The Black Stone

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Ursus took his mug from the bedside table and turned back towards the girl. Like him she was naked, lying on her front, feet atop the bunched-up blankets. She was sleeping now, head resting on her crossed arms, sleek black hair splayed between her shoulder blades. Sipping the honey-sweetened wine, Ursus surveyed her body and allowed himself a triumphant grin: as shapely a back as he’d seen; narrow waist; pale, inviting buttocks; and legs slender and shapely enough to drive a sculptor to distraction.

He’d spotted her a few days ago, several weeks into the posting at the temple and long after the more forward of the men had taken up with the more forward of the local girls. Such arrangements were as old as the hills; in return for a few coins every month, they would offer their favours plus the odd bit of sewing and the occasional home-cooked meal.

Ursus was pretty sure none of the legionaries had been near this one, though. The younger men were too interested in powdered faces and low-cut tunics to bother with her. But he’d been around long enough to take his time, seek out a nice girl who hid her assets well and wouldn’t cause him any trouble.

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