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of the government who cared a whit about any of the plebians. The mob, as they so derisively called the common people, were beneath their regard. It mattered little to them if the general populace had food to eat as long as their own coffers were filled with coin. “There must be some way to find the funds.”
    Miriam made a scoffing noise. “It would take a miracle.”
    Or another trip to the market. An image of the glowering barbarian came to mind. Would he be there? Gods, what was the matter with her? Adria came to her feet and brushed a kiss on top of Miriam’s head saying over her shoulder as she rushed out the door, “You’re always talking about faith, Miriam. I just might have that miracle you need.”
    But, Adria thought, she might have to trade her soul to get it.
     

Chapter Three
    B ran despised the Forum.
    It didn’t matter that the crowds gave him plenty of space, intimidated by, as Menw so often and annoyingly put it, Bran’s potent charm. He directed some of that charm in the form of a scowl to a group of chattering young women moving in his direction. Eyes widening, they scurried out of his way but not before he saw the admiring glances they sent him over their shoulders as they stared at his ass. There would have been a time in his life, a time two years ago, when such ardent appreciation from a group of females would have fed his male pride to the point of bursting.
    But that had been before his enslavement, before his fame and renown as a gladiator had made him an object of curiosity, the object of patrician women’s fantasy. It had sickened him the way the wealthy women of Alexandria had thrown themselves at him, vying for his attentions like mares in heat might a stallion. Appalled him more that his man’s body had responded to their eager pawing. The humiliation had been unbearable. Coupled with the death and destruction he’d been forced to commit it was no surprise he’d become more animal than man.
    “Not everyone has such long legs as yours,” complained Menw, huffing as he caught up with him at the alley leading to the jeweler’s. He shifted the carved chest in his arms, balancing it on his stump.
    Bran cringed inwardly, knowing Menw would refuse any assistance. He could easily have carried the coffer but his clansman had insisted that the Roman merchants he bargained with would not expect a master craftsman to carry his own goods. What did he care what the bastards thought? He needed coin, not their false respect. “I wish only to be done with this business,” he bit out. “This is the last commissioned piece for the jeweler and the most profitable. I need the money to settle my debts.”
    Menw rolled his eyes. “You have more wealth hoarded away than the high king himself and what are these debts you need to settle?”
    “The rent on the house these past six months,” he answered gruffly.
    “Your brother-in-law owns the house and provides it to you at no cost.”
    A fact that had gnawed at Bran’s gut every day of those six months. In Eire he’d been fully capable of taking care of his own and as a freedman he would also do so. “I do not need charity from a Roman.”
    Menw gave him an exasperated look. “He is your family, the husband of your sister who, unlike her thick-skulled brother, has not forgotten the value of hospitality.” He shifted the coffer again and sniffed. “In Eire you would never have turned away a stranger seeking refuge much less a member of your clan.”
    “Hospitality,” he sneered. “Bah! See where that got me? Bound in chains and dragged oceans away from home.”
    “Bran, you do not know...”
    “I know, old man!” Bran hissed through clenched teeth. A muscle worked furiously in his jaw as he fought to keep the anger within him from clawing to the surface. He’d had ample time during endless days of pain and deprivation to recall the events of the day of their enslavement. He’d gone over and over it in his mind, sorting through the