The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance

by Kayse, Joan

  The big man strode back to the wagon and spoke in hushed tones to the deity. Damon could not make out what was said but he hoped it didn’t involve human sacrifice. Some goddesses were known to crave such things. After a few moments, the pirate called Kaj stomped back. “Fetch a torch, so that my mistress may see how she wastes her gold.”

  Pio raced back to the campfire, returning with a lighted bundle of rushes. Damon was shuffled closer to the wagon, the torch held so close to his face that he felt the flames singeing his beard. He gritted his teeth as the officer fisted his hand in his tangled hair and jerked his head backward, angling it toward the light.

  Through the glare of the fire, a petite figure wrapped in a palla of sea blue stepped forward. The material of the cloak swathed her from head to foot, draped over her head like a veil and concealed her features. All Damon could see was one slender, alabaster hand holding the garment together.

  He watched her cautious approach. She moved with an innate grace, and though she would not stand any taller than his shoulder, there was an air of imperial confidence about her that would put the stodgiest Senator to shame. Even in his dazed state, Damon appreciated the way the material flowed as she walked, shaping to her lush, female curves with each step. A sharp twinge of disappointment struck him when the pirate positioned his hulking form between them. The goddess whispered something. The man gave no indication he’d seen it though Damon would wager the pirate missed little.

  The light from the full moon cast a pearl glow around the woman, strengthening his belief in her divine nature. But then she turned and a strand of hair the color of honey escaped the hood’s confines. Damon felt an urge to wind the curl around his finger and tugged at his bound wrists in frustration.

  The glare of the torch blocked out her features but Damon could feel her studying him. He grit his teeth, recalling another time inside a slave pen when prospective buyers had inspected an angry young boy in a similar manner. No use spending coin on defective merchandise. To be inspected in the same manner as cattle only fueled his humiliation.

  “He will do,” she said in that beguiling voice.

  Kaj grunted, obviously displeased. Taking her by the elbow, he escorted her back to the wagon. Damon blinked and shifted in his captors’ hold. He wasn’t finished. The least they could do before they killed him, he thought irritably, was to let him look his fill. All it earned him was a growled curse and a backhanded slap across the face.

  Kaj returned, untied a pouch from his belt and tossed it to the officer who caught the jangling parcel with one hand. Damon narrowed his gaze, watched the soldier open the leather bag and visually count the amount. With a self-satisfied smirk, he nodded to the soldiers.

  Pio and the old man pushed Damon toward the rear of the wagon where the pirate waited by the door. Kaj handed Pio a length of cloth. Damon growled as the apprentice tied a huge knot in it, shoved it in his mouth and tied it.

  Why were they gagging him? He wasn’t going to be conscious much longer, though gods knew he needed to be. This turn in events was happening too fast for the jumble in his brain. He did not like being at a disadvantage.

  Damon teetered as the old soldier and Pio urged him up the two steps to the wagon’s rear door. Impatient, Kaj reached down and, with the effort it might take to swat a fly, caught him by the back of the neck and dragged him inside. Damon released a muffled grunt when the cretin dropped him face down on the hard wooden floor, muttering in Greek about foolish decisions and risky business while binding Damon’s ankles with more rope. Kaj folded Damon’s tall frame into the cramped interior of the wagon. A wave of nausea assailed him as the vehicle swayed violently with the huge man’s exit. Then the door slammed shut, leaving him in complete darkness.

  The wagon lurched forward, the creaking wheels obliterating the sound of his muffled groan. He would feel every rut and rock between here and—wherever they were taking him.

  Chewing on the gag, Damon cringed at the rawness in his throat. He’d gone from crucifixion to being claimed by a goddess in less than an hour.

  Perhaps his luck was changing.

  Chapter Two

  “You are going to twist that finger off.”

  Julia’s gaze dropped to her hands. The miniature lion’s head on the gold ring gracing her right forefinger was twisted completely around facing her palm, the skin red from the repeated friction. She fell into the childhood habit whenever her nerves were on edge—and they’d been on the brink for months. Righting the band, she clasped her hands together, settling them in her lap. “You should pay attention to the driving, Kaj, and not to what my hands are doing.”

  The wagon lurched sharply to the left as the mules strayed out of the ruts worn into the paving stones of the road. Kaj shrugged one shoulder at the sharp look she sent him and urged the animals back on track. “It’s not too late to end this,” he replied gruffly. “Just slip the wretch into the Tiber and none will be the wiser.”

  She looked at him aghast. “There will be no murder!”

  Kaj snorted. “Just deception and lies. Your father would be appalled by your plans.”

  “Yes, but Father isn’t here, is he?” she answered tightly.

  Kaj tensed on the seat beside her. More friend than servant, he had no answer for her, just as she had no answer for Octavian Manulus deserting his family.

  Had it only been six months since her father had kissed her on the cheek, promising to return within the week? It was only a short trip to verify the government’s corn shipments, he had assured her, and he would be back in time for the celebration of her birthday.

  But she had gained another year, and Octavian had not returned.

  Julia stared at the darkened road. Two weeks, then three, until finally four weeks had passed and still her father had not returned. At first she had been certain the weather had delayed him. The summer had been unusually stormy and even as advanced as the Empire’s road system was, it was not uncommon to have a route obliterated by floods.

  She had spent another two months convincing herself that her father had gone off on one of his famous tangents. An extremely curious man, Octavian had been known to forget time, purpose and family in the pursuit of new adventures. A different pottery technique, the discovery of a medicinal plant or a new design for a ship prow all were reason enough to delay his normal duties as a Senator. But he always came home.

  Then she’d received the message.

  Julia tamped down the swell of hurt lodged in her chest. The letter, closed with Octavian’s own seal, had been brief and to the point. Octavian would not be returning to Rome in the foreseeable future. Other interests required his attention. Other interests more important than his family.

  She pulled her cloak snug around her shoulders but could not shake the gripping chill that settled in her heart. Her father’s preoccupation with innovative theories, a trait that most spurned as a fool’s dreams, had been accepted with quiet dignity by her mother. While Octavian pursued his wild ideas, Eirenne Manulus had skillfully managed their affairs, while masking the extent of her husband’s wild schemes and maintaining the honor of the Manulus name. Not an easy task in the gossip—ridden world of Roman society.

  Julia had assumed the daunting task at her mother’s death two years before and until recently had done an admirable job of it. But Octavian’s long absence now had the scavengers converging on her doorstep and she’d been forced to push her grief aside. The situation was deteriorating rapidly, leading to her desperate decision.

  A hard jolt to the right caused Julia to grab her seat with both hands to avoid tumbling to the ground. Kaj swore at the single—axle cart overflowing with refuse that had veered into their path. The driver of the cart made a rude gesture and continued on his route.

  A fresh wave of doubt swept through her as she glanced over her shoulder at the wagon. The man—no, the criminal—trussed up in her carriage had almost caused her to abandon the whole idea. Bruised and beaten, a few breaths away from death, he had
looked anything but defeated, returning her scrutiny with a flippant perusal that had sent warning chills down her spine.

  Julia pressed an icy palm to her cheek. Even now, she could see him regarding her with eyes the color of cold slate. Hard edged and challenging he’d scanned her from head to toe like a predator sizing up a succulent morsel. She swallowed hard at the memory. Suddenly, her conviction that a condemned man would be grateful and malleable seemed a bit shaky.

  Kaj interrupted her thoughts. “We’re entering the city.” He swept the hood of his cloak over his head. “Cover yourself, lest someone recognize us and make public our folly.”

  Julia nodded and fell silent as Kaj maneuvered the wagon through the traffic clogging the streets of one of the poorer sections of the city. It was dangerous traveling at night, especially along the circuitous route Kaj had chosen. But they could take no chances.

  From beneath her veil she peeked up at the four—story buildings rising up on either side of the street. Constructed with poor—quality timber and mud brick, she could see why they were prone to collapse and deadly fires. Her father loved the people of Rome and when a devastating blaze three years ago had obliterated a huge section of tenements killing more than one hundred citizens, he’d made it a personal crusade to see the structures made safe.

  Who would champion them now?

  “Please, mistress.”

  Julia looked down at an old woman with rheumy eyes stumbling along beside the wagon. The crone clawed at her, plucking at the hem of her dress. “Spare an old lady a quadran to feed her grandchildren.”

  Sympathy tugged at Julia. Despite having ample resources, she could understand the woman’s efforts to provide for her family. Had not the desire to protect her own set her on this course? Julia reached into the soft leather pouch at her waist. Kaj’s hand closed over her wrist. “Do that and you’ll have the whole mob swarming us.”

  “You exaggerate, Kaj. She is one old woman.”

  Lips pressed together in displeasure, Kaj released her arm. Withdrawing a small bronze coin she pressed it into the woman’s hand. A throng of people materialized out of the shadows and surrounded the wagon.

  “Alms! Alms for a cripple,” cried a man with a dirty rag wrapped around his eyes.

  The wagon began to rock back and forth as people banged on the sides, calling out their wants, their needs. Julia watched wide-eyed as Kaj used the end of the reins to lash a scrawny urchin off the side step. The mules, startled by the crush of people, began to bray in protest, straining at their yoke and bucking their hindquarters.

  Caught up in the fervor, the crowd began to jostle the wagon in earnest. Julia held on to the narrow bench as the vehicle swayed violently. She gasped when a beggar climbed up next her, reaching for her purse. Kaj’s beefy fist bloodied the fellow’s nose but not before he managed to snatch the pouch.

  Kaj swore and lifted the reins, snapping them down across the mule’s backs. The frightened animals lurched forward, sending the rabble scrambling to avoid being run over by the heavy conveyance. With the roar of the mob ringing in her ears, Kaj turned right and headed toward the enclave of luxurious homes nestled on the Palatine Hill.

  Julia ran a trembling hand over her skirt. “Not one word Kaj.”

  “I say nothing, mistress,” he answered in that deep voice that always managed to make her feel chagrined without offending. “I would never say that showing kindness to those vagrants almost got us killed.”

  Heart still pounding from the near catastrophe, she remembered their passenger. She glanced back at the solid wall behind her. “Do you think he was injured? We were very nearly toppled.”

  Her servant’s mouth drew into a tight line. “He’s probably robbed half of the ne’er-do-wells in the city and murdered the rest.”

  Julia twisted her ring. Kaj’s argument was strong. The man had been about to be crucified. Only the most notorious criminals warranted that type of punishment. And she was bringing him into her home.

  Into her life.

  Kaj took encouragement from her silence. “The Tiber is only a short distance...”

  Julia laid a hand on the massive arm holding the reins. “I’ve made my decision,” she said with more conviction than she felt. “Kaj. I need your support in this.”

  Kaj’s face fell. “There has to be another way.”

  She squared her shoulders. “You know the circumstances. There is no other solution.” She glanced anxiously back at the wagon. She only wished there was. “I will do what needs to be done to protect the family and preserve the Manulus honor.” Save her from a life of oppression beneath the rule of a man. “And he will help me do it.”

  A sharp slap of the reins urged the mules forward as Kaj muttered. “Zeus help us.”

  *****

  Moving as slowly as he could, for he was certain his head was falling off, Damon rolled onto his back, wincing when the rough, stone floor made contact with his torn back. He blinked at the muted light shining through a narrow window. The dawn of the day had just broken, if the sparrows he heard chirping outside were any indication. As a boy, he used to feed the birds outside his master’s domus. He glanced down at his bound feet and tested the strength of the ropes binding his wrists. The sparrows would have to fend for themselves today.

  He squeezed his eyes shut as he recalled the night’s trip. After being thrown into the cramped quarters of the coach, he had passed out, roused briefly when the vehicle had begun to sway violently. Fighting the nausea and the pain from a new lump when his head had smacked into a wooden brace, he’d slipped back into oblivion.

  It wasn’t until the door flew open and cool night air washed over him that Damon had awakened. The behemoth called Kaj had grabbed him by his bound ankles, dragged him out the door and hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of grain. What blood he had left—and it was precious little—rushed to his head, obliterating most of his hearing, but he had heard the soft whisper of the goddess instructing her minion to give him food and water. He had tried to twist around, to see where she was, but Kaj cursed and jostled him in warning before striding off at a quick pace.

  From his vantage point, all Damon had been able to make out was hard—packed dirt which changed into a floor of smooth clay tiles, which turned into a mosaic that depicted a blue—tinted Poseidon chasing three distorted dolphins with a broken trident. An odd choice of design for a goddess to have in her Olympian palace. But he allowed his perceptions could have been a bit skewed from repeated blows to the head, the total of which Kaj added to when he’d swung sharply around a corner, grazing Damon’s head against a marble column.

  The pirate had deposited him none too gently on the floor of his new prison, muttered that he wasn’t about to wake up the household servants in the middle of the night for the likes of a criminal. And so he’d left Damon as he was. The sound of the door slamming shut and a bolt sliding into place was the last he remembered.

  Damon wriggled onto his left side. The corners of his mouth were raw from the gag, his back burned like the fires of Hades, the muscles of his arms screamed for release, his hands and feet were numb and his addled mind scrambled to make some sense of what had happened.

  He’d been saved from a horrible death. While he was grateful, the realization that he was once again in debt to someone for his life brought a surge of disgust to his gut. His past experience with that particular scenario had never been advantageous for him.

  Then a goddess—no, a woman, he corrected—a simple, human woman with silken, honey curls, soft curves and a defiant tilt to her chin had bribed his captors to release him and brought him--where? To her temple? There had been no heavy scent of incense, and he hadn’t seen an altar suitable for human offerings—which relieved his mind a bit. Then where?

  He scanned the small, neat room. Too clean to be a prison though he most certainly was a prisoner. Before he could pursue that line of thought, the door to the room creaked open. Angling his head upward, he found Kaj filling the doorway w
ith his bulk.

  The huge man took two steps in, closed the door firmly behind him. Balancing a wooden tray he carried with more grace than one would imagine possible for a man of his size, he walked past Damon and set it on a square table wedged into the corner of the room. The scent of warm, fresh bread filled Damon’s nostrils, eliciting a loud rumble from his stomach.

  Arching a brow at the sound, the man ambled back and planted his feet inches from Damon’s face.

  Damon fought the swell of humiliation that bubbled up and threatened to choke him. Here he lay, trussed and completely powerless under the cold perusal of a scowling colossus—damn, his legs were massive, like tree trunks wrapped in leather—completely at his mercy.

  Kaj crouched beside him and raked him with a disdainful gaze. “My mistress is no fool, yet she has surely lost her mind dragging the likes of you into her home.”

  Damon watched him warily. Keep your eye on the enemy, the better to learn their weaknesses.

  A sound theory, but right at the moment the weakness appeared to be all on his part. The balance shifted even more in favor of his captor when Kaj withdrew a curved knife from his belt, slanting it to ensure Damon could see the entire length of it.

  The pirate studied the weapon, first running a finger along its length before flicking a thumb across its honed edge. He didn’t even flinch when a drop of blood welled up on the pad of skin.

  Damon followed the man’s motions, his gaze lingering on the glinting blade before raising it to meet the pirate’s cold, blue eyes. It was there, in that icy stare—the man wanted Damon dead.

  Swallowing against the knot of fury in his throat, Damon refused to lower his gaze. The logical part of his brain said that a considerable amount of coin and effort had gone into obtaining his release, the purpose of which remained to be seen. Killing him before that purpose was achieved would be illogical.

  But something in that unwavering cerulean gaze told him the pirate might not be a logical man.