The Patrician (14 page)

Yet, every day since his arrival, the girl had plagued his thoughts. Bryna had played the innocent to perfection, denying knowledge of the whoresons who’d sent him into this hell. Even her reasoning that as a slave she’d had no choice in the matter of betraying him was undisputable. But the memory of the defiant jut of that perfect chin, the fire in those extraordinary emerald eyes, convinced him that no one could make her do what she did not want to do.

Silva spoke rapidly, giving instructions of some sort. Bryna was breathing hard as she knelt, slipping the yoke from her neck. Jared frowned. Surely she had not carried the heavy load the whole way from the villa to the field?

The whore finished her diatribe and Bryna nodded curtly. With a flip of coarse hair over one shoulder Silva sauntered with the other girl over to the overseers, one of whom promptly greeted her by cupping his hands around her huge breasts.

Freed of her burden, Bryna stood erect, fisting her small hands on her hips, glowering after Silva. If he were to guess, Jared would say the whore was lucky to not go up in flames.

He watched her shift attention to the group of thirsty men. The brilliance of the sun must be playing tricks with his eyes, for he swore her expression filled with compassion. Impossible. As she’d once accused him, you had to have a heart to possess softer emotions.

She loosed one of the leather pouches from the pole, hoisted it into her arms and began to walk up the steep incline. Most of the men were too tired to move, but they called out, each vying to be the first to drink. She started at the far end from where he sat, handing the lucky man a shallow wooden bowl. When it was drained, she moved to the next in line, carefully refilling the vessel each time.

Low throated pleas for more followed her. Hearing the plaintive note in their requests turned Jared’s stomach. He’d sooner die of dehydration then beg the barbarian for anything.

From beneath hooded eyes, he watched as she patiently moved one to another, filling the cup to the brim every time, quietly reassuring the wretches that they would not be forgotten. She lightly touched shoulders, patted anxious hands, her dulcet words calming, like the soft strains of a lyre.

“She has a good heart, that one,” said the wretched hunched beside Jared. His face was weathered like a piece of old leather, the top of his head void of any hair and the straggly brown beard covering his chin was streaked with dull white. He looked to be a hundred years old.

Jared wiped his brow on his sleeve. “Old man, I think you have been under the sun too long.”

The elder turned jaundiced eyes on him. “I’ve been a slave near all my life and have known very little kindness. When it comes along, you recognize it quickly enough.”

Jared made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. The old man ignored it and took the bowl from the fellow next to him. Hands shaking, he held it out for Bryna to fill. Her features softened as she took the vessel from him, filled it with water then held it while he drank, smiling at him when he murmured his thanks. Jared stared. The smile transformed her from a mere beauty to a radiant one. He cursed as his cock tightened.

Jared accepted the bowl from the old man, smirking at Bryna’s startled expression when she realized whom she served. Her cheeks flushed, either from the heat or their close proximity. A little of both, he decided as she self-consciously placed a hand over the loose neckline of her tunic to block his frank appraisal of the enticing cleft of her breasts.

She brushed the back of her hand across her forehead, where tiny wisps of hair lay damp on her skin. “Do you wish to quench your thirst or not?” she demanded impatiently.

“Dare I?” he drawled. “Likely it is poisoned.”

She smiled sweetly. “The temptation was hard to overcome, but the others would be ill as well.”

He scowled and thrust the cup in her direction. Lips pressed into a tight line, she filled it with water.

Jared lifted the vessel to his lips. A sharp pain shot across his knuckles. The bowl flew into the air, bounced off Bryna’s arm, the water spilling onto the ground where it was absorbed by the dry dust.

“There will be no water for the Jew,” growled Baal.

Bryna backed away, averted her eyes from the
vilicus.
Jared refused, glared at the overseer, every muscle in his body going taut, prepared to lunge at the gloating fool, wrap his hands around Baal’s neck and squeeze until his eyes bulged from his head.

Baal hunkered down in front of him. Using the hilt of his whip, he propped Jared’s chin up. “You want to kill me, don’t you slave?”

Jared clenched his teeth. Of course he wanted to kill the sorry bastard. But he also wanted to live, so he held his tongue, focused his eyes over the man’s shoulder. He’d be damned if he’d lower them.

Baal chuckled hoarsely. “Well done. At last you are learning who is master.” Turning on his heel, he joined the rest of the guards who were laughing and congratulating their manager for putting the slave in his place. Jared curled his injured hand into a fist, struggled to control the impotent fury churning in his gut.

“Hold out your hands.”

Bryna’s whisper jerked his attention away from Baal. He hesitated only a moment, then did as she instructed. Casting a furtive look at the overseers she filled his cupped hands with water. He drank quickly desperate not to lose a single drop. She filled them once more then stooped and retrieved the bowl. A smile tugged at his lips at the triumphant lighting her eyes.

The sharp whistle of leather slicing through the air ended the brief respite. As the overseers urged the exhausted men to their feet, he watched Bryna hurry down the hill to join Claudia and Silva, who slapped her for keeping them waiting.

A spade was thrust into Jared’s hands and the gang was directed to start digging the huge boulder out of the earth. Baal stood nearby, regarding him warily, his whip held loosely in his fist. Jared ignored him, thrust the shovel deep into the dirt, his trembling muscles falling into a mindless rhythm. But not his thoughts.

Bryna had shown compassion to the slaves and courage in defying Baal. Courage or foolishness, he couldn’t decide for if the
vilicus
had caught her giving Jared water she would have been punished. An image of her chained to the post, her back in shreds, shot a bolt of dread through him.

She put these chains on you.

Jared ground his teeth, stabbed the earth, savored the weight of iron against his wrists. Sympathy was wasted on the little witch. She’d tricked him once.

She would not trick him again.

T
he fading rays of the sun brushed across Bryna’s arms, dappling them in burnished gold. It had been hours since she had returned from the field rounds and Eda had kept them all busy with preparations for the evening feast. Only a dozen of Gaius’ closest friends and allies remained, yet the amount of food being prepared was staggering. There would be no rest this night.

She dug her fingers into a head of lettuce and plopped it on the table. The Romans were such gluttons, gorging themselves to the point of vomiting, spewing into large gilded basins tended by slaves. Stomachs emptied, they readied themselves for the next course.

Damn them. Bryna shredded the leaf in her hand into tiny pieces. Gaius and his sycophants ate like kings, while Jared was not allowed a single cup of water to quench his thirst.

What a foolish thing she’d done, going against Baal. If he, or his overseers, or Silva had seen her? A cold shiver went through her.

But she’d acted without thought, anger at Jared’s treatment overwhelming her good sense. Thank the gods his own hadn’t prevented him from reacting. It had been worth the risk to see the relief the water had brought his thirst.

Beyond the kitchen, the clattering of iron chains interrupted her musings. Outlined against the half-light of dusk, she could see the field slaves being led to the estate prison, the
estraglia
, for the night.

Not her concern but Bryna’s gaze sought him out. Jared was easy to spot in the midst of the weary, stooped men. Though he walked with an awkward shuffle imposed by the shackles, there was a dangerous edge to him that set him apart. She did a quick visual scan, noted a dark bruise on his left cheek. It had not been there that afternoon. Stubborn man, she wanted to shout, why must you always fight them?

As the line shuffled past the cooking area, he turned and locked eyes with her just as he did every day. It made her uncomfortable and she suspected that was the intent. Yet tonight there was an unusual brightness in those hard, tawny eyes and she wondered briefly if he might not be coming down with the fever that had killed most of the slaves a month past. But that concern fled when he sent her a tight lipped smile.

The man was insufferable. Ungrateful bastard. She picked up a tight, round lettuce, weighed it in her hand.

“Hold!” shouted Baal.

Jared just managed to stop before stumbling into the man in front of him, though the one behind him was not so quick. He reached back to support the old man before he could fall, acknowledging the grateful look sent him. He shot his gaze back to the crowded kitchen until he caught sight of Bryna lifting a large bowl. Had the witch really contemplated throwing a vegetable at him? She met his gaze without flinching and raised her chin a notch.

Jared’s lips twitched. Gods, it couldn’t be in a smile for what reason did he have for mirth? He narrowed his gaze instead, bore into hers until she shifted her shoulders in discomfort and broke the contact by looking down at the bowl on the table. He wanted her to know that he had not forgotten, that he would have his retribution.

Then, she raised her head and pinned him with a glare of her own.

Jared raised a brow in surprise but had no further time to contemplate her spirited response.

Baal and the other overseers stood at attention as Gaius and a handful of his company strolled out of the villa. The courtyard flared with torchlight as servants scurried ahead of their masters, lighting the way.

A half-dozen ladies, their
stolas
a rainbow of burgundy, blue and saffron, followed their husbands. Most wore ornate necklaces set with huge gems that matched heavy earrings dangling from their lobes. Family heirlooms no doubt, brought out for the occasion. Appearances were very important in the Roman world. Jared set his jaw, thought of the times his mother had suffered for appearances sake.

They were followed by a like number of men their faces sculpted with haughty demeanors wearing toga’s edged in purple, draped in the prescribed manner of Roman citizens. Gold signet rings adorned their soft hands and they sported fine leather boots with hardly a scratch upon the soles. A strong testimony to the wealth attained on the backs of slaves.

The group came closer, sipping wine from jewel encrusted chalices, listening with interest as Gaius pointed out various aspects of his estate operation. A muscle ticked in Jared’s cheek when the overzealous party stopped in front of the line of exhausted men.

“I have found an enclosure around the
estraglia
to be most advantageous.” Gaius was saying to his male guests. He gestured toward the prison just beyond the perimeter of the courtyard. “It affords a certain measure of extra security that I find very reassuring.” His friends murmured in agreement. Lifting his chalice to drink, Gaius caught Jared’s gaze, lowered his arm. “You there, third from the end. Step forward.”

Schooling his expression to one of indifference, Jared stepped from the line. He planted his feet as far apart as the chain would allow and waited. Anger flared in his belly as several of the matrons openly appraised him, their lust-filled gazes failing to hide their disdain for a slave. He curled his hands around the chain and boldly met their startled gazes.

“My goodness, Gaius, it’s a good thing this beast is restrained,” exclaimed an older woman, her wrinkled face gaudily painted with cosmetics. “From the look in his eye, I’d say he’d just as soon strangle us as serve us.”

“My dear lady,” Gaius answered, “That is precisely why each of my slaves is shackled. You cannot trust one of them. They have no sense at all. Are quite ignorant, in fact.”

“What is this one? A Greek? Thracian?” asked the man next to her, his rotund figure straining the folds of his toga. He took a drink of wine and then burped loudly.

“Oh, I don’t like Greeks.” remarked another, “Hard to get any work out of them, always thinking.”

“Let me guess,” cried a woman from the back wielding an ornately decorated fan. “He is a Gaul, fresh from one of our Roman victories!” She batted her lashes behind her fan. “He must be to possess such a sleek and well-muscled torso.” The women giggled.

Gaius smiled wryly. “No, my friends, nothing as exotic as a Gaul. This slave is of a much lesser breed. He is a Hebrew.” The word fell like a curse from Gaius’ lips.

The metal links bit into Jared’s palms as he gripped the chain, struggled to remain impassive as the group fell into an animated discussion of the worthlessness of the Hebrew race, but the old, familiar bile of bitterness burned Jared’s throat.

“Oh my goodness,” exclaimed the woman with the fan, “What type of creature is that lurking in the shadows?”

Jared glimpsed Bryna’s long plait of hair as she plastered herself against the wall of the kitchen. A dark foreboding swept over him. He gripped the chain harder, willed her to stay hidden.

“You there, girl. Come here,” Gaius commanded.

When Bryna did not immediately obey, Baal went after her, dragging her into the lighted courtyard..

Jared’s heart stalled in his chest as Bryna jerked free and bolted. She was light on her feet and fast, like a deer frightened from its forage. Several of the matrons squealed in horror, while two of the men tossed their cloaks to their slaves and gave chase.

He tracked her every movement. She was like a rabbit, weaving in and out between startled slaves, yapping dogs, a skittish donkey, and her bumbling pursuers. Gods, he had thought her stubborn, but not stupid. Had she learned nothing from his experience? From her own?