The Gladiator Prince by Minnette Meador Page B

sizes, in shades from yellow-white to aged brown. Several tall rusted pilas fenced the wagon at each corner.
    At the front hung a bright lamp, throwing shadows of a dark figure onto the cobbled roadway. He sat hunched and large, his face and body buried inside a black cloak. In his gnarled rag-wrapped hands he held reins that went to a single ox, a huge black beast with slopping shoulders, short flattened horns and mournful eyes. His underbelly swept the ground as it pulled the wagon forward.
    “Hello,” Thane called out.
    The figure pulled up on the reins hard, but it took a moment for the ox to stop. It labored on for several steps, protesting its treatment with a harsh roar that filled the woods around them with a ghostly sound that sent shivers up Phaedra’s arms. She made the sign against evil and scooted closer to Bahar. The beast twisted its head to the right then the left, shaking it so hard that the tack rattled loudly and the wagon seemed to teeter to the side, sending the assorted wares clattering against one another. The beast stopped so close to Thane, the white misted breath from the ox’s snort ruffled his hair.
    A dark baritone voice rattled from the cloak. “I carry no gold, stranger, nor anything else of value.” His accent was thickly Greek, but his Latin flawless. “If you are up for a trade, I may be able to help you. What is your business?”
    Thane held his ground, his hand on the hilt of the gladius . He turned his head scanning the wagon, but was otherwise still. “I am a traveler, bound for Londinium and not a robber. I am called Teutorigos, and I fare from Corieltauvi . What is your name?”
    The man sat up straight, wrapping the reins around one wrist, while twisted fingers of his other hand adjusted them. “I am called Adrastos.” He spat onto the road over his shoulder. “A traveling healer, though I have wares for trade or sale.”
    “Adrastos,” Thane repeated then relaxed his stance, taking his hand off the sword. “You are early. I did not expect you until tomorrow night.”
    The man pushed his hood back and laughed. “I thought it might be you, Prince.”
    From her hiding in the brush, Phaedra thought his words sounded slurred, but his appearance immediately reminded her of Althea, her Greek servant from years before. His hair was gray and grizzled, falling in waves to the back of his neck and mingling with a long dirty beard at the front. One gray eye had a scar running over it, making it squint in the lantern light. Even sitting, he seemed very tall, though the hunch of his back made him appear smaller. The other gray eye was drooped and not bright. A large hooked nose dominated his face making the thick lips beneath it pinched, while deep hanging wrinkles framed his eyes and wilted his cheeks. Phaedra noticed a slight sway to the man, as if he had problems with this balance.
    Apparently, Thane noticed it too. “Are you sick, old man?”
    “Me?” he replied with a flourish. “Never better.”
    He pulled a round clay flask from inside the cloak where it got stuck for a moment in the lining. With a growl, he yanked it free and took the cork that sealed it into his teeth. The stopper popped out and hung on a piece of leather secured on the neck of the bottle, hitting him in the face when he turned the flask upside down over his mouth. A small droplet of liquid fell between his open lips and the man swore, putting the cork back with difficulty and returning it to his cloak. “Well, I have been better. Come!”
    Tying the reins clumsily to the armrest on one side, Adrastos struggled to get to his feet and almost toppled onto the ox, catching himself at the last second on the arm of the bench. He climbed down, swaying in the road when he reached it and held up his index finger to Thane. “A drink! We shall drink to our partnership!”
    “No,” Thane growled to the Greek’s back. Adrastos turned abruptly, his face comically sour.
    “No?”
    “No. I think you have had more