Free A Quiver Full of Arrows by Jeffrey Archer

always be locked safely inside
before sunset. He was aware that his father was not a popular man with the
locals, and he had warned his son that he would always be safe while it was
light as no one would dare to harm him while others could watch what was going
on, but once it was dark anything could happen. One thing he knew for certain:
when he grew up he wasn’t going to be a tax collector or work in the census
office.
    When he reached the village he found the
narrow twisting lanes that ran between the little white houses swarming with
people who had come from all the neighbouring lands to obey his father’s order
and be registered for the census, in order that they might be taxed. The boy
dismissed the plebe from his mind. (It was Marcus who had taught him to refer
to all foreigners as plebe.) When he entered the market place he also dismissed
Marcus from his mind and began to concentrate on the supplies his mother
wanted. He mustn’t make any mistakes this time or he would undoubtedly end up
with that thrashing from his &then He ran nimbly between the stalls,
checking the food carefully. Some of the local people stared at the
fair-skinned boy with the curly brown hair and the straight, firm nose. He
displayed no imperfections or disease like the majority of them. Others turned
their eyes away from him; after all, he had come from the land of the natural
rulers. These thoughts did not pass through his mind. All the boy noticed was that
their native skins were parched and lined from too much sun. He knew that too
much sun was bad for you: it made you old before your time, his tutor had
warned him.
    At the end stall, the boy watched an old
woman haggling over an unusually plump live chicken and as he marched towards
her she ran away in fright, leaving the fowl behind her. He stared at the
stallkeeper and refused to bargain with the peasant. It was beneath his
dignity. He pointed to the chicken and gave the man one denarius. The man bit the
round silver coin and looked at the head of Augustus Caesar, ruler of half the
world. (When his tutor had told him, during a history lesson, about the
Emperor’s achievements, he remembered thinking, I hope Caesar doesn’t conquer the
whole world before I have a chance to join in.) The stallkeeper was still
staring at the silver coin.
    “Come on, come on, I haven’t got all day,”
said the boy sounding like his father.
    The local did not reply because he couldn’t
understand what the boy was saying. All he knew for certain was that it would
be unwise for him to annoy the invader. The stallkeeper held the chicken firmly
by the neck and taking a knife from his belt cut its head offin one movement
and passed the dead fowl over to the boy. He then handed back some of his local
coins, which had stamped on them the image of a man the boy’s father described
as “that useless Herod”. The boy kept his hand held out, palm open, and the
local placed bronze talents into it until he had no more.
    The boy left him talentless and moved to another
stall, this time pointing to bags containing raisins, figs and dates.
    The new stallkeeper made a measure of each
for which he received five of the useless Herod coins. The man was about to
protest about the barter but the boy stared at him fixedly in the eyes, the way
he had seen his father do so often.
    The stallkeeper backed away and only bowed
his head.
    Now, what else did his mother want? He racked
his brains. A chicken, raisins, dates, figs and... of course, two pomegranates.
He searched among the fresh-fruit stalls and picked out three pomegranates, and
breaking one open, began to eat it, spitting out the pips on the ground in front
of him. He paid the stallkeeper with the two remaining bronze talents, feeling
pleased that he had carried out his mother’s wishes while still being able to
return home with one of the silver denarii. Even his father would be impressed
by that. He finished the pomegranate and, with his arms laden, headed