by Ruth Downie
“Someone has to be.”
She shook her head. A loop of brown hair escaped from whatever was supposed to be holding it in place. “I am not here to see you. They said if I want to see your wife, I must come to the mansio.”
“Ah,” said Ruso. He turned to the manager, who was eyeing the girl as if he were planning to have her swept into the drain as soon as Ruso had gone. “Did my wife tell you that she might have visitors?”
“She did mention something, sir.”
“Well, this is one of them,” said Ruso, wishing Tilla had explained more clearly who those visitors might be. “Can she wait here while I fetch her?”
It was not really a question, and the manager knew it.
Virana was clearly delighted to be given more time to examine her surroundings. As Ruso left the hall in the company of one of the mansio slaves, he heard the manager snap, “Don’t touch those flowers!”
The walkway provided some shelter as the slave led him out around the courtyard and tapped on the fourth door. Beyond it he found a simple room, and in that room was just the sort of domestic scene a man wanted to come home to after a long day. A beautiful blond woman was presiding over a small table laden with a selection of salads and meats, a flagon of wine, a jug of water, and two cups.
“I did not know when you would be back, so I thought cold food would be easiest.”
“Ah.”
Tilla reached for his hand. “You look tired, husband. Is it true that a man jumped off a roof and killed himself?”
That was how it was in places like this: A man inside a fortress had only to sneeze and moments later half a dozen people on the far side of the wall were wishing him good health. He said, “It hasn’t been a good day.”
“It is over now. Sit and eat.”
“There’s someone waiting—”
“Let them wait.” She pulled the chair out for him, then handed him a cup. “Why did he do it?”
He took a sip of the wine and hoped they would not have the nerve to charge much for it. “I don’t know.”
“They said he was from the Atrebates.”
“Was he?” Nobody had mentioned Sulio’s tribal origins. Probably because only other Britons would be interested. “Tilla, I can’t stay. I’m sorry. I have to go and talk army business over dinner.”
“But I thought—”
“And there’s a patient waiting for you in the entrance hall.”
She sighed, looking at the food. “I suppose if I put a cloth over the top, it will do for breakfast. So you are going back to the fort?”
“I’ll be here, planning the move back to Deva with the tribune and the local centurions.”
“I do not like that tribune.”
“I didn’t know you’d spoken to him.”
“When you are not there, he looks at me.”
“Really?” He would keep an eye on Accius from now on.
“Not in that way,” she added quickly. “At least, I think not. More as if I am something strange and interesting.”
“What a perceptive man.”
“And, unlike you, he has never been rude to me.”
Ruso grinned, just to show he was not in the least bit perturbed by Accius being younger than he was, almost handsome, powerful, rich, and unable to keep his eyes off other people’s wives.
Tilla had moved on to a new subject. “I suppose Minna will be there, too, bossing the slaves around.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Finish the wine at least. It will help you put up with all the boring soldiers.”
“I’ll be as boring as I can. Then perhaps we’ll finish early.”
She leaned across the table and kissed him. “I am sure you will be very good at it.”
It was not until he was sitting on a towel in the hot room of the mansio bathhouse, feeling the sweat begin to sting his eyes and trickle down the small of his back, that he realized he had forgotten to ask her to clean up his kit.
Later, perhaps while they were both polishing in a scene of domestic harmony he could not quite picture, he would see if she could shed any light on this business with the recruits. Despite a brief fling with the followers of Christos in Gaul, Tilla retained a firm belief in the power of cursing and blessing. She might have some insight into what the Britons thought was going on here. And then he could work out how to deal with it.
Ruso did not know a great deal about curses, but he did have a wide experience of army recruits. The impression he had formed at medical examination boards was that most of them were very young and poorly educated. Many were away from home for the first time, and even the best were trying not to show how nervous they were. His limited contact with them farther down the road suggested that Geminus’s men would now be exhausted by the rigors of training, feeling trapped inside the fort, struggling with a level of discipline they had not known at home, and no doubt wondering if they had made a terrible mistake. Isolated from their own tribes, fed on rumor and grieving for lost comrades, he could see how these young men had worked themselves up into a panic.
Accius, evidently well briefed, had done his best to settle them down before they went back to barracks for their evening meal. As befitted a young man with an expensive education, he knew how to give a speech. Better still, he knew when to stop. In a very short space of time he had said all the things they needed to hear. He had looked out over the men of the Twentieth assembled beneath the roof from which the recruit had jumped. He introduced himself with the clarity and authority of a man twice his age. He offered them his sincere condolences on the death of Sulio, whose mind had gone. He honored the bold rescue attempt of Centurion Geminus and the men who had supported him. He commended their example to the recruits, reminding them that soon they would be back at the Legion’s main base in Deva, where the discipline, bravery, and loyalty they had begun to develop here would bring them the advancement they deserved. They would be a credit to their centurion and their families back at home.
Finally, he announced a dawn parade at which he would personally preside over the sacrifice of a prize ram to Jupiter. Prayers would be said for the safety of the emperor and the spirits of the departed, and every man would be there in full dress uniform to witness it.
Accius was undeniably impressive, and it had seemed to Ruso that the young men whom Geminus marched out of the hall were less wild-eyed than before. Perhaps it was the presence of an officer of Accius’s standing. Perhaps it was the prospect of a long evening shining up such parade kit as recruits in basic training might manage to muster. Most likely it was the neat way the tribune had managed to respond to their fears without openly acknowledging them. He must have known what had been going on, and the people who had briefed him must be the centurions with whom Ruso was about to spend the evening. Perhaps he would find out what really had happened to young Tadius—and why Pera wanted it kept quiet.
Ruso wiped the sweat from his eyes and breathed in gently so as not to scald the lining of his nose. Deciding he had suffered enough, he got up from the bench and clacked across the hot floor on wooden sandals. A quick scrape of the dirt, a cold plunge, a rubdown, and he would be ready for a dinner which might turn out to be much more interesting than he had led Tilla to believe.
Chapter 12
The black beads were cheap and the pink dress had been made for someone much slimmer. The first owner had probably abandoned it when efforts to scrub out a spatter of grease spots across the middle of the skirt had left them marooned in a faded patch.
Before Tilla could speak, the girl said in British, “Are you the doctor’s woman?”
“I am the midwife,” said Tilla in the same tongue. The girl was too young to be the boy’s mother, so she was not Lucina come to ask why some stranger had been claiming to know her. It must be Pamphile, or Hedone, or some other working girl who was supposed to be looking forward to the arrival of the Sixth Legion. Which was more likely to mean her owner was looking forward to a rise in his profits.
“I am Virana.” The gi
rl glanced over her shoulder at the manager. “Grumpy over there doesn’t like me. But you did say to come here, didn’t you?”
Tilla gestured toward the courtyard door. “Come with me. We will speak in private.”
“You are not Parisi,” the girl guessed, following her along the walkway. “From your accent—Brigante?”
“Near enough,” agreed Tilla, because no matter how many times she explained about the Corionotatae, people only remembered the names of tribes they had heard of before.
“You are Brigante, and you have married an officer!” It seemed the girl had never heard of such a thing. “How did you do it?”
“That is a long story.” Tilla ushered her into the room and gestured toward the chair with the red cushion.
The girl seated herself and gazed around her, lifting the corner of the cloth to see what was laid out on the table. “Is this your dinner?” She tipped the flagon toward her and sniffed the contents. “I don’t like wine,” she said. “Beer is much nicer.”
“Yes,” said Tilla, putting the flagon back and replacing the cloth. She had left Marcia’s letter on the table, hoping her husband might read her some news of his family in Gaul. Now she moved that out of the girl’s reach too, hoping this was indeed a patient, and not just a local nuisance whom the mansio manager had failed to keep out. “You look in good health, Virana.”
“Oh, I am! Is that your husband’s armor?” The girl reached out and ran a fingertip along the curve of the metal plates.
“Yes.” Who else’s did she imagine it might be? “How can I help you?”
Virana, having finished her inspection of the room, leaned across the table to where Tilla had seated herself on the bed, and beamed. “I think I am with child!”
“That is good news,” said Tilla, not entirely sure that it was. “I have herbs that will help the baby grow and keep you strong. I can give you something to take when the time comes, and an egg charm to hold in your hand when you give birth, but you will have to find your own midwife. We are only here for a few days.”
“And then you are going back to Deva with the soldiers,” said Virana, her eyes bright. “Tell me, is it true there are stalls selling silk and ivory and spices and eastern perfumes? And I can wear my shoes outside, because there is no mud in the streets, and nobody needs buckets, because the water flows to every house?”
“No.”
“Well, never mind.” Virana reached back to retrieve a bone pin and shook her hair loose. “I’m sure it will be better than here. I know the Sixth Legion are coming, but they’ll send all the best ones up north to build the Great Wall, won’t they? We’ll just be stuck with the old fat ones again. So I thought you would know what to do.”
“What to do about what?”
“I don’t mind if he doesn’t marry me. I know it’s not allowed unless he’s an officer.”
“It is not recognized,” corrected Tilla. “But if you have chosen a soldier and he has chosen you, that is none of the army’s business.”
“That’s what I think too.”
“When your man is moved, you will have to follow. It will not be easy, but plenty of women do it.”
Virana pouted. “But that’s the trouble. Nobody wants me to follow. They all say the baby is somebody else’s.”
Tilla suppressed a sigh. Was there no end to the supply of stupid girls living near army bases?
“Please don’t shout at me. Everyone else does.”
“I am not going to shout at you. I am going to work out some dates. It is hard to be certain about these things, but at least we might know where to start.”
The girl shook her head and her hair came loose again. “I don’t know anything about dates. One day is much like another here. We don’t have all those big festivals and games like you have in Deva.”
“You must have a market day.”
Virana brightened at this, but it seemed one market day was also much like another, and the boredom of life around Eboracum was only made bearable by friendly encounters with young recruits on their weekly afternoon out from the local fort. “I was going to wait and see who it looked like,” she said, “but now they’re going back to Deva there isn’t time.”
“I will examine you now,” Tilla told her. “But these things are very uncertain, and if you cannot remember when things happened, I am not sure how else I can help.”
The girl lay down on one of the beds as instructed, then sat up suddenly. “You aren’t going to take it away, are you?”
“No.”
“Because if you take it away, I’ll have to stay here, won’t I?”
The examination revealed nothing new. The girl was indeed pregnant and all appeared to be well. Tilla felt a wave of jealousy. Why this stupid girl? Why almost every other woman in the world and not her? She swallowed, hearing the echo of her mother’s words after she had voiced some forgotten complaint: Nobody likes a person who feels sorry for herself.
You don’t understand, Mam.
No. And nobody else will, either. It’s no good moping, girl. There’s work to be done!
Virana was still prattling. “What I was thinking,” she said, “was that if you tell your husband that you know who the father is, then he could order him—”
“My husband is not allowed to do that sort of thing.”
“But how else will I get out of this place?” Virana sat up and gave the pink dress a violent tug to straighten it. A bulge of pale flesh appeared through a hole in the side seam. “They won’t even let me in to talk to anybody.”
“They are not going to help you,” Tilla agreed.
“Those horrible centurions don’t care about anybody.”
“It is not their job to care about you.”
The girl swung her feet to the floor. “They don’t even care about their own soldiers!”
Tilla said, “My man does his best.”
The girl put a hand to her mouth. “I am sorry. I meant no insult.”
“You can speak the truth, Virana. I am not in the Twentieth Legion just because he is.”
Virana glanced at the window, then said softly, “You should tell him to be careful in there.”
“Why?”
The girl leaned closer and mouthed, “People keep on dying. They say there is a curse.”
“I heard about the man on the roof.”
“Not just Sulio.” Virana glanced at the window again, and fell silent.
Tilla checked that no one was listening at the door. Then she closed the shutters, plunging them into near darkness. “What do you mean, ‘People keep on dying’? What sort of people?”
“I don’t want to get into trouble.”
“There will be no trouble if you tell me the truth.”
The girl sniffed. “First Dannicus. Then Tadius. Then Victor ran away, and now Sulio lies dead too.”
Tilla paused. “This Victor—does he have ginger hair?”
In the gloom she could just make out Virana’s nod.
She said, “I think I have seen him,” but Virana was not listening.
“Fortune has turned her back on them!”
“But you still want to go to Deva with them?”
“They say the tribune will offer a ram to Jupiter in the morning. Perhaps things will be better after that. But tonight—”
“I will tell my husband to be careful,” Tilla agreed. “These deaths—what causes them?”
“Dannicus drowned in the river.” Virana shuffled on the bed. “So you cannot help me?”
“I cannot see inside the womb, sister. Think who you lay with at about lambing time and try to work it out.”
Virana began counting on her fingers and murmuring names. There seemed to be a lot of them. Tilla opened the shutters again.
“They were all nice to me.” Virana stopped counting. “I wouldn’t do it with the rude ones.”
“Of course not.”
“They bought me beads.”
“So I see.”
“I felt s
orry for them.”
Tilla, trying to remember if she had ever felt sorry for a soldier in her life, said, “Why was that?”
“Mam said to stay away from them, but what does she know? I shall have plenty of time to grind flour and milk cows when I’m old like her.”
“There is no need to feel sorry for soldiers, Virana. Especially when they ask you to comfort them.”
The pout reappeared. “They won’t have me back at home now. My aunt says I’ll turn the milk sour.”
“I am sad to hear it.”
“It wouldn’t be Tadius, would it? I only did it once with him because of my sister.”
“Once is often enough,” said Tilla, pushing aside the thought, but not for me.
“Well, I’m sure it isn’t. Anyway, I need somebody alive. Marcus is nice …” The girl looked up. “You won’t tell my sister about me and Tadius, will you?”
“I do not know your sister.”
“She thinks she was the only girl he ever looked at. Now she is lying at home, sulking.”
Tilla dismissed the question of what the parents had done to deserve two such daughters, and tried to steer Virana back toward the danger the Medicus might be in. “Could the father be either of the other men who died?”
“Oh, Sulio and Dannicus weren’t interested in girls. You know. Like they say about the emperor.”
Tilla was not going to discuss the emperor’s bedroom habits with a girl who could not control her tongue or, it seemed, much else. “So the boy who jumped off the roof was the lover of the one who drowned?”
Virana nodded. “After Dann was drowned, Sulio was so frightened he couldn’t eat. He wanted to run away. I told him not to be silly.” She sniffed. “I should have said, Yes, go, shouldn’t I? If he had run away, he would still be alive.”
“Why was he frightened? Was he to blame for the drowning?”
“Tadius and Victor were really cross with him.”
“He was frightened of the other recruits?”
But Virana had moved on. “Now Tadius is dead and Victor knew it would be him next and Corinna would be left on her own.” She sniffed. “Like I will be if I’m not careful.”
