Instead of leading them to the Mese, Tycho led them to the Pleb market streets and forums. Constantine took in the sights. Of people on carpets peddling their wares. They looked less expensive than what Constantine supposed could be found on the Mese, but Tycho warned them about potential knock-offs.

Constantine stopped before a stall with weapons, and he tried the various bows. They were the standard Roman ones and well-made, despite their small price tag. Just as he was settling on one, he saw it. A bow with the carving of a horse.

“Ah, Dominos has seen the rarity of the East? A steppe bow, young lord. Perfect for shooting backwards, even. And what is more, from horseback!” The stall owner handed Constantine the bow, but he could only look at the horse head of the bow.

It was expertly made, at least Constantine couldn’t see any flaws, next to him Octavian snorted.

“That is for barbarians, Tine. You deserve something of Roman make,” Constantine shook his head.

“I don’t mind barbarians and Scythians don’t and have never war with us. Next time there is a delegation, I will invite them to a hunt and I will use this bow. How much?”

“Ten denarii, Dominos,” said the stall owner with a bright smile on her lips.

“Ten? That is a robbery. Dominos, we are leaving,” spoke Tycho. The stall owner spoke quickly after that.

“Five, special offer because my bow will be used in noble hunts. That is good exposure for Sertima’s wares!” Constantine looked at the slave, who seemed to be thinking it over. He had seen people haggling before, but have never tried it himself. Today was as good a day as any.

“Three denarii,” Constantine’s voice brokered no arguments and the stall owner nodded slowly, but then Tycho huffed.

“Too much for a simple string bow. Not even of Roman make. One denarius, hag,” Constantine turned to Tycho, ready to reprimand him, but the stall owner beat him to it.

“Upstart slave! You should be whipped in the streets! But fine, rob poor Sertima. One denarius, but I will not go any lower,” Constantine couldn’t believe it. Tycho’s tactic had worked. He fished a denarius from his coin bag and handed it over. The bow and a string to tie it on his back was given to him and Sertima waved them off.

“Tycho, this bow costs more than one denarius, more than three, even,” protested Constantine when they were far enough from Sertima.

“Oh, I know, Dominos. But she didn’t. See how realistic the head is, how every detail was carved to perfection. That was a gift for someone before it ended in the stall. Mark my words,” Constantine touched the head of the horse and imagined that this was something Kyla made for Beshter, and he felt bitter all of a sudden.

He had sent some keepsakes to the Eastern nomad with his letter, but had gotten nothing back. Not even for his birthday, although Kyla did congratulate him on becoming eleven.

He didn’t know why, but that made him put off. Kyla was his friend, someone he didn’t share with anyone else he knew. Was it too much to ask for a gift from the man?

Or was he behaving like a child? Probably. He forced his face to return to being neural and noticed another stall. The man manning it didn’t wear a tunic, rather, pants and a shirt.

He was tall, Constantine could tell, even though he was sitting. He also had pale skin and a ponytail with a shaved front of the head. Just like Kyla. Deciding he had nothing to lose by approaching him, he stepped forward.

“Ave, from where do you hail, citizen?” The man nudged a child, whom Constantine just noticed, and the boy spoke.

“Master Niska can’t speak Latin. I beg Dominos address me,” the boy bowed and Constantine nodded.

“Then why is he manning his stall himself?” Constantine was curious. It didn’t make any sense. The man couldn’t haggle with his patrons, nor could he promote his wares.

“Master Niska deters thieves,” was the reply, and Constantine guessed that the muscular man really put the fear of death in the hearts of the surrounding ruble.

“Where do you two hail from?” Constantine repeated his question and the boy answered.

“Master Niska is from Scythia, here on the behest of the King. While I, am from Rome. I was purchased and will be given my freedom when the master leaves,” the boy seemed to be happy about that, and Constantine smiled brightly.

So, Kyla’s people kept slaves when it was convenient for them, but gave them their freedom soon after. Did it irk his friend that his people weren’t fully following his dream?

“What do you sell in those bottles?” Constantine could see that they had various clay bottles displayed, but there was no sign to say what they were.

“Fermented horse milk. Made from Master Niska’s herd,” Constantine had never had any, but that was what Kyla drank. He felt adventurous suddenly. Surely, Beshter wouldn’t begrudge him a bottle or two of milk?

“I’ll take three,” he said, remembering his two friends. He smiled at Octavia, who rolled her eyes, and then to Octavian, who looked curious. “Don’t be like that, the both of you. It could be good. And if not, well, it is milk. It can’t be bad for us.”

“Yes, but it is a barbarian drink,” Niska snorted at Octavia’s words and Constantine turned around to shush her.

“Don’t say that, it is rude,” reprimed Constantine as Octavia gave him a mock bow. “You know what? Give me six.”

He decided that he was going to go and visit Livia, Scribonia and Marcus too. And they were all going to share a drink.

“For how long is master Niska here?” This time, Tycho didn’t attempt to haggle and just accepted the bagged bottles.

“A month, Dominos. We hope to see you again. And mention us to your fellows,” said the slave boy, and Constantine nodded. If the milk was good, then he would certainly mention this stall. He looked around for landmarks and saw that there was a large column with bulls at the base. Good enough.