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breasts. The image of the heart shaped face looking up at him, feigned concern marking those delicate features was seared into his mind. He stifled a groan. That’s where he had made his mistake, allowing the vixen to beguile him with her unnatural beauty.
    He ran his tongue over his dry, cracked lips and allowed the anger to surge through his veins. No amount of lying would save her from his rage when he found her. And he would find her, extract payment, make her beg for his mercy.
    After he gained his freedom.
    The voices overhead grew louder. Through slitted eyes, he watched as three men, including the one who had visited him that first day descend the ladder. It was the first time he had seen anyone save a scrawny boy who had brought him daily rations of moldy bread and stagnant water.
    Approaching him, they fanned out on three sides. Jared made no effort to conceal his contempt. The one he had named Emperor , for his sarcastic replies, met his gaze with the usual amusement. “Welcome to Brundisium.”
    “Go to hell.”
    A sharp pain radiated along his rib cage from a kick by the man on his right. Reflexively, Jared rolled to that side to splint the throbbing, cursed his weakness, his lack of weapon, the chains, the lying bitch.
    “Tsk, tsk,” the Emperor said, nodding to the other men, who grabbed him by the arms and dragged him to his feet.
    Jared’s legs trembled, protesting the weight but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of falling. Instead, he tightened his muscles and stood up straight, refusing to lower his gaze.
    The Emperor shook his head and produced a length of rope which he expertly wove beneath Jared’s upper arms. Jared winced as the bindings were pulled taut. With his wrists still firmly bound in front of him, he was effectively immobilized. 
    “I tell you again,” he ground out. “This is an illegal transaction. I am a Roman citizen. It is against the law to sell a citizen.” That he acknowledged that part of his life said a lot for the seriousness of his present situation.
    “Still full of crafty lies.” Emperor spit on the floor, “By the gods, we’ll be lucky to get four hundred sestarces for your worthless hide.” He motioned to one of the men who produced a grimy length of cloth from his belt.
    “You whoreson. . .” The cloth muffled Jared’s protest, but not the seething anger raging inside. He bucked and pushed against the men as they released him from the chain, straining against them even as they looped a thick leather strap around his neck. Even in his weakened state, it took all three of them to hustle him to the hatch and up onto the deck.
    The brilliance of the sun seared into his eyes, blinding him, shocking him to a standstill. The Emperor’s henchmen took advantage of the break in his resistance and pinned him against the deck railing while the rest of the cargo was unloaded.
    Jared swallowed, the bitter, sour taste of the cloth causing him to retch. The world around him was blurred but the sun’s rays warmed his chilled skin. He tilted his head, savored the sea scented breeze that brushed his cheek. The scent of freedom.
    In increments, his vision adjusted and he was able to see. The cretins still held him against the railing but it gave him a good view of the dock. He’d only sailed here a few times over the years, the port deemed less strategic than Ostia and definitely less so than Alexandria for the purpose of his shipping concern. On his left, two ships bumped against their moorings.
    Jared strained to see what flags they flew. He knew all the merchants that traded between Rome, Egypt, Greece, Persia and beyond. They would be able to verify his identity, put an end to this insanity. But that nugget of hope sank at the realization neither of these ships few banners.
    Fighting the weight in his chest, Jared’s attention was drawn to the activity on the shore. A continuous line of slaves, backs bent, dressed in little more than rags, legs and arms scored