Marilyn Todd - Man Eater

‘I see.’ And he wasn’t giving her any, either. ‘But as a result of the damage, wasn’t this land offered for sale at a greatly reduced price?’

Damn right. ‘I have no idea. I leave the monetary side to my banker.’

For some time she had been trying to outwit a certain Senator Quintilian on various land deals. This was the third such occasion, but how come Macer knows about it? Shit. She’d forgotten how Quintilian boasted of his villa on Falcon Mountain-just up the bloody road from here. Smack bang in the middle of Macer’s patch, and of course the local aristocracy get together from time to time. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

Macer had pulled out a handkerchief and was buffing his fingernails in silence. The atmosphere was so heavy you could have cut it into slices and fried it in olive oil, but no one dared break it, not even Claudia. What, her mind raced, was this little maggot driving at?

Time seemed to stand on its head and do nothing. The field workers were returning for their midday meal, a donkey brayed in the distance. Pungent smells of roasting goat and cabbage, chestnut bread and sprats wafted round the banqueting room. Pallas’ stomach began to growl. Finally the Prefect put away his handkerchief and turned to face Claudia. The tip of his thin nose was quite pink.

‘Tell me, Claudia. Why did you kill him?’

A hush settled over the room.

The breath caught in Claudia’s thoat. ‘Quintilian? Is he dead?’

Macer’s eyes narrowed. ‘Not to my knowledge, no. I was referring to your friend in your doorway.’

It was Corbulo, sitting beside her, who sprang to her rescue. ‘This is outrageous! We’ve already established the man’s a complete stranger-’

‘I beg to contradict.’ Macer was calm to the point of disinterest. ‘We have done nothing of the sort. As a matter of fact, the deceased was a local man named Fronto and he is well known to me.’

‘Remus!’ Sergius, who had turned as pale as his wife, pushed Alis aside and slumped on to the stool. ‘What-? I mean, if you knew about his activities, why didn’t you lock this pervert away?’

‘Fronto might be many things, sir, but he was no sexual deviant. In fact, until very recently, he was employed on my staff.’

Macer silenced the buzz of excitement with his hand. ‘Quiet, please. Moreover,’ he continued, ‘the description of the arsonist laying waste those lands so close to your own, my dear Claudia, matches your description of Fronto to a T.’

Claudia jumped to her feet. ‘For gods’ sake, man! Do I look the sort of woman who goes around stabbing total strangers?’

The Prefect studied her for a full five seconds before a slow grin spread across his face. ‘No, Mistress Seferius, you do not.’ He bared shiny, white teeth. ‘Which is precisely why you thought you could get away with it.’

The imbecile! The half-wit! The absolute bloody cheek of it! Claudia stomped out of the room and slammed the door into next week. Behind her swarmed a sea of faces, some slack-jawed, some shouting, some still digesting the evidence, though none made an effort to stop her. Let them try, she thought. Just let them bloody try. The opulence of the atrium flashed past unnoticed. Pyrenean marble. Friezes. Frescoes. Gold lampstands. Lavender stalks and elecampane burned unheeded in silver braziers, a fountain splashed in vain. Garlands of daphne draped round the columns might have been invisible.

What was he thinking of, Macer, fixing the trial for next Wednesday? She was overtaking a bronze bust of somebody’s pug-nosed ancestor and imagining a scene, not too far in the future, in which Macer lay prostrate at the Emperor’s feet, begging to be spared the disgrace of patrolling the Dacian frontier for the remainder of his career, when she stopped dead.

I’m seeing things. By the gods, that moron has made me hallucinate!

At the far end of the atrium, however, clouds of dust bellying out from the cloak he was shaking, that tall, strong figure of a man was most definitely of the flesh. Patrician stock, you could tell by the length of the tunic and the high purple boots. Military background, you could tell by the set of the shoulders, the dead straight line of the backbone. Totally unwelcome, you could tell by the mop of wavy hair and a hand that would be used any minute to cover his mouth and stifle a laugh.

‘Well, beat me on the bottom with a bun!’

In fact the aristocrat made no effort to conceal his grin. ‘I’ll have you know, madam, I’ve not ridden ten hours solid just to satisfy your strange sexual fantasies.’ He agitated his hair with his hands. ‘At least, not until I shake the dust off.’

How strange. No matter how many times she’d tried to stamp on his memory, his features were exactly as she remembered them. Right down to the rich baritone. She wanted to move, but found someone had glued her soles to the floor.

‘So!’ With a practised swirl, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio folded his cloak and handed it to the porter, who closed the vestibule doors behind him. ‘Since when have you taken to disguising yourself as a marigold?’

‘I did it to pass the thyme. Is this visit coincidence?’

‘Not entirely. I thought I’d give you the chance to explain why you sent my letters back.’

The sour smell of powdered soil and horse sweat tickled the back of her throat, and yet it was a citrusy scent that lodged in her nostrils and refused to budge. Can’t imagine where that came from. ‘Letters?’

‘Not only my beautifully scripted scrolls-if I recall, last time you returned the entire messenger.’

Poor bugger was spotted trotting along the Via Sacra with ‘Not known at this address’ unwittingly pinned to the back of his cloak. Orbilio had been the laughing stock of the Esquiline for weeks.

Would I? Claudia’s eyes implored.

You bet your sweet buttercups, his replied.

She smiled.

‘Poor you. Saddlesores for nothing.’ She walked to the vestibule and opened the front doors wide.

‘Forget the explanation, then.’ Orbilio stamped his boots. ‘I’ll hang around, anyway.’

Dammit, I don’t need this. ‘Despite riding all this way for a case of mistaken identity?’

‘Oh, no one mistakes you for another woman, Claudia.’

‘You did. You mistook me for someone who,’ she snapped her fingers, ‘cares this for beautifully scripted scrolls. Or their author.’

By the time she reached the colonnade, he’d just about caught up His expression was unchanged, she noticed, but the light in his eyes seemed to have hardened. Good. He might just leave her life in peace now.

‘I hear you’re in a spot of bother,’ he said indifferently.

How? Godsdammit, it was Junius who stole that bloody horse, Junius who sent for… Her eyes narrowed to slits. I’ll have the skin off your back, you abject little toad. No one betrays Claudia Seferius’ secrets, especially not to this ferreting son-of-a-bitch. Come the next slave auction, my boy, I’ll turn you into silver.

‘Nothing’s wrong, Orbilio. Get your ears tested.’

‘In my profession, ears are always in tip-top working order.’ He paused. ‘How else can we listen under windows?’

Nightmare! Deep inside her ribcage, Claudia’s vital organs threatened to crush each other to death.

‘Then you’ll appreciate Macer is after glory,’ she said levelly. ‘Unfortunately, he has the wits of a woodlouse and appears to be on the wrong treadmill with his investigation.’

So help me, I’ll squeeze that Prefect till his pips squeak. Day after day, the little lowlife will wake and ask himself, when will my torment end? And I shall say to him, ah, but that’s the thing, Macer. It will never end. Not so long as I breathe-and even afterwards, I wouldn’t count on it.