“I assure you I don’t exaggerate. I’ve heard your name praised as far as Alexandria. Some even hint you’re a son of Jupiter. They whisper your name in hallowed tones and—”
“Enough. If you seek to gain my favor with compliments, be warned, you will not. I’m in need of four able-bodied men, no more. The taller, stronger and healthier the better.”
“No more than four?” Some of the gleam left the slave trader’s eyes. “I have thirty such men.”
Caros looked toward the row of ragged beggars on offer. Sitting in the dirt, most appeared too weak to stand. Others sat beside them, skinny, dejected, already defeated. A few slightly stronger ones leaned against the wall. None of them would do. “Are you trying to swindle me? I need men for gladiators, not lion fodder.”
In the torchlight, Aulus’s face grew red, as though he sensed a hefty profit slipping through his fingers. “This is not my best merchandise. Follow me and I’ll show you a host of potential champions.”
Unconvinced, Caros nodded and followed anyway. Aulus carried a torch as they walked past the wheeled cages filled with reeking animals and all manner of degraded humanity. The sight of dirty, hollow-eyed children clenched his stomach. A youth sitting beside them reminded him of his own capture and sale into slavery. His loving mother and sisters had been tortured that day, then crucified while he was forced to watch.
Caros pushed the nightmare away. Resigned to the ways of the world, he hardened his heart and continued after Aulus.
“Here we are.” The trader halted beside a wagon. He held up the torch, giving Caros a better view into the small prison where a score of men stood packed like fish in a net.
With a practiced eye, Caros considered them. Swathed in loincloths, all were healthier than the wretches in the first lot, but only two or three had the makings of a fighter.
“I told you, no?” Aulus flashed a confident grin. “Any one of these men could be your next champion.”
Caros snorted. “How many champions have you trained?”
Aulus’s smile faded. “None, but—”
“Then let me be the judge.” He pointed to the three best men. “I’ll take them if you offer a decent price. Otherwise be on your way.”
“Seven hundred denarii each,” the trader said without a blink.
Caros laughed. “You are a swindler, Aulus. These slaves aren’t worth two hundred. You’ll have to do better.”
“Five hundred, then.”
“Two-fifty.”
“Four-fifty.”
“Two-sixty,” he said, enjoying the barter and the slave trader’s increasing dismay.
Aulus glanced at his wares, obviously weighing his costs. “Four hundred.”
Caros walked away. Several wagons ahead, he saw Gaius inspecting a pair of giraffes.
“Wait!” Aulus sounded pained. “You didn’t let me finish.”
With a glance over his shoulder, Caros raised a brow and waited for the price.
“Three-fifty.”
He sensed the other man’s defeat. “Two-seventy.”
“Three hundred,” Aulus said in disgust. “My final offer.”
“Done.” Caros returned to the beaten man and opened the pouch he held. Coins clinked into the trader’s outstretched palm as he counted out the correct sum.
While they waited for the new slaves to be released from the cage and led around to the barracks at the back of the house, Aulus counted the coins for a second time. Satisfied, he dumped them into his own drawstring pouch as they started back to the house’s side door.
“That’s only three men, Bone Grinder. You said you need four. If you won’t purchase the men or children I have on offer, would you consider a wench?”
“We have enough women to meet our needs.”
“I have one you could train for the ring,” the trader persisted. “The mob loves a woman who can draw blood. They’ll froth at the mouth when they learn she’s a Christian as well as a maiden. I can see it now—”
“How do you know she’s pure?” Caros interrupted, impatient. “Have you touched her?”
“Her uncle made the claim, and she’s remained unsullied while in my possession.”
“Her uncle?” A frown pinched Caros’s brows. “Her own kin sold her?”
The slave trader shrugged. “It happens often.”
“Were they starving?”
“Far from it. On a better day, I imagine the old man is quite rich.”
“How can you believe a swine who would sell his own family?” Caros asked, the question tinged with disgust.
“He swore it by the gods.”
“And why should I believe you?”
Aulus laughed. “Do you think I would lie to you when you could crush me like an acorn? Besides, why would I allow anyone to touch her and ruin a chance for greater profits?”
“Because you’re a swindler.”
Aulus didn’t deny the charge. A grin spread across his lips. He stopped beside an open wagon where three piteous women sat chained to the sideboards. He lifted his torch, pointing to a fourth female stretched out on the floor.
Caros’s gaze flicked over the sleeping girl. Purple bruises marred her small face. Long dark hair fanned out around her head, shining in the torchlight. “You intend to pawn this child off as a woman I can train for the ring?”
“I assure you she’s no child.”
“Why was she beaten? I’ve no need for a troublesome wench.”
“My scout said she disagreed with her uncle’s plans to sell her and the fellow disciplined her for it.”
“When?”
“Earlier this morning.”
“She hasn’t woken?”
“Once, not long after midday.” Aulus waved a fly from the tip of his nose. “She’ll come to, but there’s a nasty bump on the back of her head.”
Intent on the girl, Caros’s heart beat with an unfamiliar pang of compassion. Having been the recipient of the emotion so little himself, he’d almost forgotten it existed.
“I planned to sell her to a brothel, but since she’s a Christian, I’m weighing my options.” A wicked gleam sparked in the trader’s eyes. “I was told
