Free Desire of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 3) by Lydia Pax Page A

about her—Porcia was able to connive several lusty merchants into giving her loans without ever recording them on paper.
    This meant that when it came time to collect, it was simply her word against the debtor, which was harder to prove in court. No doubt that had been part of her strategy all along.
    At first, Publius had been disinclined to pay such debts, saying there was little legal precedent for him to do so. And Publius, if anything, was a stickler for precedent. Then, however, all those debtors stopped providing him with any new supplies—and so now Leda stood in the street in front of Olonius’s small taberna where he sold the finest wine in Puteoli.
    “You’ve put a good name to your Dominus today.” Olonius jingled the bag of coin that Leda had brought him and leered up and down at Leda’s form. “Polite. Pretty, too. Are you for sale?”
    There was nothing more to say. The scroll was signed and the money taken.
    “We’ll expect the wine on the day of the party. I’ve written you a reminder for the order.” She handed over another scroll. “Good afternoon, Olonius.”
    Outside, Conall waited for her. He was not wearing a shirt, which meant that his body was displayed heavily. That was very unfair in her mind. All his best features were on his body. The heavy line of abdominals, stacked like bricks. The broad expanse of his chest, every inch hard and powerful. The rippling forms of his arms, so utterly capable of gripping her most vulnerable, lust-hungry parts.
    She stepped back into the bustle of the street, pushing the ugly, leering look of the merchant from her mind. Conall looked at her with plenty of want, and often, but at least he had the decency to carry the looks as if he hoped she would carry them back. To that merchant, she had been little more than window dressing for the afternoon.
    “It went well, I hope?” he asked.
    “Yes. Naturally. I'm good at my job, Conall.”
    “I expect you are. You're a smart woman.”
    It was dangerous to speak with him. She was reminded quickly as to why she hadn't for such a long time. Everything she said to him turned into some manner of compliment about herself. It was rather shameless, leaving openings for him like that. It was like she wanted to hear him say nice things to her.
    Which she most certainly did not . She was a princess.
    The city of Puteoli was famous for its massive port. Rome and its empire depended upon the free flow of grain to feed its citizens, with most every denizen depending on the grain dole to feed themselves and their families. That grain came in huge portions from Sicily and Egypt, and the grain produced there arrived almost exclusively in Puteoli.
    From the port city, the grain was then distributed to the rest of the continent and empire. But, as Puteoli received the grain first, its people were often well-fed, and at the arena games (which were regular), plenty of bread was passed out to the crowd.
    It had been a rich town in times past, and would have been still if it were not for the Antonine Plague. In the streets, Roman soldiers patrolled often ensuring that no plague-struck individuals begged or—more often—lay sick and dying in alleys.
    The soldiers did not know much about the sickness, but any fool knew that sick people had to be kept away from the healthy populace to keep commerce flowing.
    On the street, merchants plied their wares. Most of the sights were common—bronze, cloth, glass, meat. There were several communal ovens that charged small portions of the bread dole instead of money. But on the street also were some new players to the game—greasy-looking fellows with a great many necklaces and talismans about their necks.
    They sold cures and preventatives for the plague. Pouches of ground animal bone were sold for cheap on the low end, with small glass vials of dust and crystals on the high end. None of it, Leda suspected, would be very effective. People would sell anything to the needy.
    Thoughts of the