The ill treatment of the young woman reminded him of his own time as a slave, worse it reminded him of what he was certain his sister might be enduring. If she was still alive. He would not think on the fact that if he hadn’t killed off the Sea Dragon his sister wouldn’t have been taken from his vessel when his ship was boarded. Then again, it seemed he could lay the blame on the Sea Dragon, but why he was uncertain. Had it been revenge or something else altogether? It was a question David had never answered. All Nicolaus knew was a man he’d once called friend had betrayed him and had been a cruel master, not only to him but to all of his slaves, including the women. No matter how much he tried to ignore the fear, he could not, would not allow another woman to suffer. Not in his presence. Not again.
“What are you doing? You cannot think to use your father’s merchandise to buy a woman, Nicolaus.” His friend and best sailing mate, Xandros, laid a hand on his shoulder. “My friend, we do not have the time nor the resources to rescue maidens.”
Ignoring Xandros and the dark clouds pushing against the sky, Nicolaus spoke to the Philistine who had yet to close his mouth. “Agreed?”
The Philistine’s gaze dropped to the purse resting against Nicolaus’s hip as if he could judge the amount hidden within the leather bag, and then buried his nose against the young woman’s face. “She is clean.” At least that is what Nicolaus thought he’d said. The man’s dialect was thick and heavy as if he’d had too much wine. Of course, Nicolaus was not as familiar with the language of these people as he should be. “Three hundred pieces of silver, a hundred omers of barley and ten casks of your oil.”
The game of bargaining was well known to Nicolaus. His father was among the finest merchants. Resisting the urge to weigh his purse in the palm of his hand, Nicolaus raised his eyebrows as he perused the young woman. He leaned toward Xandros, who spoke the language well. “Tell him there are many women in Greece who are clean and without such—” he made a motion with his hands as he glanced toward the woman “—curves.”
Her lips parted with a soft gasp, and her dark eyes flamed with anger as Xandros repeated his words.
“A hundred pieces of silver. Twenty omers of barley and two casks of olive oil.” Nicolaus crossed his arms over his chest and waited, a tactic he had often used when negotiating with adversaries. After a few moments of silence he turned on his heel to leave.
“A moment.” The Philistine’s words halted him. Nicolaus glanced over his shoulder. The young woman narrowed her gaze toward a spot in the crowd. Following the direction of her angered glare, he saw several young women pointing toward the platform. They seemed to be arguing with the oldest among them. Who were they? Rivals? Had this young woman stolen the affection of a man from them? Possible, but given how similar the one wearing the gold band looked to the woman being auctioned, he wondered if they were of some relation. Cousins, sisters perhaps?
“We have not all day,” Nicolaus said as he turned his attention back to the Philistine. “You have no other bidders vying for this woman.” He flicked a glance toward the first bidder. “None willing to pay what I am. Two hundred pieces of silver and one cask of oil. It is a fair price and more than the piece of jewelry you traded her for.”
It did not take much to discern the trade, not when the one woman guarded the ornament with a raised brow and a smirk, and so he opted for his original bid of silver in an effort to halt all haggling. After dealing with the Philistine merchants in Ashkelon most of the day, he was done and ready to set his oars to the water. He was ready to return to his island home in Greece.
A low growl emitted from the Philistine. The hand grasping the woman’s hair shook, pulling her hair if the signs of discomfort forming around her mouth and the lone tear were any indication. It took all of Nicolaus’s will not to jump onto the platform and release the woman. The Sea Dragon would have and he was certain he would have, too, if the auctioneer had not conceded with a nod.
Nicolaus untied his purse, counted out the coins and handed them to Xandros. “See to it she is on the ship posthaste. We must leave before the storm comes in. Brison will fetch the oil.”
He pushed his way through the crowd and toward the group of women he’d seen the slave glaring at. Standing before them, he took in their various features from exotic to plain. The oldest, bearing the intricate gold band with colorful stones around her arm, wore a veil over one shoulder. If it had not been sitting haphazard, Nicolaus would not have thought it out of place. However, the color and the weave seemed more suitable to the woman he hoped Xandros was securing. It also seemed to match the color of the slave’s tunic.
“Your name?”
The woman lowered her eyes, her dark lashes brushing against her tanned cheeks. He wondered again if this woman was sister to the slave, the shape of their eyes, the slant of their mouths when they scowled were similar. However, the slave was much more beautiful. This woman’s hair, cropped at her shoulders, was near the color of the sky the moment right before the night cloaked them in total darkness. The slave’s hair, the color of wheat just as the sun begins to slip beyond the horizon, hung down her back in gilded waves. Her skin was much fairer, not as dark as the woman before him. This woman bore the lines of displeasure, sadness
