by Ruth Downie
Ruso said nothing.
“You know how it is. Women have these ideas, and expectations, and … anyway, I assumed we’d just go on the way we were. Then, when her father was out of the way and I’d finished in the legions, we would just totter into old age together, watching our boys have boys of their own. She could enjoy telling me to get my feet off the table and I could develop an interest in—oh, I don’t know. Learning to play the lyre. Collecting rare butterflies.”
It seemed that despite his outrageous neglect of his wife while she was alive, Valens had still harbored dreams of the happy home he had done little to create. Ruso said, “Tomorrow I’ll see what I can find out about the boys.”
“I never wanted anyone else, you know.” Then, perhaps sensing his friend’s incredulity, Valens added, “Not seriously.”
Ruso hoped his “Mm” did not sound too skeptical. This was not a time for recriminations.
“I never imagined—well, I suppose I should have guessed. Apparently he looks deceivingly pink-cheeked and innocent. And underneath, he was worming his way in, playing with my boys, trying to steal my wife while I was away serving the emperor.”
“And Pertinax didn’t notice?” There were times when Ruso’s throat still constricted at the memory of Pertinax’s hands around it after the centurion supposed—wrongly—that Ruso was trying to seduce the sixteen-year-old Serena.
“Pertinax? He thought the sun shone out of the sneaky little bastard’s backside.”
“So he didn’t know what was going on?” Pertinax must be losing his edge in his retirement.
“Oh, he knew. Lover boy was a friend of the family.”
Ruso tried to imagine Pertinax having any friends who were not heavy-fisted centurions, and failed.
“Pertinax’s brother is the chief engineer here. Chap called Catus. Keeps the place running, makes sure the hot rooms stay hot and the water only goes where it’s supposed to. Pertinax came to visit him and liked the place so much he decided to retire here. Then he persuaded Serena to come south and look after them both in their dotage. Apparently I can look after myself.”
Since a man who worked in a legionary hospital had his accommodation provided, often slept on the job, and was in a position to raid the kitchens, Ruso felt Pertinax might have had a point.
“I was never keen on her coming here. You know what spa towns are like.”
“Not really,” Ruso admitted. “Only by reputation.”
“Well, if it’s anything like Baiae, things can get a bit wild. But then I thought, Serena? Seriously?”
Ruso could remember a time when Serena and Valens had been a bit wild too. “And then this other man—”
“Terentius,” said Valens. “You don’t have to avoid saying his name. Terentius is Catus’s protégé. Assistant engineer. Deputy drain clearer. Golden boy in charge of the bath plug.”
“And he vanished on the same night Serena died?”
“Exactly. That’s why I had to get you here. I can’t go after him with Pertinax on my tail. You have to find him for me.”
“You think he’s the one who—”
“Of course he is! Who else would it be?”
“I don’t know,” Ruso told him. “I don’t know what’s been going on here. That’s why I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”
8
By the time Ruso woke, morning had already forced its way through the small window of Valens’s room and was illuminating the scuff marks of long-departed furniture on the far wall. There was no sound from Valens. Hearing voices and the clatter of crockery downstairs, Ruso fetched some bread and cheese and much-watered wine for breakfast.
“So,” said a voice from the floor on his return, “what’s the plan?”
Ruso placed the tray far enough away to force his friend to get out of bed. The immediate priority was to arrange some accommodation for his own family, but it seemed tactless to say so. “Who can I talk to who’d know where this Terentius chap might have gone?”
“Not a clue,” Valens admitted, eyeing the food and apparently deciding it wasn’t worth the bother of moving. “I don’t know much more about this town than you do. The one who knew him best would be Pertinax’s brother, but I doubt you’ll get much help there, especially since the brother’s bound to realize who you are as soon as you start asking questions. What about young Virana? She’s full of hot gossip.”
Ruso shook his head. “She doesn’t know where he is. She thinks it’s all to do with curses anyway. Albanus hasn’t told her anything. He says we need to be discreet.”
“Hmph.”
“It won’t hurt to start with,” Ruso pointed out. “There’s no sense in upsetting people who might be able to help. Who knows the truth about where Serena was found?”
But Valens did not know that, either. “It was the brother who found her. Somebody must have helped him get her out of the water, but I couldn’t tell you who. It was all done by the time Pertinax came to the Repose and woke me up to tell me what had happened.”
Ruso tore off a chunk of bread. “I’ll have to start with Pertinax, then.”
“There must be some other way.”
Ruso, who could not think of one, took refuge in the fact that the bread was very chewy.
“Don’t tell him where I am.”
“I haven’t seen you,” Ruso told him. “I’ve come hundreds of miles to find you and now I’ve no idea where you are.”
“I’ve probably wandered off into some woods and done away with myself.”
Ruso turned to him in alarm. “You aren’t planning to, are you?”
“Of course not. Not now you’ve turned up. You’re surprisingly good at this kind of thing. You’ll help me sort this out, we’ll see the bastard who killed Serena nailed up, I’ll get my boys back, and you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing I’m hugely in your debt.”
“Right,” said Ruso, not sure whether to be flattered or alarmed by his friend’s confidence.
“Well, you don’t want to have come all this way for nothing, do you?”
“No.” He reached for a last swig of watered wine and got to his feet. “I’d better get on with it, then. What are you going to do?”
Valens shrugged. “Any suggestions?”
“You could do with a shave.”
“No mirror. Are you offering to do it?”
“No.” Ruso looked around the room. There wasn’t even anything in here to tidy up.
“Read?” he suggested vaguely. “Write something? Take up—I don’t know.”
Valens leaned back with his hands behind his head. “There were a couple of wood-lice in the corner yesterday. If they come back, maybe I’ll train them to race.”
He left Valens staring at the stains of old leaks on the rafters and went to book a room at the inn next door. At least he knew how to do that.
The outside of the Mercury gleamed with fresh limewash and cheerful paintings of gods around the door. It was certainly of a higher class than the adjoining Repose and probably quieter too. Within a few paces, the paved street on which they both sat gave way to a narrow lane leading past a stable to a few vegetable plots. Beyond them, Ruso could see white drifts of morning mist still hanging over the river.
Inside, his boots clicked across the smart tiles of the bar area. Beyond the bar was a large private dining room, its walls painted with frescoes of elegant gardens. Perhaps this relative tranquillity was why Kunaris—who turned out to manage both this and the Traveler’s Repose—could name the price while still keeping a straight face. When Ruso tried to haggle, the landlord assured him he was lucky to get two connecting rooms at short notice in the busiest week of the year, and so close to the temple—especially as they were getting ready for the governor’s visit. But if sir wanted the name of somewhere farther out for travelers on a budget …?
No, sir did not. From the Mercury, although sir did not say so, he could slip next door to visit Valens whenever he wanted. Besides, he was deliberately avoiding the
main residential streets that clustered around the wharf. That was where Pertinax lived.
He told himself he was not putting off his visit out of cowardice; it simply made sense to wait until Albanus arrived. Albanus, as the children’s tutor, had a valid reason to go to the house. That didn’t make the prospect of meeting Pertinax any less alarming, but at least Ruso might get past the front door. Then, out of courtesy, he would have to warn Pertinax that he was going to be talking to people about Serena’s death. He wasn’t looking forward to that.
In fact, the more he had found out about this whole dreadful business, the less he was looking forward to getting involved, especially now that Terentius’s trail had had three weeks to go cold. But he had to concede that Valens was right: If he didn’t sort things out, who else would? And if he failed to find the real killer and Pertinax somehow managed to secure a murder conviction, even if Valens were to escape, his boys would be left without a father.
So he wasn’t going to fail. But at the moment it wasn’t at all clear how he was going to succeed. He needed some time to think, away from the pressure of his friend’s presence. He made his way down the lane from the Mercury, past the stable to where the paths that meandered across the vegetable plots had baked dry in the recent good weather. Ahead of him, the morning sun was chasing away the last wisps of mist to reveal the river, lying low and distant between broad banks of mud.
Even after, what? Six years in Britannia? Ruso still found it extraordinary that rivers tens of miles from the sea should rise and fall so dramatically twice a day, and in a manner that rarely bore any relation to the rainfall higher up their courses. Sometimes, as he had once assured his brother in the distant south of Gaul, you could even see it happening in front of you as you stood and watched. He suspected his brother had classed it as one of those travelers’ tales. The sort that claimed there were places in India where no shadows fell, and tribes whose men lived to a hundred and thirty without growing old. People liked to believe the outlandish. Like Virana’s idea that the killing of Serena had been brought about by a few words scrawled on a lead sheet and thrown into water.
He supposed it was quite possible that Pertinax’s would-be girlfriend had made some sort of offering to Sulis Minerva to smooth the path of her courtship. But making an offering, or even forming a curse, was a far cry from seizing a knife and plunging it into another human being. Far more likely that the guilty party was, as Valens had assumed, the vanished Terentius. The former golden boy in charge of the bath plug.
As he drew closer to the river, the sound of rushing water was accompanied by a whiff of latrines. He turned aside for a breath of clean air before resting on the sand-colored stone and leaning over to see water gushing from a drain and flowing out down the mud bank to join the river. Holding out one hand above the outlet, he was fairly certain he could detect warmth. So this was where Pertinax’s brother Catus finally disposed of Sulis Minerva’s watery offering after it had washed through the bathhouse and cleansed the latrines. And that was why nobody had built on this prime riverside location, leaving the land and the smell for carrots and cabbages and an old woman who was stooped over to pick beans.
He strolled up to the wharf, but it was clear nobody was expecting any boats. The warehouses along the waterfront were shut and the only people around were a couple of old men mending ropes in the sunshine. He could see why: Although a heavy timber walkway had been built out from the riverbank, it barely reached the water, which was noticeably lower than it had been earlier. Below it a collection of small boats lay on their sides in the mud, waiting for the river to come back.
One of the old men told him that if his family were coming up on the next tide, they would not arrive until well past noon. At least, Ruso was fairly sure that was what he said. The combination of the British tongue, the local accent, and the absence of teeth made it hard to tell. Ruso’s attempt to clarify how they knew about the tides also left him little wiser than before. He thanked them both and walked away, wondering whether the man really had said, “Neptune rises to greet the goddess of the moon,” and if he had, whether it was a genuine attempt to help or a mocking reply to a foreigner asking a silly question.
Whatever the exact schedule of today’s tide, it was obvious no decent-sized boat could tie up at the landing stage for some hours. There was no point in hanging around there. He would go back and take a proper look at the place where Serena had been found. This time without Virana spilling nonsense into his ear about curses.
9
The courtyard looked less awe-inspiring this morning than it had at night. A slave was standing on a box so he could reach to scrub the top of the carved stone altar. Beyond him, the swish of brooms was accompanied by the tinkle of broken crockery tumbling across stone. Last night’s stalls had disappeared, leaving only bare tables and awning poles stacked away in a corner. Pigeons burbled and strutted about, pausing to stab at the last scraps of fallen food. At the top of the temple steps, more slaves were busy setting out a display of Sulis Minerva’s treasures and relics on tables under the porch. Higher still, the painted relief of the Gorgon on the pediment looked more benevolently concerned and less worried than it had last night, which was perhaps appropriate for the deity of a healing shrine. If the patients who came here seeking healing were anything like the ones Ruso usually met, they were frightened enough without needing further discouragement from the artwork. Although since all the Gorgons in the old tales were women, it was a mystery why the sculptor had chosen to give this one a man’s face with a sweeping British moustache.
Whatever its strangeness, this was the only face that had definitely looked down upon Serena on the night of her death. Maybe if Ruso tried hard enough he could convince himself that Sulis Minerva might be willing to help. He turned right, deliberately avoiding the pool of the sacred spring, and began to make his way around the courtyard.
A burly slave sweeping up nearby bent to retrieve an abandoned sandal from a scatter of faded petals, then walked over to the colonnade and propped it against one of the pillars.
Ruso said, “How can anybody lose just one sandal?”
The man stood with his large fists wrapped around the broom handle and his eyes respectfully lowered. Ruso had put him in an awkward position: If How can anybody lose just one sandal? was a genuine question, he would be rude to remain silent. If it was merely rhetorical, he would be rude to speak. Ruso said, “I suppose it was too late to look for it. Can you get in here at night?”
“The temple court is always open, sir.”
“Perhaps you can help me,” he said, stepping closer. “I was hoping to meet someone who works here while I’m in town, but he’s gone away. An engineer called Terentius. You don’t know where he lodges, do you?”
The slave shifted awkwardly. “You’d have to talk to the bathhouse manager, sir.”
“I’ll do that.”
Ruso moved away to let the man get on with his duties. The excited barking of dogs drew his attention to the temple. Two men were making their way down the steps, one carrying garlands of flowers and the other accompanied by three small hounds on leads.
The slave with the flowers began to drape them around the freshly scrubbed altar. His companion was towed out under the archway by the sacred dogs. Ruso carried on with his circuit of the courtyard. There was a service entrance at the back, behind the temple, but the door was locked. Presumably it was locked at night too. The temple itself, high up on its podium, could only be entered through the massive doors at the front. So anyone lurking behind the temple at night—a lover, a murderer—would be well hidden.
He must find out how dark it had been on the night Serena died. He had already established that there had been no parade. As far as Valens was aware, the temple was being put to its normal use: to allow patients to sleep in the healing presence of Sulis Minerva and the sacred dogs. It seemed no one had noticed anything unusual until someone raised the alarm about the fire at the Little Eagle.
H
ad Serena come here voluntarily to meet Terentius? He was the golden boy in charge of the bath plug: This was his place of work. If he had a key to the bathhouse, the couple could have met there in privacy, enjoying the fading warmth of the under-floor heating. Or had Serena gone somewhere else entirely that night, for reasons that he was unable to guess, and been brought here against her will? What if Terentius hadn’t been involved at all? What if his disappearance was just a remarkable coincidence?
Where the hell was he supposed to start?
10
The goddess’s gift of gently bubbling hot water conferred no blessing on this visitor. Ruso stood above the pool and pictured Serena drifting there alone in the darkness, unaware of the curses and the coins lying in the depths below her. Unaware too of how her unwilling presence would be seen as a shocking desecration of a holy spring.
He tightened his grip on the railing and forced himself to think practically. Serena had inherited her father’s solid build, and if she had been a dead weight, it would have taken a strong man—or someone with help—to move her far. So it was likely that she had been stabbed close by. Had there been bloodstains? He needed to ask someone, but not until he had found out who was already privy to the truth about where she was found. Until then, he was just another visitor.
He was leaning forward, wondering how easy it would be to topple over the low railings if you were struggling with an attacker—surely the most likely scenario—when a voice called, “Careful, sir!”
Ruso looked up to see a pink head with a fringe of lank hair above narrow shoulders, all framed in the central window of the bathhouse. The man’s features were brightened by a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, followed by “Good morning, sir. Can I help?”
Ruso straightened up. “Sorry. I was just wondering. What happens if you fall in?”
