Memento Mori

by Ruth Downie

  She closed the door so that the baby could not escape and tumble down the stairs. Then she and Neena began to unpack while Virana insisted that somebody needed to do something about Gleva.

  Tilla knelt to place a stack of clean baby cloths on the shelf in the cupboard. “Who?”

  “The one who wants to marry Officer Pertinax,” Virana told her. “How is she getting on with the pot?”

  “The pot?” Tilla glanced up and realized Virana had shifted her attention to the baby. “As you see,” she said, admiring both the speed of Mara’s escape from the pot and Neena’s deft grab to put her back in place. “She is not as interested as we are.”

  “I really wish I could tell Marcus.”

  Tilla closed the cupboard. “And what do you think would happen even if you could find him? You will be upset if he does not care. Your husband will be upset if he does. And so will mine.” She unstrapped his rolled-up cloak from the outside of a traveling bag. “Hang that on the peg behind the door and tell me about this Gleva.”

  Virana glanced at the baby-minder, who was crouching beside Mara at pot level to encourage her.

  “You can speak in front of Neena.”

  Virana hooked the cloak on the door, pulled out the worst of the creases, and said, “Gleva is chasing Officer Pertinax because he is the leader of the veterans and she wants to use him to get power and to annoy the chief priest.”

  “I don’t suppose she told you this herself?”

  “Mistress Serena told my husband. Gleva says she had a message in a dream that she would meet a soldier, but Mistress Serena thought she made it all up.”

  It felt strange to be hearing Serena’s opinions from beyond the grave, spoken by the wife of someone whom she must have seen as a hired hand. “Why did Serena tell Albanus a thing like that?”

  “She said she wanted him to help her talk some sense into her father.”

  “Albanus?” It was not that Albanus had no sense but that Pertinax would brush him aside like a fly. “I can see what this Gleva wants,” she said, “but why would Pertinax be interested in a woman like that?”

  “That is what everyone wonders,” Virana agreed. “And when you see her, you will wonder too. But she uses a love potion. She is driving Officer Pertinax wild with lust.”

  If that was true, no wonder Serena had been worried. Tilla had always felt that Romans made an unnecessary fuss about what they called witchcraft and superstition, but everyone knew that for a love potion to be effective, it must weaken its victim. Pertinax was already old and crippled. Weakening him further could finish him off.

  “Serena found out and told her to stop, but Gleva just laughed and said ‘Don’t be silly.’ Can I sit on your bed? I need to put my feet up.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Virana flopped onto the bed and lay on her back with her legs in the air like a stranded beetle while she pulled off her sandals. “So then Serena went to her father and warned him about the love potion. Ah, that’s better …” She dropped the second sandal onto the floor and stretched out on the striped cover. “But he just got cross and he told her not to be silly, that he wasn’t ever going to marry Gleva anyway. And Gleva heard him say it, so she went to the sacred spring and put a curse on Serena, and now see what has happened!”

  Tilla shoved an empty bag under the bed alongside the box of medical supplies and the case that held her husband’s surgical instruments. It seemed this Gleva had cause to be angry with both Serena and Pertinax. She sat on the trunk at the end of the bed and said, “I need to know exactly what happened.”

  “Did Albanus not tell you anything at all on the whole of the journey?”

  “I need to hear it from you.” She needed to know, also, how much of the truth Virana had been told. “You may remember something Albanus has forgotten. Something that will help us to save Valens.”

  “Poor Doctor Valens! He was so handsome. Well, he still is, I expect. I could see why Mistress Serena ran away to marry him. And he looked so upset when he came to see her. I felt sorry for him.”

  “You saw him when he visited?”

  “Oh, yes. He was walking past the shop and I called to him and he came in to say hello. Of course, I knew all about her and Terentius—everybody did—but I didn’t say anything. I thought he must know because of how he looked, but I couldn’t be sure. And that would be awful, wouldn’t it, if he didn’t know and then I said something about it?”

  “It would.” It seemed Virana was learning some tact at last.

  “But then after he was gone I thought perhaps I should have made sure he knew.”

  “I would say not.”

  “Oh, good. But it didn’t matter because he found out anyway. When he went to the house they had a huge argument.”

  “Valens and Serena?”

  “Albanus heard the start of it. Then he took the boys out for a walk, because he could see the shouting was upsetting them. And they never saw Mistress Serena alive again.” The bed creaked as Virana wriggled to get comfortable. “Can I use this pillow?”

  “Yes. What happened to Serena?”

  “Such a terrible thing!” Virana lifted her head and shoved the pillow underneath.

  Tilla waited, biting back the temptation to cry, Yes, but what was it?

  “Then afterwards—well, it was like Doctor Valens had turned hollow, poor man. And everyone is blaming Terentius, but Officer Pertinax always said it was him.”

  “Said it was Valens?”

  “Officer Pertinax wouldn’t let the boys stand next to Doctor Valens at the funeral.” Virana heaved her belly sideways and propped herself up onto one elbow. “And now Gleva has moved into the house to help look after them, and—” She stopped, and then scrabbled up the bed and grasped Tilla by the arm. “Of course! I know what she is planning!”

  “You do?”

  “She is going to marry Officer Pertinax and have a son of her own and then she is going to poison them!”

  “She is going to what?”

  “Poison them. Doctor Valens’s boys. So her own son will inherit all the centurion’s money.”

  Tilla blinked. “Did Serena tell your husband that too?”

  “No. I have only just thought of it. But it is the sort of thing they do in Rome. Albanus told me all about it.”

  “Albanus told you women in Rome poison their stepchildren?”

  Virana pursed her lips. “Not all of them,” she admitted. “But it’s true, I swear. You ask him.”

  Tilla had never come across any cases of poisoned stepchildren in Rome, but she had only spent a few weeks there. Who was to say what went on in such a crowded city? And was it so very different to what happened here? As soon as Esico’s father had lost power over the tribe by the rocky shore, Esico had been sold to a slave trader.

  “We have some time yet,” she assured Virana. “Pertinax and Gleva are not even married, let alone parents. And if he’s said he won’t marry her—”

  “But now he has lost Serena, he might change his mind. And Gleva might already be pregnant, even though she is old. She is using magic.”

  “Mm.” Tilla frowned. Albanus had said very little about this Gleva on the journey, and had certainly never suggested that she might be Serena’s murderer. Perhaps he had not taken the business of love potions and the curses as seriously as he should. What if Gleva had prayed for the help of Sulis Minerva to seduce Pertinax? What if she had lured Serena to the spring, stabbed her, and tipped her in as an offering to the goddess?

  Tilla bent her head and pressed her forefingers into the inner corners of her eyes. She was getting even more excitable than Virana. She must try to think clearly.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Just a bit tired after the journey.” She got to her feet. It was no good trying to reason while Virana was still talking, and now Mara was wailing because Neena was putting her cloths back on and she preferred to crawl around with a bare bottom.

  “I know all the scribes who work around the baths,�
� Virana was saying. “Gleva is not clever at reading and writing like you and Mistress Serena. She would have had to pay one of them to write the curse for her, so I will find out which one, and he can tell us what she wrote. And I can try to find out where she bought the love potion.” She shifted her weight on the mattress. “This bed is too hard. I’m glad I haven’t got to sleep on it.”

  At the sound of male voices approaching up the stairs, she clambered to her feet. “I’d better go to work. The boss at the shop is a proper old misery. She’ll complain to Albanus again, and Albanus will get all worried.”

  “Are you supposed to be working now?”

  “Oh, she’s so fussy. I always make up the time later. So, shall I find the scribe? Then we can put a curse back on Gleva.”

  Tilla was about to say they would do no such thing, when it occurred to her that speaking to a curse writer might not be such a bad idea after all. She put her finger to her lips and Virana nodded. This was between the two of them. The men would not understand. Rather than let them worry about it, they would not be told.

  16

  The sprawling town house where Pertinax was now living had been built to make the most of an east-facing rise. Ruso closed the heavy gate on the bustle of the street and then he and Tilla—who had insisted on coming to pay her respects—followed Albanus up the steps through a steep garden. Above them was a terrace with a fine view over smaller properties toward the river—which had now filled its channel and glistened in the afternoon sun—and out to the hazy hills beyond.

  The slave who answered the door seemed surprised to see Albanus. The hesitant tone of his assurance that the master was at home suggested they might not be about to receive a warm welcome.

  They were barely inside the cool shade of the house when two identical dark-eyed boys with Valens’s curls and Serena’s olive skin came rushing into the entrance hall from the courtyard garden beyond, shouting, “Albanus!” Both boys grabbed at his tunic, talking over each other in their desperation for attention. “Albanus, if an elephant had a fight with a Cyclops, who would win?”

  “I’ve lost a tooth, Albanus, look!”

  “It would be the Cyclops, wouldn’t it?”

  Albanus said, “Does the Cyclops have weapons?”

  “Grandpa said he would put a thread around it and pull it out but I did it all by myself.”

  “He ran away from Grandpa,” put in the other twin, abandoning the Cyclops problem to score a point against his brother.

  “You might not remember Doctor Ruso and Tilla,” Albanus told them, placing a hand on each boy’s shoulder and turning them to face his companions. “They are friends of your father.”

  Both boys looked up at their visitors with mild curiosity. It was clear from their faces that they didn’t remember either of them. The problem was mutual: While Ruso recognized them as a pair, he had never been able to tell Valens’s sons apart. Rather than cause offense, he had always addressed them as a joint entity. “Good afternoon, boys.” It was a deception he was sure they saw through even at the age of four.

  “When will Pa come to see us?”

  “As soon as he can,” Ruso assured them, wishing he had more to offer. “I’m sure he misses you.”

  “Our ma died.”

  Tilla crouched down to their level. “We are very sorry,” she said. “You must miss her very much.”

  The boy who had lost the tooth nodded. “She’s not coming back ever.” To Ruso’s alarm, the child began to cry. He wished he had not agreed to bring Tilla. Why did she have to encourage this sort of thing?

  The boy’s brother moved to put an arm around him and looked up at Ruso. “He keeps on crying. I tell him to stop, but he wants Ma.”

  Tilla produced a cloth from somewhere and helped the boy to wipe his eyes. The brother said, “Thank you, miss,” and Ruso heard an echo of their mother. Serena had always been strict about manners. Say thank you to the lady!

  It was not at all appropriate for a man to scoop a friend’s child up in his arms and promise to bring his father back soon. Nor would it be fair. He had no power to change anything here. So instead he stood awkwardly while Tilla dealt kindly with the tears, and he was relieved to hear uneven footsteps approaching: the soft scuff of leather on tile alternating with a dull thump.

  A square-shaped, square-shouldered man with iron-gray hair and an impressive nose lurched into view. Even though he walked on one real leg and one wooden stump, and he looked thinner and older than Ruso remembered, Pertinax still had the kind of presence that seemed to suck all the air out of a room as soon as he entered it. He was followed by two men of about the same age. They were wearing civilian clothes, but they looked as though they would reach for invisible swords as soon as Pertinax gave the order.

  The centurion glanced at his sniffling grandson, scowled at Ruso, and ignored Tilla completely, turning his glare to Albanus. “You’re back, then.”

  Albanus gulped. “Yes, sir.”

  “Well then, lads.” Pertinax reached down to usher the twins toward a side door. “Time for lessons.”

  As Albanus was following the boys out, Pertinax said, “You.”

  Albanus snapped to attention.

  “Come and see me afterwards.”

  Albanus managed, “Yes, sir,” scuttled out, and was reminded of what to do next by a roar of “Shut the bloody door!”

  The door clamped shut. Pertinax beckoned with one finger, and Ruso followed into a sparsely furnished study that took him straight back to their days in the Twentieth Legion. Pertinax’s full armor and crested helmet were displayed on the same wooden stand in the same position they had occupied in his office up in the fortress at Deva. There was still a folding desk that was too small for him and even a couple of notices hung on the walls. It all spoke of a man who was not settled into retirement.

  Pertinax sank down into his own chair and left Ruso to stand before him and worry about what would happen next: another reminder of life in the legion. Ruso was aware that Tilla had slipped in and was standing beside him. He hoped she wasn’t about to say something tactless. Or indeed anything at all. There had not been much time to bring her up-to-date on the walk across here.

  As if the silence were Ruso’s fault, Pertinax demanded, “Well?”

  He said, “I’m very sorry about the loss of your daughter, sir.”

  Pertinax grunted something that might have been thanks. “Not as sorry as I am. Not nearly as sorry as those boys will be for the rest of their lives.”

  “No, sir.”

  “You didn’t come all this way just to say that.”

  Before he could reply, Tilla spoke up. “We would like to pay our respects at your daughter’s tomb, sir.”

  There was a silence, during which Ruso willed his wife not to say anything else and Pertinax doubtless expected her to realize that she had spoken out of turn in a meeting between two men. Finally he addressed his response to Ruso. “Up on the hill behind the house. Just beyond the main road. The one that’s not finished.”

  Ruso put in, “Thank you, sir,” before Tilla could intervene further.

  “I didn’t expect to need it yet.” The chair creaked as Pertinax leaned back. “And now we’ve got that over, you can tell me where he is.”

  There was no point in pretending he didn’t know who Pertinax was talking about. “I can’t, sir. He left town before I got here.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  Ruso realized he was standing to attention. He made a deliberate effort to relax. Neither of them was a soldier now.

  Pertinax said, “You’re like all the rest of them. You think I’m some kind of irrational grief-struck fool.”

  Ruso’s “Not at all, sir” hopefully drowned out his wife’s “I think—”

  “Your pal, the layabout you’re covering up for as usual, seduced my girl when she wasn’t old enough to know better. Then he made a great song and dance about doing the honorable thing and marrying her. As if he were doing us both a favor. S
ince then he’s neglected her. He’s taken her for granted. What’s worse, he’s neglected his children. Then, when she finally finds herself a decent young man, your friend stabs her in the heart rather than let her go to someone else.”

  Even Tilla had no reply for this. It was not the time to point out that Valens was a gifted and occasionally hardworking doctor, and that he was entertaining company. None of that made up for his longstanding lack of enthusiasm as a husband and father. Still, he was not a murderer. Ruso said, “Sir, I really don’t think—”

  “What you think doesn’t matter. I won’t keep quiet. When the governor comes, I’ll get justice for my daughter. He’s a good man. I served with him back in Upper Germania. He’ll run a fair trial.”

  “Valens didn’t kill your daughter, sir.”

  “You’ll find out.”

  “For the sake of the boys, sir—”

  “You dare—” The chair scraped back as Pertinax sprang up. He grabbed the desk for balance and almost tipped over with it. One of the veterans stepped forward to help and Pertinax snapped at him to get back. Finally upright, he roared with a voice that would carry across a windswept parade ground, “You dare to come to my house and tell me what’s good for my boys?”

  Ruso stepped in front of his wife, afraid the man was going to heave the desk into the air and fling it at them. He could feel his own heart thumping, and the remains of the unwisely heavy late lunch lay like a stone in his stomach. Behind him, a floorboard creaked as one of the veterans shifted position.

  Pertinax sank down again, and Ruso let out a long, slow breath. This was civilian Aquae Sulis, not the legion. He could not be punished for insubordination. On the other hand, it was never wise to poke an angry lion with a stick, even for the good of its grandchildren.

  “Well?”

  At least he hadn’t ordered them to get out. Maybe even Pertinax was mellowing in his old age. “My wife and I had the greatest respect for your daughter, sir.” Even if Serena had taken some years to realize that Tilla was not a servant.