Free Shadow of the King by Helen Hollick

behind her eyes,
    although she was masking her fear well.
    “There are some men who enjoy a bit of spirit in their bed,” the Pendragon said,
    to no one in particular. “’Tis easy enough to stop a tongue from clacking.”
    The fat man hauled the rope harder, causing the girl to gasp as the other end
    choked at her neck. He was grinning, jowls flapping, an ugly, insidious man.
    “Why think you I buy her? To converse with over dinner?”
    Arthur grimaced. He was no moralist, had no prudish censorship, but this
    thing brought a sour taste to his mouth. The girl could be no more than nine
    or eight and ten; Fat Man was in his sixth decade at least.
    Arthur jiggled his fingers at the money pouch secured at his waist. He had
    not much coin—bronze and silver was becoming rare, nothing had been minted
    in Britain since Vortigern had died. Idly, casual, he took a ring from his finger,
    tossed it in the air, caught it, saw the slave-master’s greedy eyes follow its move-
    ment. Fat Man had stopped tugging at the rope, the girl ceased her shrieking.
    Bedwyr tapped at his cousin’s arm. “Leave it, what want you with her?”
    Arthur waved him silent. His eye had never left the slave-master. “As she says,
    a noble-born, even a king, might be interested in her.”
    4 8 H e l e n H o l l i c k
    The man laughed, derisive. “As much as such a profit would be pleasing, no
    man of that rank would be seeking a bed-mate in this midden heap of a place!”
    Raising one eyebrow higher, Arthur considered the situation. He had obvi-
    ously not been recognised. On the two occasions he had visited this Forum
    he had not lingered, the tavern he frequented was on the far side of town,
    and the citizens of Juliomagus most certainly did not venture into his own
    army encampment downriver. There was no reason, save for the quality of his
    appearance, that he would be recognised. His cloak was fastened close, hiding
    his sword and the royal torque around his neck. Save for the dragon ring on his
    left hand there was nothing to show who he was.
    “I may be interested in her, assuming she does not carry the cock-pox.”
    Sensing a better deal Tadius answered quickly. “She’s clean, a maiden pure.”
    The latter Arthur very much doubted. The girl was looking at him, kneeling
    in the mire, her expression pleading—anything, anyone, rather than the fat
    man. A maiden? Arthur studied her. Na , she had the look of the world-wise
    about her, no naive innocence lingered behind those blue eyes.
    Fat Man snorted his contempt, tightened his grip around the rope. He had
    no intention of losing his bargain. “You are a bloody soldier, one of those
    cursed British, as bad as any Saex or Goth! We did not invite you here. We
    want you gone, want rid of you. You plunder us for food and whores and wine;
    you brawl, make a nuisance of yourselves. Your poxed, bastard king promises
    to pay, to settle all debts with us, the honest traders and merchant men—huh!
    Aye, that he will, on the day pigs fly in the sky!”
    Arthur stood very quiet, very still. Bedwyr, a step behind knowing his cousin
    so very well, had his hand resting lightly on his sword pommel.
    Tossing the ring once more, Arthur flipped it in the slave-master’s direction.
    “That is good gold, the gem is small but a quality garnet, for all its lack of size.”
    He indicated the purse of coins. “I doubt that will match my offer.”
    The slave-master examined the ring. He doubted the garnet was real, glass
    probably, and the gold would be poor quality, but it was of a higher value than
    the other offer. He nodded acceptance, put the ring in his pouch, and reached
    for the girl’s rope, tossing the coin pouch back to its owner, who ignored it,
    let it fall.
    With surprising speed, a dagger came into Fat Man’s hand. “You agreed the
    deal Tadius. She is mine!”
    Arthur’s hand had, even faster, clenched around the man’s pudgy neck—and
    he was sailing forward, not far or high, but far