Sons of Taranis by S. J. A. Turney Page A

strangely – given the general chaos of the Greek city-state – a much more ordered and solid affair than the sprawling mass of the graecostadium in Rome. Enclosed by a wide boundary wall, the place consisted largely of three large blocks of pens, each subdivided into rooms labelled with the traders’ signs, the central yard with a block for the display of wares, a set of wooden seating stands that could easily double as a theatre, and a separate building that housed the market’s staff and guards.
    The small group approached the gate to the complex, Lucilia almost buzzing with the anticipation of the trade, Masgava and Aurelius watching their surroundings carefully, and Fronto gazing longingly at the Artemis tavern across the road. As they neared the pair of guards, Glykon stepped ahead and opened the purse of business funds he carried on behalf of his employer.
    ‘We’re here for a private visit.’
    The two men looked at the purse and watched as Glykon counted out two small coins apiece, before nodding and gesturing inside. It was the way of things. Those with influence or money or both could arrange such a visit instead of having to sit in the crowd at the public sale in an hour or so and argue with the rest of the buyers. For a small gratuity to the gate guard and a small donation to the market funds, they would be permitted to peruse the indoor pens, select any goods they wished to purchase, and then speak to the merchants who would be here gearing up for the main event. If a deal could be reached early, that slave would be withdrawn from the lists for a private transaction.
    Passing through the gate, Glykon deposited a few more obols with a minor functionary, who led them to the first of the three buildings. ‘Apologies, Kupios , but only the one building is available. We are awaiting a large shipment, but winter is a thin time for supplies, and the other two buildings remain empty at this time.’
    ‘Maybe we should come back another day?’ Fronto murmured, but Lucilia smiled at the man. ‘I have confidence we will find what we need, sir.’
    The man bowed and opened the door so they could enter. The interior was sweaty and warm even from the entrance, and Fronto passed his cloak to the functionary along with the others, to hang on the pegs and await their return.
    The next quarter of an hour ranked highly on Fronto’s list of experiences not to repeat. The conditions of the slave quarters naturally led to the entire building reeking of faeces, urine, vomit and filth. The inhabitants, familiar with the routine, rushed over to the bars and clamoured to be purchased, desperate to get out of this place. As Lucilia perused them, staying carefully out of reach of the flailing arms, Glykon checked them over. Masgava looked positively ill, and Fronto found himself wondering how long the big Numidian had lived in a place like this before he’d been given a blade and sent out onto the sands. Aurelius looked nervous but then, for such a big fellow, Aurelius always looked nervous.
    Fronto watched as Lucilia selected a short, narrow-hipped Spaniard with a face like a fighting dog and the build of a wrestler. Glykon quizzed the man and discovered that the strange figure spoke not only his own tongue, but Latin and Greek, and knew his numbers and letters too. The company in that particular cell suggested that his owner was not aware of his talents, having naturally lumped him in with the other muscle. Lucilia was ever sharp. A bargain had been found already.
    He’d tried to argue against her choosing a Gaul at all, though the vast majority of the stock seemed to be Gauls. In the end, he’d had to back down and let her have the delicate red-haired Parisi girl who had been so nervous that Lucilia had had to coax her to the bars. Fronto had his own suspicions as to how reticent the girl might be when she was up at the villa and made a mental note to have her kept well away from blades or other pointy things.
    Lucilia and