maiming.”
“Perhaps,” the aide said with a grimace. “Very well, I’m off to follow your
instructions.”
“Saliman,” the slaver called him back. “Another instruction: when you speak to
Balus-trus don’t reveal our hiding place. Tell him I’m somewhere else-in the
charnel houses. I trust him no more than you do.”
* * *
Jubal bolted awake out of his half-slumber, his dagger once again at the ready.
That sound- nearby and drawing closer. Pulling himself along the floor toward
the doorway the slaver wondered, for the first time, just whose hovel Saliman
had hid him in. He had assumed it was abandoned-but perhaps the rightful owner
was returning. With great care he poked his head out the bottom corner of the
doorway and beheld-
Goats.
A sizable herd meandered toward the hut, but though they caught the ex
gladiator’s attention, they did not hold it. Two men walked side-by-side behind
the animals. One was easily recognized as Saliman. The other’s head came barely
to Saliman’s shoulder and he walked with a rolling, bouncy gait.
Jubal’s eyes narrowed with suspicion and puzzlement. Whatever Saliman’s reason
for revealing their hideaway to a goat-herd it had better be a good one. The
slaver’s mood had not been improved by the time the men reached the doorway. If
anything it had darkened as two goats strayed ahead of the rest of the herd and
made his unwilling acquaintance.
“Jubal,” Saliman declared, hardly noticing the goats that had already entered
the hovel. “I want you to meet-“
“A goat-herd?” the slave spat out. “Have you lost your mind?”