He nodded curtly to the slave who filled his cup. Adria saw the girl’s gaze flicker to his face in alarm and could just imagine the glowering expression she’d received. Had she not witnessed it herself only moments ago? The effect was no less frightening even coming from a ruggedly handsome man.
Adria pulled back and leaned against the side of the building, checked to be certain the overgrown bush serving as her hiding place still concealed her presence. She’d known that stealing from the jeweler would not be an easy task. For the past three days she’d observed the pattern of activity at his shop—when the customers came, what duties the staff performed and where. Yesterday she’d managed to slip into the compound and determine the location of the merchant’s inventory. The majority of it was in a locked room on the other side of this storeroom. On the other side of that glowering, dark, man.
Gods.
She only needed a few select pieces. Something worth a significant sum. Something valuable enough to impress a master thief.
Not for the first time since leaving the
insulae
, Adria questioned her actions. At the time, seeing the despair in Miriam’s eyes, knowing she had nowhere else to go, that she and her children might end up living on the street, her decision to obtain an expensive bauble to offer to Tiege had seemed her only recourse.
Now the thought of stealing from a renowned jeweler like Paulin Cornelius seemed ludicrous. And Tiege accepting her bounty in return for a small percentage? Sheer madness. He did not suffer humiliation unless he was the one doling it out. The master thief would be out for blood.
Adria held her breath as a duo of slaves passed by her hiding place.
Fool
a tiny voice whispered in her head,
Tiege will take the merchandise and then slit your throat for your sheer audacity.
A sinking sensation went through her at that raw truth.
She released a shaky sigh. If she had any sense, she’d forget this whole scheme, find some other way to get the coin Miriam needed. Adria squirmed as the voice spoke again.
How many baubles would it take to equal one of Paulin’s showpieces? This is no vegetable stand. You know you itch to do it. Only the best thief could be successful. Or are you frightened?
She scoffed softly. Frightened? She could do this with her eyes closed.
Adria stole another look at the imposing figure sitting at the table. Her instincts warned her that this man was more than a mere annoyance. The memory of how those fiery green eyes had bored into her sent a shiver up her spine.
No Roman had eyes the color of emeralds and midnight hair falling in a silken curtain past broad shoulders. No citizen wore twin plaits from one temple, a barbaric symbol that brushed against an angled jaw that seemed carved from marble. With a straight nose any patrician would envy and firm lips, he was handsome in a wild, primal way that caused her heart to beat erratically. She swallowed hard.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting.”
Shifting so that the room was in full view without revealing her presence, Adria watched Paulin Cornelius enter from the direction of the treasure room. She tried to see around him but the jeweler was an imposing man as well. As broad as he was tall, his girth took up the entire width of the entry. He sported a circlet of gray hair around his head and his cheeks sagged into a set of jowls that jiggled with each step. Dressed in a red tunic of costly silk that fell well below his knees and wearing rings of gold on every finger, he stopped and waited impatiently for his slave, Strabo to position an ornate sedan chair behind him for his rather ample posterior.
“My master is most appreciative of your time,” answered the one-armed servant. “He knows you are a busy man.”
Adria didn’t think that was the case as the barbarian shifted imperceptibly, the muscles in his shoulders visibly tightening.
Apparently, neither did Paulin. He looked down his bulbous nose at the man barely concealing his disdain when he spoke. “I am. My business has increased by tenfold in just the past few months.”
“Indeed,” answered the barbarian. The deep timbre of his voice, despite being heavily accented, flowed over her like rich, heady wine. “My designs have been most popular.”
It was a wonder that Paulin’s jaw did not crack from the forced smile he gave the man. “The pieces you have provided have done well,” he conceded with a sniff. “But my clientele are quite selective. They know where to come for quality goods.”
The one armed servant shot his master a warning look which Adria found odd. Would the man not fear punishment for daring to chastise his master? Apparently not, as his glare flashed hot when his master spoke.
“I know your profits have increased many times in the months you have traded my jewelry. All of Rome—” the man said the city’s name with a sneer –”knows of Paulin Cornelius and—” He paused and cocked his head. “—what is the word they use? Marvels that you can create authentic barbarian designs.”
Paulin’s face reddened and he looked as if he might burst. “You have the commissioned piece?”
The barbarian gave a curt nod. Adria leaned forward as the jewelers servant set a plain wooden coffer in the middle of the table between Paulin and the man. The servant raised the lid.
The jeweler reached into the chest and lifted a necklace from its resting place. A small gasp of awe escaped her before Adria clapped her hand over her mouth and dropped below the window edge when the barbarian’s head snapped around in her direction. She held her breath for long moments before inching her way back to the window. Everyone’s attention, including hers, was focused on the necklace.
It was beautiful. A large amethyst flanked by two silver half moons carved with intricate symbols that Adria longed to see up close. A teardrop of pure silver studded with small pearls dangled from the bottom of the gem. The moon shapes continued along delicate strands of silver woven into a collar and were interspersed with more amethysts and pearls.
Adria’s stomach clenched with excitement.
“Exquisite,” Paulin breathed. He laid the necklace aside and removed matching earrings and bracelets. A shaft of sunlight bounced off the silver making it sparkle. “Lady Valerius will be pleased.”
“The cost of the raw materials was great.”
The corner of Adria’s mouth quirked at the shrewd light that came to Paulin’s eyes. He carefully replaced the jewelry into the case. “Silver is not as costly as gold. And pearls are abundant.”
“None matched as these,” answered the barbarian with what Adria thought sounded like a growl. “It was difficult finding those purple stones to meet your client’s demands.”
“What my master means to say,” interjected the one-armed man, “is that a great amount of care and effort went into their creation. It is his finest work and he knows a man of standing such as yourself would compensate him accordingly.”
Adria could see the smirk on Paulin’s face. Fairness was a rare thing when it came to Roman merchants, especially wealthy ones, but a spike of anger went through her at the knowledge the jeweler meant to cheat the man.
“One hundred
denarii
.”
The barbarian scoffed. “That does not pay the cost of the coal for my fire.”
A look of agitation crossed the jeweler’s face before he composed it into a genial mask. “My friend, my friend. We have been trading for what? Nearly six months now? Have I not been honest and fair in my dealings?”
The man and his servant said nothing. Paulin’s face colored. “I accepted your work when others would not and not without considerable risk to my reputation.”
“Because I am a barbarian?”
The question was posed with such calm that it sent a shiver through Adria. But Paulin did not appear to see the warning in it. He went on. “Yes. If the matter were to be spoken of with frankness. You know full well that many would not even consider purchasing anything from someone not of Rome.”
The man leaned toward Paulin, strong, lean hands splayed on the table between them. Adria could see the harsh contours of the barbarian’s face. He was angry. “This
barbarian
and his
barbaric
pieces have lined your coffers well. This necklace, the earrings and the bracelets are of the finest quality. Five hundred
aureus
. No more. No less.”
Five hundred
aureus
! Gods, that was a fortune. A mere fraction of that would be more than Miriam needed.
Paulin looked stricken before he said with a sputter, “Five hundred
aureus
? You must be mad!”
“My master, I am sure, would be willing to negotiate.” The barbarian’s servant held out his one hand in supplication.
The barbarian crossed his arms and repeated. “Five. Hundred.
Aureus
.”
Adria held her breath, watched Paulin struggle to contain his outrage beneath the man’s cold, determined stare. After several long minutes the jeweler raised his hand. “Strabo!”
Paulin’s slave hurried forward, his head bent over folded hands. “Yes, master?”
“Bring my coffer.”
Strabo bowed and darted through the doorway.
“I agree to this only as a concession to our business relationship.”
The barbarian scoffed. “You do this because Lady Valerius will pay you twice the amount.”
Strabo, trying hard not to pant, returned with a large, iron-bound chest. With a loud exhalation he set it on the table.
His expression far from pleasant, Paulin produced a key from his belt and inserted it into the lock. Without looking at his slave, the jeweler motioned for him to hold open a leather pouch. Paulin reached into the strongbox and counted out the amount, one coin at a time. Adria’s mouth fell open at the mound of gold. Perhaps she could just take that and bypass Tiege altogether.
Her hopes for such an easy solution to her dilemma were dashed when Paulin snapped the lid closed.
The jeweler gave the pouch to Strabo, who handed it to the barbarian’s servant. “Our business is done. My slave will show you the way out.”
Again, the barbarian made a scoffing noise as the jeweler strode from the room. Strabo, his face a mix of apology and relief waited for them at the door. Adria’s relief equaled Strabo’s when the man and his servant followed, speaking to each other in a foreign tongue. From the sound of it, it appeared the servant was again chastising his master.
Adria shook her head and then stilled, her heart picking up its pace as she realized that the coffer with the necklace was still on the table.
Unlocked.
***
“I should throttle him just for the pleasure of it.”
“That would certainly enhance your reputation,” muttered Menw, tying another knot in the pouch’s cord.
“What do I care what a Roman thinks?” He glanced over his shoulder and scowled at the door which had slammed shut behind them. The wretch had already judged him on appearance alone, on his origins. What would he have thought if he’d known of his reputation as a gladiator? That he dealt with a man hailed by the crowds as
interfactor anima
, the killer of souls? “He thought I was too ignorant to understand the value in our trade.”
“Well, I’ll not argue that,” Menw said on a long sigh. “If Paulin had ever seen you haggle with the traders in Eire he’d have known he was fortunate to part with only five hundred
aureus
.”
Menw was right. In their homeland Bran would have been able to extol the fine craftsmanship, the labor involved and it would have been appreciated and respected. Those he’d traded with knew quality. He could easily have gotten half as much more. He blew out a tired breath. “Let us go, Menw. There is much to be done before we leave.”
They had only taken a few more steps down the street when the jeweler’s door flew open.
“Halt!”
Bran and Menw turned at the hysterical shout to see a nervous Strabo standing aside to allow a red faced Paulin through the door. The jeweler stomped toward them drawing, Bran noted, the avid attention of the few people in the street.
Paulin stopped in front of him, hands on hips. “I want it returned!”
“What do you want returned?” Bran asked gruffly.
“My jewelry. The pieces for which I just paid you an enormous amount.”
Bran raised a brow and exchanged confused looks with Menw. “I do not know of what you speak.”
Paulin scowled and ticked off the items on his fingers. “The necklace. The earrings. The bracelets. They are gone.”
Bran narrowed his gaze at the man. “I am no thief. You have the merchandise, not I.”
Paulin’s expression went cold. “What barbarian would not plunder where he could?”
Anger sizzled through Bran. He shrugged off Menw’s restraining hand and curled a hand around Paulin’s throat. “I am not a thief,” he said in a low, menacing voice. His honor may be in shreds but it was still there and by the gods he’d not listen to this prick malign it.
“Bran,” whispered Menw in Gaelic, “murdering a Roman, even an insignificant one such as this, is not worth the price you would pay. A dead man cannot go home.”
The red haze in his vision cleared faster than the handprint on Paulin’s neck. He pushed the man away and growled. “Do not lay the blame at my feet for your carelessness.”
“Then how do you explain their disappearance?” squeaked Paulin, rubbing his bruised neck.
“Perhaps they were misplaced,” offered Menw.
The color drained from Strabo’s face. His earlier solicitousness dissolved into self-preservation. “Impossible! We were gone from the room only moments. When I returned from seeing you out, the coffer was still there, the lid open and empty. I asked the slaves working in the garden if they had seen anything amiss.”
A shudder of knowing swept through Bran. Working in the garden? The girl who looked out of place. The girl in the street. Gods, he should have paid better attention to the warnings. Bran pushed past Paulin and headed for the jeweler’s house.
Servants scrambled out of the way as Bran strode toward the garden. He pushed aside the thought of how the real thief might suffer for the crime. It was a choice they—no, he thought grimly,
she
—had made. That it had been an ignorant one was not his concern. What was of import to him was keeping his money.