging from his temples sat forward, his attention drawn to the center of the lair. Adria had no time to consider the reason as Tiege bent down to peer in her face.

  “Where is the bastard?”

  She ran her tongue over her cracked lips, unable to moisten them. “I don’t know of whom you speak,” she croaked.

  “You will tell me where he is!” Tiege screamed like a crazed bear and slapped her again.

  Adria’s skin burned, felt her jaw swelling and through the ringing in her ears she heard the Tiege’s order, “Hang her on the rod.”

  ***

  He was not a patient man.

  No, Bran wanted to storm the blasted place, tear it apart and find Adria. But he would have to wait.

  Bran shifted to ease the cramp in his legs from his position in the shadows. It seemed he’d already been waiting an eternity. He’d spent too much time searching the streets close to Paulin’s, even asking the vendors in the marketplace if they’d had any recent thefts. That line of inquiry had not been well met, as more than one had raked their scornful regard over him. Their belief that he, the barbarian, was more likely the thief showed plain on their faces.

  He’d then returned to Adria’s tenement and demanded information from Lycus, who, despite his belligerence, denied any knowledge of Adria’s whereabouts. He’d come close to beating the man, if for no other reason than he had hurt his woman.

  As his frustration had grown so had the clarity of his vision. It was a new experience to actually visualize events though many details were blurred. He’d known when he left the house that Adria had returned to the streets. He’d known that Linus was some how involved and he’d known that they were both in danger.

  He’d thought to search out Linus but the futility weighed with guilt that he in truth knew nothing of the boy’s location. He’d ordered him to remain off the streets, punished him when he did not, but ignored the truth that the boy had done as he pleased. He could be anywhere in this accursed city. And now the boy and Adria could full well pay the ultimate price.

  The weight of guilt he carried would take him down if anything happened to Linus and he knew that if any harm came to Adria he would cease to exist.

  Bran tightened his jaw. He had no time to consider how Adria, how this woman had come to mean more to him than life. She was stubborn, willful and full of temper. She was Roman.

  She was also the balm to his tattered heart, the healing to the void of his soul. And damn the gods, he’d not lose her.

  During the hours of fruitless searching, the lavender hues of Bran’s vision had taken on an ominous dark cast and he’d seen Tiege’s lair loom into view. It had been well past midnight before he’d found the place.

  So now he waited beside the temple from which he and Adria had made their escape so many weeks ago. He’d covertly observed the cavernous room through an opened window near the rear. There had been at least twenty of the scum lounging about, a number of gaunt slaves scurrying to serve them and the master thief himself sitting on his throne ranting like a lunatic. But there had been no sign of Adria.

  For a moment he’d dared to hope that he’d been wrong. But his gift refused him the reassurance, the flashes of red increased in number and intensity. So, he waited.

  The inhabitants of the building had become increasingly boisterous, the sounds of laughter, shouting and general drunken revelry grating on his already stretched nerves. There was only one entrance to the place and from his vantage point he could see the two windows, including the one Adria had climbed through. If she thought to take that route again, to confront the bastard thief, he’d stop her. And then he’d kiss her to within an inch of her life.

  From the other side of the building, pottery shattered. Bran came alert, his knife in hand as he searched the shadows. The sound of broken shards being scattered preceded the small figure rushing blindly from behind the building.

  In three strides Bran stepped behind the boy, clamped his hand over his mouth and dragged him into the shadows. The youth fought like a crazed tiger, raked Bran’s arms with his nails until Bran managed to pin them to the youth’s sides. Damn the little monster, he thought as he pressed his hand harder over the boy’s mouth when the hellion tried to bite him. Even before he saw the wheaten hair in the faint light, Bran knew.

  “Cease this instant.” he commanded, “Linus! Cease!”

  The boy stopped struggling and twisted his head around, his eyes wide with fright. Bran frowned at the look of relief that passed over his youthful features but then the dread began in his stomach.

  “Think you, you can be quiet?”

  Linus nearly shook Bran’s hand off.

  Bran released his grip. Linus spun around and clung to Bran by the arms. “They have her!”

  A flash of red crossed Bran’s vision. He pulled Linus up off his feet. “What do you mean?”

  Linus gulped, his words tumbling out. “Tiege has Adria! He’s trying to make her tell him where you are!”

  Bran’s jaw clenched, the same cold resolve that had always enabled him to kill in the arena, focus his every sense, settled in his bones. He held Linus’ gaze. “How?” The question echoed in his mind. How had Adria entered without his knowledge? Flashes of his failure to protect Beatrix nearly brought him to his knees.

  Huge tears spilled from Linus’ eyes. “She followed me to the Vipera.”

  “Who are these Vipera?” Bran asked, resisting the temptation to shake the boy.

  “A gang, a band of brothers.” Linus gulped on a sob. “I wanted to prove that I was a man! They turned her over for the bounty.”

  Gods, if only he had paid better attention to Linus as Adria had urged. But there was not time for self-recriminations. In the arena the stakes were merely his life. This time it was his very heart.

  He sat Linus back on his feet and drew his sword. “Do not move.”

  ***

  Adria’s shoulders screamed for release.

  She grit her teeth against the pain as yet another one of Tiege’s men spun her around. The rod that Tiege had called for had not been the gruesome one the butcher’s wife still occupied but an iron bar that her arms had been forced over, her wrists securely bound to her waist and then hoisted on a chain suspending her from the ceiling.

  She’d hung there for several hours now, the top of her tunica hanging about her waist from Tiege’s initial rage when he’d ripped it free, exposing her breasts and her back, which burned from the stripes of Tiege’s lash. She’d known the man was egotistical and brutal but she’d never guessed the extent of his insanity.

  She knew now.

  “Where is the bastard?”

  Adria winced as a stone followed Tiege’s demand, striking her thigh. “There is no one else,” she hissed for the hundredth time. Another stone caught her in her back.

  Tiege’s voice grew deadly calm. “Bring her down.”

  In slow, jerky movements she was lowered to the ground, though her descent stopped just short of her feet touching the ground, maintaining her agony. Through slitted eyes she watched Tiege approach, reared away. He pushed his face into hers, his sour breath causing her to gag. He pulled her head up by her hair.

  “You thought to take from me? Tiege, lord of the fourteenth?”

  A hysterical laugh bubbled in the back of her throat. Back to that? Her whole interrogation had been focused on her impudence and Bran, who was as guilty as she for daring to take what belonged to Tiege, the mighty lunatic of the fourteenth district.

  “Why?” he asked again in a shrill voice.

  Adria met Tiege’s gaze straight on. “Because I knew you were a fool.”

  Tiege’s eyes went wild and she squeezed her eyes shut, prepared for the blow. But it never came. Cautiously she opened them and saw the large man she’d noticed before stayin
g Tiege’s arm.

  “My lord,” his Latin was accented as Bran’s was, though not as pleasing to the ear. “Would you have the girl’s punishment end so soon? She is exhausted and many more blows now will cause her to go senseless and deny you her ultimate humiliation.”

  Adria watched the play of dark emotions cross Tiege’s face as he considered the man’s words. She flicked her gaze to the butcher’s wife and knew in her gut her own humiliation would be much worse.

  Survive! The word thrummed through her head. She had to survive to save Linus, to save Bran and his family. She shifted her gaze to her rescuer. Would he be an ally? Could she convince him to aid her escape? As if in answer, the man turned cold hazel eyes on her, sinking any hope she held.

  “You’re right Albion,” Tiege said, motioning for his men to release her.

  Adria stifled a groan as the rod was slipped free. She fell to one knee but quickly struggled to stand. If it took the last bit of strength she possessed, she would not fall subservient to Tiege. Legs trembling, she raised her eyes to the gathering, noted Albion’s approving look and wished her hands free to show him what she thought of his approval.

  Another leather collar tightened around Adria’s neck, this one with a small iron ring attached to a lead. Tiege took the other end and paraded her around the large room as proof of his supreme power. She noticed that more than a few men, while not disputing his proclamation, did not appear as impressed as the master thief.

  Tiege tugged her toward his throne and the image of what she’d witnessed him forcing the butcher’s wife to do flashed through her mind and made her stomach retch. But he only forced her to her hands and knees like a dog at his feet and called for his slaves to bring out food.

  ***

  Adria jerked her head away from the piece of sour, shriveled meat Tiege was attempting to feed her, hatred and fury blending with a knot of disgust in the pit of her stomach. She’d bent her pride long enough to drink water from a dish set on the ground but no matter that her stomach roiled with hunger she would not be fed like an animal.