Free Barbarian's Soul by Joan Kayse Page B

of her tunic as she disappeared through an opening too small for his bulk. He pressed his face to the gap, watched her reach the end and disappear like a wisp of smoke.
    Bran slammed his hands against the stone. Damn the gods! It would take months to recreate those pieces, coin that he could not spare to purchase the materials. Add the fact that Jared had told him sailing after the Ides would be too dangerous and he’d be trapped in Rome another year.
    Another year in hell.
    The weight in his chest threatened to take him to his knees. There wasn’t enough wine in all of this cursed empire to drown his pain. He pushed away and stopped short, his gaze narrowing at an object lying on the ground next to the opening. Crouching down he picked up one of the earrings and brushed the dirt from it. The girl was a thief, he mused, studying the rich purple of the stone that reminded him of defiant violet eyes. And what did thieves do with their spoils?
    Bran rose to his feet, the earring clenched in his fist. A thief was only successful if they got away with their treasure.
    This thief would not.
     

Chapter Five
     
    “C ivilized people would be asleep at this hour.”
    Bran stopped pacing, turned to look at his brother-in-law’s friend and raised one brow. With his disheveled hair, agitated state and burning glint in his eyes—not all of which, Bran guessed, was due to anger—Damon Primax wasn’t any more civilized than he. Of course, with a wife as beautiful as Julia Manulus he had sound reasons for loss of sleep.
    A civilized man would also beg forgiveness for this middle-of-the-night visit but Bran vowed long ago to never beg anything from a Roman. He eyed Damon’s rumpled appearance. Even if it meant disrupting a night’s pleasure. He needed information, he needed it now and this Roman could provide it.
    “A thousand pardons, master.” The plump doorkeeper, Basil, glowered at Bran through bleary eyes. “He would not leave until he’d spoken with you.”
    Damon returned Bran’s regard with narrowed eyes. “Are you here to warn of an impending barbarian invasion?”
    Bran answered with a derisive snort. The Roman’s irreverent attitude was grating, though he’d come to understand it was the man’s way of handling the misfortunes of his life. Damon had spent more years as a slave than Bran had and survived, though he’d nearly lost his life on the cross—twice. “I have need of your knowledge.”
    The corner of Damon’s mouth twitched. “At last, someone who realizes my value.”
    Bran set his jaw. If there were any other way to find out what he needed, Bran would take it, but he’d wasted too much time chasing the elusive thief. By the time he’d found his way out of the maze of alleys, discovered the hole through which she had exited, the shadows of the setting sun had obliterated any discernable tracks.
    It wasn’t until he’d returned to Paulin’s and found that Menw had already returned the coin to the jeweler that the idea of seeking Damon Primax’s assistance crossed his mind. What would a thief, especially an apparent poor one, do with such expensive jewelry? And who in Rome would have this knowledge?
    He leveled his gaze at Damon. “You are familiar with the city?”
    Damon sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “What Roman is not?”
    There it was. That hint of Roman arrogance underlying Damon’s words even though he’d been shunned by his fellow citizens for years. Bran could almost hear Menw chiding him, telling him that not all Romans were supercilious. Suggesting, with a sharp glint in his eye, that perhaps Bran was seeing a reflection of his own pride. “I do not speak of the patrician world,” Bran answered, tamping down a spike of anger. “But of the other one, the poor and desperate side. I believe your Emperor would call them the mob ?”
    Something indefinable flashed behind Damon’s eyes. It reeked of danger and set Bran on guard. As fast as it came it was gone and