The Patrician Read online

  Gideon’s face flushed a deep red. She was nearly unseated by the waves of rage emitting from him. “He is an abomination! The product of a vile and evil sin of the flesh! If I could not see him humiliated, reduced to the craven state of poverty where he belonged, then I wanted him dead! And you could not even handle that!”

  “You are wrong. I took him, removed him from your presence. . .” Hapu’s voice trailed off as he realized that that ultimate goal had not been met.

  Gideon’s voice lowered ominously. “You were supposed to see him sold into the salt mines! He would have died an agonizing death and I would never have had to suffer his presence again!”

  Hapu hung his head. “It was most unfortunate that the slaver ignored my instructions.”

  Gideon towered over the slight Egyptian. “Ah, but I’m sure you did not ignore the gold added to your purse by his sale.”

  Bryna’s heart beat so fast that she feared it would fly from her chest. Jared’s uncle, the man he held in such esteem, the one member of his family he felt close to hated him with a bone deep passion.

  “Slaves rarely escape.” Hapu lifted his chin though it trembled beneath Gideon’s glower. “Surely your problem is easily solved now. He is a runaway slave. Merely turn him into the authorities.”

  Gideon was silent. Through the leaves Bryna noted the subtle, but deadly change in his eyes. “I want a more permanent solution to the problem.”

  Bryna’s hand slipped, causing the bush to rustle. Hapu and Gideon turned.

  She willed her quivering body to remain completely still. Thank the gods a stiff breeze was blowing through the courtyard, rattling limbs and leaves. After a few tense moments, the two men returned to their discussion.

  Bryna released the breath she’d been holding. How could she have been so blind? Why hadn’t her sight recognized him from the first? Gideon had smiled, welcomed her to Jared’s family. Such duplicity!

  She had ignored the waves of resentment, contempt that had emanated in her direction. A reaction she had become used to and one that she had experienced untold times since being brought to Rome. She had absorbed those dark feelings, assumed they were directed toward her. After all, she was an outsider, a barbarian. She was not Hebrew.

  Not Hebrew.

  Suddenly the answer was clear. An intolerance so deeply rooted, so intense that it obliterated all other emotions. Gideon despised anything and anyone not of his race.

  Jared carried Roman blood in his veins.

  And Gideon could not abide it.

  Bryna tried to swallow past the dryness in her throat. Jared trusted his uncle. He must be warned.

  She eased her legs to the side of the bench and eyed the distance to the door leading to the training arena and Bran. As soon as Gideon and his accomplice left the garden, she would find her brother then Jared.

  A loud clap sounded on the other side of the bush. Bryna peered through the bush to the empty courtyard. Seconds later, a large, sweaty hand clamped over her mouth.

  “I should expect nothing less from a heathen!” Gideon hissed into her ear.

  Chapter Thirty

  For the second time in an hour the muscles in Jared’s hand cramped, causing him to shift his sword into his left hand. He ignored the glare Damon sent him from across the storage room, flexed his hand until the spasm receded.

  What did the man expect? They had been hiding, concealed along with a half dozen well-armed men hired since sunset. The place was filled to the rafters with the last and most valuable bit of merchandise he had left to his name. Merchandise destined for the profitable markets of Athens and Antioch. With the sale of this stock, he would be back on the road to prosperity.

  Perfect bait for his enemy.

  Damon had taken great pains to spread the word of its value among the seedy tavernas and merchant stalls in Alexandria’s marketplace. The goods were scheduled to be loaded onto a ship in the morning which meant the thief would have to make his move tonight. And so they waited. Tonight he would discover who was behind the thefts.

  Jared eased his weapon back into his right hand. He was beginning to doubt Damon’s plan. It was well past midnight and not even the rats that frequented the place had stirred from their holes.

  Damon sat exactly as he had when they started. Except for his eyes which constantly scanned the dimly lit room, he had not moved a muscle. He had to be made of stone, Jared decided. No one could sit so still for so long.

  Jared rolled his shoulders in a futile attempt to relieve the tension that threaded through him. It had plagued him since this morning and it was relentless.

  It wasn’t the anticipation of confronting the scoundrel who had made his life a living hell. Not at all, though he relished the idea of discovering the wretch and seeking retribution, inch by inch, from his flesh.

  It was something else, something he couldn’t put his finger on. Something to do with his dream of Bryna. They’d been stark, vivid dreams filled with images of her crystalline green eyes, dark with fear. He sensed an urgency churning inside of her. She seemed to be searching.

  He didn’t believe in the power of dreams. But the impression that Bryna was in danger had grown stronger as the day progressed. He could wait no longer to seek her out.

  He started to rise when a movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. Damon raised his hand in a silent signal. Jared clenched his sword tighter, squinted into the stillness of the storeroom. A growl of frustration rumbled deep in his chest. The room was as dark and still as it had been all evening.

  Enough was enough. Damon was a true friend and his intentions had been sincere, but there would be no catching the culprit this night. He wanted to go to Bryna.

  Jared dug his sword tip into the sandy floor beside him, made to stand, but a low pitched hiss from Damon’s direction stopped him. He looked at his friend, who motioned toward the doorway.

  A sliver of light outlined the portal. It widened as the wooden door opened and the interior filled with bright torchlight.

  A half dozen men entered behind two torchbearers, each strongly built and capable of carrying great loads of goods. All of them were dressed in the pale blue tunics worn by Hapu’s gladiators.

  As if by rote, the men silently fanned out among the bales of grain, bundles of silk cloth and began to heft them onto their shoulders.

  Jared stood in unison with Damon and his men. “I don’t believe you’ve paid for those goods.”

  One of the torchbearer’s spun around and Jared found himself staring at a very startled and very frightened Hapu. The Egyptian swallowed convulsively.

  “What do you mean?” Hapu squeaked. His eyes went round as Damon’s men emerged from the shadows. The gladiators set their loads down and waited.

  Jared sauntered toward Hapu until he towered over him then bent down to eye level. “I mean, why are you stealing my property?”

  “Stealing!” Hapu’s voice pitched higher. “We. . .we were not. I mean. . .I have only to call on my slaves!” He shifted his eyes away.

  The group of gladiators made no move to defend their master, but stood silently, arms crossed, smirks plastered on their faces.

  Jared grabbed Hapu by the neck of his tunic, hauled him up till his feet dangled. “I ask again. Why have you been stealing from me?”

  “Perhaps the question should be, who has hired him to do the deed,” Damon suggested.

  Jared looked from Damon to the contorted face of Hapu, who gulped nervously, his eyes darting back and forth.

  “Somebody has paid you to do this?” Jared struggled against the urge to squeeze the man’s throat until his eyes popped out. He wanted answers. Now.

  Hapu made a croaking sound.

  “The answer may be clearer if you give the insect some air,” Damon said.

  Scowling, Jared loosened his hold, set the man down, though he kept a firm grip on his tunic. “Well?”

  “I do not know what you are asking?” stuttered Hapu.

  “He asks you f
or the name of the one who pays you to steal,” said a thickly accented voice from the shadows.

  Jared, his grip still firm on Hapu, turned and saw Bran emerge from the shadows. He was dressed in the same blue tunics as the gladiators. Bryna’s brother was in on the thefts?

  It would have been easy to miss him in the crowd of men who had entered in the dim light. Is that how he had earned his freedom? By aiding Hapu in destroying him? Bryna would be devastated.

  Hapu’s eyes slithered past Jared. “I have but one answer for you.”

  Damon grunted as a well-placed kick from behind knocked him to the floor. A Nubian, taller than Bran and weighing nearly twice as much, all of it solid muscle, stalked toward them, the light from the torches glimmering off his bald head.

  Jared released Hapu, but the little man held onto his arms, hanging on like a monkey. Jared worked to free his arm, his sword. The huge gladiator smiled and raised his blade. Hapu let go.

  Jared watched the blade descending toward his chest. He found the hilt of his own weapon, knew he could not swing it in time. Futile as it was, he raised his other arm to deflect the blow. But it never came.

  The man stood mere inches away, a look of sheer surprise on his rapidly paling face. Between them stood Bran, his sword buried to the hilt in the attacker’s gut. Impassively, Bran withdrew his blade, slick with blood and watched the man slump lifeless to the floor.

  Jared retrieved his own weapon. He eyed Bran warily, watched as he rolled the dead man’s body out of the way with his foot. He prepared himself as the gladiator turned, pinning him with a hard, glittering eye.

  “Where is my sister?”

  He exchanged a puzzled look with Damon, who was currently holding a quivering Hapu by the arm. His own confusion quickly melted into a deep, numbing dread. “Bryna is not here. When last I saw her, she was at your residence, where I was assured she would be safe.” His accusatory tone found its mark. The rigid set of Bran’s jaw could not shield the anguish in his eyes.

  “If she has not found her way back to your side, then I fear some harm has befallen her,” he answered gravely.

  Bryna would not have left her brother. She had assured him of that the night he had sought to bring her back.

  “When did Bryna leave your house?” he asked.

  “She went with me to see Hapu.” Bran’s eyes narrowed at the Egyptian who still dangled from Damon’s fist. If it was possible, Hapu’s faced paled even more. “I left her concealed in the garden while I sought this piece of offal to collect my last week’s wages. His servant put me off, saying he was meeting with a very important client.”

  Damon shook Hapu. “What of it? Who did you meet with?”

  Hapu only shook, swiveling his bulging gaze around the room to his slaves. The six gladiators had been corralled into one corner of the room guarded by Damon’s men. None of them seemed the least bit concerned for their master’s safety.

  Jared towered over Hapu. “There are many ways to die. Unless you wish a slow and painful parting of this world, you’d best be naming the one behind this treachery.” He leaned so close he could smell the little man’s fear. “And if any harm has come to my wife, there will be no stopping the length of time it will take you to die. Name him!”

  His blood ran cold at the answer.

  Chapter Thirty One

  Beneath closed lids, colors swirled in a jumble of black, brown and stormy grays. Bryna tried to see beyond the vortex, strained to see glimpses of blues and reds and greens. But the darker shades held rein and she struggled against an overwhelming sense of doom.

  Eager to be free of the dirge, she forced her eyes open. A blinding pain shot through her skull, tempting her to clamp her eyes closed again. But an inner warning told her she needed remain awake. With great difficulty, she kept her eyes open.

  A curved ceiling loomed over her, its surface made of bare rock interspersed with cracks of varying width. For a moment she became lost in the pattern they wove, following them down to the wall of the room where they disappeared into packed earth.

  She frowned, tried to collect her scattered thoughts. She had been waiting for Bran, in that garden. Voices drifted from her memory. People talking about... She squeezed her eyes tight, tried to remember what was said. She needed to think more clearly. She tried to sit up but couldn’t. Twice she raised herself only to be held down tight. Slowly, the fog in her head cleared.

  Looking sideways, she found her left arm bound to an iron ring driven into the narrow slab of stone where she lay. Her other arm too, as well as each leg. She was completely immobilized. Bile rose in her throat. Images of the young slave boy in the prison flashed in her mind.

  “It’s about time you woke.”

  The disembodied voice oozed out from behind her. Bryna pulled futilely at her bonds. The faint sound of leather slapping against the soles of feet seemed magnified a thousand times.

  She slammed her eyes shut again, could scarce control the rising tide of panic that was causing her breathing to come in short gasps. Each footfall seemed to keep time with the skipped beats of her racing heart. Her vision blurred again. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. It was important that she regain control. Oh gods, when had she ever been in control in this Roman world?

  A sharp bark of laughter prompted her to open her eyes. The somber colors of her vision melded into a black shape, made all the deeper by the evil and deception imbued within its dark form.

  “It’s quite useless to try to break free. Unlike Hapu, I make sure my plans don’t go astray.”

  Closer now, standing next to her, the voice joined with the colors confirming what she’d only hoped she’d dreamed.

  Gideon!

  A torch was offered by an unseen hand. The fire flickered, cast shadows against his harsh visage. Her senses reached out of their own accord, looking for something, some shred of compassion. But there was only a void.

  Gideon peeled his lips back into an uneven smile. Bryna stared into his dark eyes, bright with triumph and madness. “What? No greeting for family? Surely even a barbarian like yourself has the manners to welcome relations.”

  Bryna moistened her parched lips. “Please let me go.” She groaned inwardly at the futility of the request.

  Gideon arched his brow. “Release you? I think not.” He took a few steps down, tested the tension of the rope binding her left foot. She cringed, tried to pull her ankle away, scraped her heel across a jagged edge of the raised dais.

  “You have been quite a thorn in my side. How I let that incompetent Egyptian talk me into using those special talents of yours to lead Jared into my trap. . .”

  “You were the man at the taverna, the one who paid Coeus.”

  Gideon smiled again and bowed. “Oh yes, I wanted to see the deed done.” A frown twisted his features. “Though I barely made it there ahead of the whelp. You did an excellent job my dear. Your performance convinced Jared to go to the warehouse. I could not have done it without your assistance”

  She refused to let guilt distract her. She had to stall him, give her time to see a way out. “You sold him into slavery?”

  “Actually, my strategy did not include such a luxury.” His expression darkened, his lips drew back into a snarl. “I wanted him dead!”

  The vehemence of his statement shook Bryna to her bones. Lunacy gave Gideon’s eyes an unearthly brilliance.

  “Then how...” she managed to choke out.

  Gideon’s insanity thrived on reliving the details.

  “The greed of the gladiators Hapu employed to carry out the deed.” Gideon began to pace back and forth. A spark from the torch landed on her arm, but she stifled her cry of pain.

  “I was enraged when Hapu informed me Jared had been sold. I had worked so hard to lay the groundwork for his disappearance. Only when he assured me he had been sold to the Iberian salt mines could I be comforted.”

  “The salt mines?”

  Gideon looked down at her. “Why, yes, my dear. The salt min
es. Slaves who labor there live no more than half a year at best and die a horrible death. Their lungs fill with the dust of the salt. Chained in the bowels of the earth, they pray for death.”

  Bryna could only stare at the man who so relished the thought of his own flesh and blood perishing in such a hideous manner. Poor Jared, to have trusted this man, his uncle, who hated him so much. “You coveted Jared’s wealth so much as to murder him?

  Gideon stopped his pacing, stared down at her as though she had grown a second head. “His wealth? I have no need for his pitiable bit of wealth. My skills as a merchant far outweigh his.”

  The question was in her eyes and Gideon wasted no time telling her. “Crimes must be avenged, dear girl! Sins atoned for, the purity of the cause cleansed.”

  “What sin did Jared commit?” she whispered. Gideon stared past her, the unholy light of insanity glazing his eyes. Madness not to listen to reason, she knew. Bryna twisted, desperate to be free of the restraints. But the leather used to bind her only tightened.

  “Shifra, my sister. Oh, how it crushed my heart the day she chose to marry a Roman! The enemy, the conquerors of Abraham’s descendants.” He started his frenetic pacing again. “Then, if that was not shame enough, she bore that hafling brat! Sullied our family name with his impure blood!”

  Her own blood went cold. “But you took him in, raised him.”

  Gideon sneered. “My wife insisted. Women are weak minded, soft, not a bit of logic in them. I refused at first, until I realized how it made that Roman scum Flavian suffer. To steal his son from him was like sticking a knife in his heart. Then I relished it.”

  Gideon resumed his pacing, mumbling as though he held a conversation with another. She scanned the area surrounding her. The slab upon which she was bound sat in the center of a large cavern carved out of the earth. The meager light from the torch illuminated only Gideon, but she sensed they were not alone. Suddenly, the room filled with a bone chilling cacophony of snarls and shrill cries. Her heart raced, she pulled desperately at her bonds.