Man Eater by Marilyn Todd

shadow. Jealousy alone, though, had not rearranged Orbilio’s heartbeat. The injuries Junius had sustained might well be mirrored on Claudia.
    Drawing himself up to his not inconsiderable height and throwing a towel round his waist, Orbilio listened to the words tumbling out of the exhausted Gaul. Pinch me, I am dreaming.
    ‘Mistress Seferius, you say, is accused of murder?’
    Junius nodded sullenly.
    ‘Of a complete stranger?’
    He nodded again, and Orbilio was no fool. The slave liked him as much as he, himself, liked the Gaul. How it must stick in his craw, this visit.
    ‘And she doesn’t know you’ve sent for me?’
    ‘No. Sir.’ The sir was either an afterthought, forgivable under the circumstances, or it was added as an insult.
    Orbilio met the stare head on and gave no quarter in his own. ‘Give me the address again.’
    It was with a satisfying sense of mischief that he despatched the weary bodyguard to saddle up, then nudged the sleeping beauty in his bed.
    Nothing, not a moan, not a groan, not a twitch. Dammit, where did he get her from? Vaguely he remembered doing the rounds of several taverns, but surely he’d not lowered himself to picking up a common whore? Praise the gods, the quality of the garments on the floor set his mind at rest. At least he’d had the sense to pick up a courtesan. Catching his reflection in the glass, unshaven, sunken-eyed, with his head coming off at the hinges, it was a miracle he’d been any use to her, except those scattered clothes spoke volumes…
    ‘Up you get.’ He gave her bottom a gentle kick and realized he hadn’t paid her. Remus! He drew on a fresh woollen tunic. What was the going rate? Tavern whores charge eight asses, but a high-class hooker? Think, man, think!
    Sluicing water over his face and wincing as the cold water dribbled down his arm to his elbow, Orbilio heard himself humming. Claudia Seferius! In trouble up to her beautiful, kissable lips and who’s the chap to pull her out of the mire? The humming turned into a whistle. Murder isn’t necessarily a job for the Security Police and the Security Police isn’t necessarily confined to murder cases, but it was what Orbilio did best. He towelled himself dry and decided the stubble on his chin could wait. With his widespread network of informants and spies, he’d solve it in no time—then let’s see how many of my letters she returns.
    Lacing his boot, he recalled the last time he saw her, the wind whipping her curls about as she stood on the deck in Sicily. Wherever she walked, that woman, trouble walked beside her, and that day had been no exception. Barely one hour before she had escaped death by a cat’s whisker, yet to see her in the prow of that freighter, proud eyes flashing, her back as straight as any arrowshaft, it was almost impossible to believe the evidence. A man thought only of the liquid swish of her skirts, the molten folds of cotton over her breasts.
    Scheduled to sail with her, Orbilio had instead been called away at the last moment on the Governor’s orders. What had happened during that voyage from Sicily? What had caused her to return his letters? Dammit, the air sizzled whenever they were in the same room together, what had—
    ‘Dammit, you! Up!’ Harshly he pulled the bedclothes off the slumbering form. The chill night air would wake her more surely than his voice.
    The woman in his bed began to groan like an ungreased axle, clawing at the bedclothes, but his grip was the stronger. ‘You’re out of here,’ he snapped, ‘and I mean now!’
    He shook bronze into his hand. ‘Ten sesterces should see you right.’
    The moaning stopped. ‘Did you say… ten sesterces ?’
    Orbilio rolled his eyes. There was no time to argue. ‘Twenty, then, you money-grabbing bitch.’
    More coins showered the bed.
    ‘But get one thing straight. Don’t sniff round me again, because no one rips Marcus Cornelius off twice. Besides,’ he got hold of the bed frame and tilted,