blonds!
“Nevertheless,” Malcenas said with a regretful sigh, hoping to drive Severus’ price down, “what you ask is too much.”
“He’s worth it. And more!”
“Mars himself is not worth your price.”
Severus shrugged. “A pity you cannot afford him.” He gestured toward the door. “Come. I will sell you two others of inferior quality.”
“You won’t bargain?”
“It’s a waste of my time and yours. Prochorus will buy him without quibbling over a few thousand sesterces .”
“Prochorus!” At the mention of his competitor, Malcenas knew an instant of fury.
“He arrives tomorrow.”
“Very well,” he said impatiently, his face darkening. “I’ll take this one.”
Severus grinned. “A wise decision, Malcenas. You are a shrewd man when it comes to human flesh.”
“And you, my dear Severus, have a merchant’s black heart.”
“Do you wish to see the others?”
“You said they were inferior. Offer them to Prochorus. I’ll put my seal on the contract for this one, and the funds will be transferred to you as soon as I return to Rome.”
“Agreed.”
Malcenas went to the closed door and rapped on it. A man in a simple tunic entered quickly. Malcenas nodded to Atretes. He knew the journey to the ludus , the training school for gladiators, would not be a short one. “See to him, Quintus. He’s opened his wounds. I don’t want him bleeding to death before we reach the ludus in Capua.”
----
ROME
3
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Decimus Vindacius Valerian poured more wine, then thumped the silver pitcher down on a marble table. He looked across the marble table at his son, who was lounging on the couch, an indolent look on his handsome face. The young man was trying his patience. They’d been talking for over an hour and Decimus had gotten nowhere with him.
Marcus sipped the Italian Falernian and nodded. “Excellent wine, Father.” The compliment was met with a stony glance. As always, his father was trying to direct him down the course he’d chosen for his son. Marcus smiled to himself. Did his father really expect capitulation? He was part of his sire, after all. When would the elder Valerian realize that his son had his own ideas to carry out, his own way to follow?
His father was a restless man, given to fits of irascibility when he didn’t get his way. Doggedly, he continued, his demeanor seemingly calm, which Marcus was well aware was only a veneer concealing the temper boiling beneath.
“Vespasian, for all his brains and tactical ability as a general, is still a plebeian, Marcus. And as a plebeian, he hates the aristocracy that has almost destroyed our Empire. A member of the senate claimed his genealogist had traced the emperor’s line back to Jupiter. Vespasian laughed in his face.”
Marcus shrugged and rose from the couch. “So I’ve heard, Father. He removed four senators whose bloodlines go back to Romulus and Remus.”
“If you believe in such nonsense.”
“It’s in my best interest to believe. This Flavian admits openly to being the son of a Spanish tax collector, and that may be his ultimate downfall. He is a commoner who has taken the reins of an Empire founded on royal bloodlines.”
“Just because you’re the biggest dog doesn’t mean you’re the smartest or the best. Vespasian may not have the bloodlines, but he is a born leader.”
“I share your admiration of Vespasian, Father. Galba was a senile fool and Otho, greedy and stupid. As for Vitellius, I suspect the only reason he wanted to be emperor was to have the wealth to fill his belly with goose livers and hummingbird tongues. I’ve never seen a man eat with such passion.“ His dry smile flattened. ”Vespasian is the only man strong enough to hold the Empire together.“
“Exactly, and he will need strong young senators to help him.”
Marcus could feel his smile stiffening. So that was it. He had wondered why his father had given in so easily when Marcus had refused his suggestion
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