Crimson and Steel Read Free

the futility. Soon Papaios would wrap his weathered fist around her throat and drag her back to the slave market. She would be taken to the home of Braxus and be treated to his horrors.
    Then she saw a golden glimmer of hope. Standing unattended on the street was a palomino pony. With neither saddle nor bridle, it looked as if it was waiting to be dressed for a ride. Without losing a stride, Asmin gripped the blond mane of the ruddy horse and leaped upon the mount bareback. A yell and a quick kick later, the pony was galloping down the muddy avenue with Asmin clinging for dear life. What ragged silk was left on her was flapping behind her as she raced through the streets and toward the open gate. Papaios watched helplessly as she disappeared. With a curse he spit into the effluence of the street and headed back to retrieve his mount from the column in the forum.
     
     
    Chapter Two
     

     
    “Javad, what is the cause of this disruption?” Marcus, the tall man with the aquiline nose, barked over the commotion.
    “Forgiveness, Praetor,” replied the slave master, bowing in courtesy for the elder man’s rank. “One of my girls has run off. It is of no great concern. I have sent my man out to fetch her. All is well.”
    “Like hell it is, you piggish Persian prick,” said Braxus, now recovered from the blow Asmin had served him. He shoved Javad, then tugged at his orange robes, jostling him as the crowd that was assembled to observe the slave auction looked on.
    The throng of citizens—nobles, whores, beggars, and thieves—gathered in the forum teemed with movement. Susurrations, shouts, and shrieking laughter blended into a cacophony that assaulted the senses, and amid the jangling strife stood these three men. Situated at the base of a high tower built in honor of a conquering emperor, they shouted above the din to be heard. A dispute was to be settled, and the eagle-nosed man with graying temples was fitted for the job.
    “Braxus, still yourself,” Marcus said sharply. “Harass Javad no longer. Stop it at once, I say, or I’ll have you arrested and put in chains!”
    “Just you try, Praetor,” Braxus challenged, stepping back from the Persian. “The mayor would release me within the hour and have something to say to you, no doubt.”
    “Oh, that’s right,” Marcus said with mock recollection. He stepped toward Braxus. The praetor paused and pierced the charioteer with his cold, black gaze, looking through him. “You are one of the mayor’s toys. Think me not as one of the pieces on the good mayor’s game board.”
    “Forgiveness, Lord,” Javad implored meekly, breaking the glaring silence, “I promise to make this man happy. There will be no more disruption in the forum from us.”
    “See that there isn’t,” ordered Marcus, still fixated on Braxus. He reluctantly turned away from the arena champion and motioned to his secretary Lucian that they were ready to move on.
    “Javad…Javad,” came a panting yell from across the piazza. Marcus stopped, cast his eyes to the heavens in exasperation, and turned again to the men in disagreement. A man in a spired helm and brandishing a curved sword skidded to a stop before the Persian slave trader. “Javad, she has fled the city.” Papaios breathlessly bent over and rested his hands on his knees.
    “Stow your brand, Scythian,” Marcus said with an air of authority, “lest my men slay you where you stand. A bare blade is forbidden in the city.”
    “Forgiveness, please,” Javad begged, pressing his palms together and again bowing to the praetor. “My man is ignorant of such civilized ways.”
    “Don’t play the fool.” Marcus wound his toga around his arm. He pointed at Javad and chastised him, saying, “You have been here far too often to beg ignorance. Every time you are here you cause a commotion, and I must involve myself. I grow weary of seeing your swarthy face. Find this man’s property, satisfy his claim, and do it by this time