by Ruth Downie
Ruso wondered how much wine Accius had drunk. The wording stamped on coins was chosen at the very top, and—given the bad relations between the Senate and Hadrian—it was hardly tactful for the son of a senator to be heard criticizing imperial policy in a building where any member of the staff could be a spy. The spies, on the other hand, would not be anywhere near as interested as Ruso was in the loss of a few unimportant Britons—something Accius should have been concerned about but apparently wasn’t.
“I was wondering, sir,” he said, “if the second recruit who died had been in some sort of a fight.”
Geminus frowned. “Where did you get that from?”
Too late, Ruso realized that a fight might suggest Geminus had failed to keep control, whereas an accident could be blamed on the gods. “The body,” he said, unable to think of a suitable lie and wishing the tribune had found some women to invite. Women were good at filling embarrassing silences. Except for Tilla, who was good at creating them.
This time it was Accius who restarted the conversation. “Did Geminus ever tell you,” he said to the centurions, “how he and I first met?”
The fat and the thin centurions greeted this opening with the eagerness of men stranded on a lonely road spying an approaching carriage. The silent one did not appear to notice.
“We’re related, you know,” Accius explained. “On my mother’s side.”
Ruso, who knew this much already, surmised that Geminus was a useful sort of relative: distant enough not to be a social embarrassment but close enough to be claimed as family when he had marched home from the Dacian campaign, his chest sparkling with decorations for bravery. Apparently the eight-year-old Accius had been escorted onto the streets of Rome to watch him in the victory parade. Later, he had followed Geminus around the house asking every question he could think of about life in the army.
Geminus’s hard features softened slightly as his protégé reminded him of the marching lessons around the fishpond in the garden, and how Accius had taken to demanding the day’s watchword before allowing anyone to enter his presence.
“Do you remember that wooden sword you gave me?”
“Very well, sir.”
“Did Mother ever tell you Father confiscated it? I knocked over one of the statues in the garden while I was practising the thrust and twist. I wrote to the praetorian barracks to ask you for another one, but I think the slave must have been told to lose the letter.”
“I never got it, sir.”
“And finally, after all these years, I heard we were serving in the same province and I had the chance to thank you.”
The bald head dipped in acknowledgment. “You’ve made me very proud, sir.”
“And to apologize to you for being an insufferable brat.”
There was a brief silence while everyone waited to see if Accius would smile. Then they all laughed. Even Geminus. The subject of dead recruits was forgotten.
Chapter 15
By the time Ruso headed back around the courtyard toward his own room, the blustery rain had put out all but one of the torches, which was why he failed to see the puddle before he trod in it.
To his surprise he found his wife still awake and sitting at the table. Whatever was left of the food had been pushed to one side beneath a cloth. The flames of a triple-wicked lamp were dancing in the sudden draft from the door as she rolled up a scroll that had been laid out in front of them. He recognized the collection of poetry a friend had lent her for reading practice.
“If one of our poets had spoken this rubbish,” she said, tying it closed, “nobody would pass it on, and it would be forgotten, and good riddance. But this man wrote everything down, and now it floats about like somebody else’s hair in the bath. Who cares if his lady’s pet sparrow is dead?”
He sat on the bed and bent to tackle his wet boots. “The only other scroll Valens could lend me wasn’t fit for a decent man to read with his wife. It’s a foul night out there. How was your patient?”
“Pregnant, and very silly. Is it true three recruits have died?”
“And one’s deserted.”
“He is the one we met on the way here. His name is Victor. I hope he is somewhere safe in this storm.”
“I’m surprised more haven’t run off. They seem to be an unhappy bunch.” He tossed the boots into a corner.
Tilla retrieved them and put them on the windowsill to dry in the draft. “The girl said Fortuna has turned her back on Eboracum, and you should be careful. She thinks it is only the recruits who are cursed, but I have prayed to Christos for you—”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that.”
“—and I will find a place to leave a gift for the goddess, just in case.”
“Did she say how the second man died?”
Tilla frowned, as if she was trying to remember exactly what she had been told. “The recruits were frightened of each other after the one who jumped off the roof lost his boyfriend in the river.”
“His boyfriend?” That might explain the suicide. “Why were they frightened of each other?”
“She said, after the drowning, two of them were angry with Sulio.”
“Was it his fault?”
“I do not think so. By the end I was as confused as she was. But one of the angry ones is dead—”
“Tadius?”
“Tadius, yes—”
“Does she know how he died?”
“She was more interested in telling me how he bedded her and her sister. The other angry one is Victor, and he deserted because he thought he would die next.”
Victor, like Tadius, had been beaten up.
“Why?”
“I do not know. I do know he has a wife called Corinna.”
Ruso scratched one ear. Civilian gossip might move fast, but it degenerated into nonsense the farther it traveled. If Sulio had killed himself out of grief for a lost lover, he had waited a long time to do it. In the meantime Victor had run away and Tadius was dead. “I’ll see if I can make some sense of it tomorrow,” he promised her.
“Be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Is it true the tribune will try to lift the curse with a sacrifice in the morning?”
“Oh, hell.” Reminded, he reached down and lifted the shoulder plates of his armor. The attached segments rose one by one into a shape that could enclose a man’s chest. “He’s offering a ram,” he said, scowling at the orange specks of rust. “Best not to ask why. Have we got any rags and some oil?”
She delved into one of the boxes and pulled out a frayed linen bandage. “There is no sand.”
“We’ll just have to rub harder.”
Moments later he was wishing there had been an artist present to record the ensuing scene of domestic bliss, marred only a very little by Tilla saying, “If my ancestors are looking, I hope they know that I am only helping you because you are just a medicus and not a proper soldier.”
He let it pass. “By the way, I think I’ve found out what our noble tribune is really doing here, so far away from all the action.”
She paused with a length of oily bandage in one hand. “Husband, are you jealous?”
“Of course not,” he said, demonstrating his indifference by the casual tone of his denial. “But Accius made a tactless remark, and when it was obvious people had noticed, he was very careful to explain that he isn’t deliberately avoiding the emperor.”
“The tribune told you he is not avoiding the emperor?”
“Not directly. But he says he volunteered to come here because he wants to see Geminus before he retires. The old man’s hanging up his vine stick after he’s marched his men back to Deva.”
She frowned. “But if Geminus is marching his men back to Deva, why come all this way to see him? Would they not meet there anyway?”
“Exactly!” Even Tilla could see how obvious the tribune’s lie was, but she did not seem as impressed as he had hoped. “Accius is the son of a senator,” he explained, realizin
g he should have explained the background. “Most of the Senate didn’t want Hadrian in charge. They don’t trust him.”
“And because the father is not a friend to the emperor, you think the son would travel all this way to avoid him?”
“Four of Hadrian’s opponents in the Senate were conveniently murdered when he came to power. I have a feeling Accius may be distantly related to one of them. Even if he isn’t, people find it very hard to forgive that sort of thing. Of course Hadrian had nothing to do with their deaths—”
“Why not?”
He blinked. Even now, there were times when his wife took him completely by surprise.
“Well, because … because you can’t do that sort of thing these days.” The gods alone knew what went on amongst the Corionotatae when a new leader took over. He said, “Everyone knows he wasn’t involved, because he said so,” but this well-worn joke made no impression upon his wife. She had already moved on to the next question.
“And did you tell him that is also why you are here inspecting the medical service?”
“That’s not the same thing at all,” he said. “I just didn’t want all the—”
“Polishing?” she said.
“Fuss.” Outside, he could hear something loose banging about in the wind. “Is there anything left in that jug?” He lifted the cloth. The movement revealed the dark rectangle of his sister’s letter.
“Ah!” Tilla reached out and thrust it toward him before he could cover it up again. “You can read while I finish this. Quick, while there is still oil in the lamp.”
“I’ll read it tomorrow in daylight.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps I shall take it and ask that handsome Tribune Accius to read to me.”
“It’s no good,” he told her. “I’m not jealous.”
She took the bandage from his hand and replaced it with the letter. Then she slid the lamp nearer. The flames wavered in the draft from the window.
“All right,” he conceded, not sorry to abandon the cleaning. “Let’s get it over with.”
Most of his relatives never wrote unless they wanted something, but, as the head of the family, it was his duty to find out what it was before he refused it. He turned the thin wooden leaves to face the light and leaned forward to make out the crowded lines his sister had inked onto them several weeks ago in the sunny south of Gaul.
No wonder Tilla had struggled with it. Marcia’s spelling was always creative, but she could write perfectly legibly when she wished. This, however, seemed to have been composed with her eyes shut. If their father had lived to see the outcome of her expensive education, he would have demanded his money back.
He ran a forefinger along the uneven line of script.
“‘Dearest Gaius,’” he read, with difficulty. “‘Greetings from your loving sister. I hope you and Tilla are well and so are we although to listen to some people around here you would never believe it. Little Lucius fell off a fence yesterday and knocked his front teeth out. His mother made a great fuss. Your brother complains all the time, and now he is shouting at me because the man who says he will take this letter wants to get home before dark but it isn’t my fault that nobody told me he was coming and I am writing as fast as I can. Our mother and Diphilus are planning an extension on the west wing and he and your brother argue a lot.’”
He paused. “The tribune will be sorry he’s missing this.”
“The tribune would read faster than you.”
“‘Good news,’” he continued. “‘Unless you have the same news for us we have beaten you to it.’”
The swish of linen on iron fell silent. “She is pregnant.”
“It might not be that.”
It was.
He put a hand on her knee. “I’m sorry.”
“You must wish them well from us both.”
He carried on reading, not because he was interested in what his sister had to say, but because he had long ago run out of reassuring things to say about their own failure to conceive.
“‘Tertius is very pleased with me, as he should be, and is making sure I take plenty of rest every day. I expect Mother has written to tell you we will not have enough to live on when we are a family.’”
“Has she?”
“No, but it’s good to be forewarned.”
“‘As you know, poor Tertius has never really got the advancement he deserves. Well, really there is no future in making clay pots for the next-door neighbor, is there? Of course he was grateful for the job when he was injured and I’m sure they are very good pots but now he is as fit as you are and probably fitter because you are so old.’”
He paused again, waiting in vain for his wife to disagree.
“‘He is also brave and honest,’” he continued, “‘and quite clever in his own way.’”
He said, “Not clever enough to keep away from Marcia.”
Tilla had gone back to polishing. He scanned the rest of the letter in silence. So as you are the head of the family and Tertius has nobody else it must be up to you to help, Gaius. We all know you are hopeless at putting yourself forward but please think of other people and make an effort.
Gods above. His sister was starting to sound like Claudia before the divorce. Unfortunately, he supposed she was right: He ought to try and do something for Tertius.
Having settled that, Marcia was displaying an unusual interest in current affairs.
Did you know that Hadrian is on his way to Britannia?
The reason became clear in the next line.
I hear he has thousands of people on his staff. I’m sure he could find something for Tertius if you ask him nicely enough.
Ruso shook his head in disbelief. He supposed it was his own fault. He had once held several short and dust-covered conversations with Senator Publius Aelius Hadrianus about treating the injured in the aftermath of a terrible earthquake that had flattened most of Antioch and nearly killed the reigning emperor Trajan. Some years later, when Hadrian had risen to even greater fame, Ruso had been foolish enough to mention these fleeting encounters to his family. Instead of being mildly interested, his stepmother had been convinced that persistent demands of And what else did he say? would help Ruso remember a series of cozy chats that ended with Hadrian saying, If there’s ever anything I can do for you, my friend … and Ruso thanking him and promising to be in touch as soon as my stepmother’s told me what I want.
He continued to read. Please don’t let us down, Gaius. I know we are a long way away and you probably don’t think about us much now you have managed to get back into the army, but we are your family, and we will never get another chance as good as this.
He sighed. Marcia was in for a disappointment. With luck, by the time he had made his way back to Deva via every possible outpost and watchtower, the imperial tour would have passed by.
He felt Tilla’s hand close over his own. “We will have a good life,” she said softly.
For a moment he had no idea what she was talking about. Then he realized she had thought he was sighing over their lack of offspring. “Of course we will,” he promised.
Chapter 16
Ruso woke in darkness and stumbled across the room to find a bleary-eyed matching slave waiting outside the door with a lamp. Tilla muttered something about getting up to help and promptly went back to sleep. He shrugged his way unaided into his heavy armor, which still smelled of olive oil, eased the hooks into place, and fumbled with the slippery leather thongs in the poor light. When they got back to Deva, he really must find the money for a slave boy.
The storm had cleared overnight. Munching on a wine cake he had grabbed from the table on the way out, he made his way to where Accius’s flunkies were tacking up the horses by torchlight. After a brief acknowledgment when the tribune strode out of his suite to join them, the men from the Twentieth rode across to the fortress in silence.
Ruso, who was on foot, left the others to dismount in the courtyard of the headquarters building and walked around the outside.
The street was empty now. In the dull predawn light he stood on the spot where the blond figure of Sulio had fallen. The flagstones had been washed clean, the gravel raked. He bent to pick up something beside his foot. It was a strand of straw that might have come from one of the mattresses.
Above him, the gable end rose black against the clearing sky. What had passed between Geminus and Sulio in those last moments? How had Geminus tried to entice him down, and why had Sulio refused to listen? Did the deserter, Victor, have anything to do with it? Did Tadius? There was definitely something odd about the death of Tadius. Or was Sulio overwhelmed with grief about his drowned lover? He didn’t know. Somewhere in the southern tribe of the Atrebates was a mother who would never know, either.
He tossed the straw aside and headed into the headquarters hall for morning briefing. The dead had never been his patients. This morning he needed to concentrate on the living recruit who had taken a slice off one arm.
The briefing was a formality, since most of those present had already met and discussed the same issues over dinner last night. The sun was just gilding the tops of the surrounding roofs by the time the men were marched into the courtyard, ready to watch the sacrifice. Ruso slipped in next to Pera. The plump centurion poked the line straight with his stick and then moved on. After he was gone, Pera murmured, “Sir, I’m assigned to sanitary inspection this morning. Can you do the ward round?”
As the senior medic Ruso would have expected to be consulted about where Pera was assigned, but this was not the time to say so. Barely moving his lips, and with his eyes focused on a dent in the helmet of the man in front of him, Ruso said, “Of course.” Then he added, “I read your postmortem report.”
When there was no reply, he glanced at Pera, who was standing like a statue. He showed no sign of having heard. “Why can you write the truth but you can’t speak it?”
Still no reply. More men took their places ahead of them. One recruit was hauled out of line for some misdemeanor. As he was being marched out of the courtyard by a pair of Geminus’s junior officers, Ruso heard Pera murmur, “Geminus’s two shadows.”
