by Ruth Downie
“Really?”
“Not only an ideal place for an ambitious officer to invest, but a good location to settle and raise a family.”
“Ah,” said Ruso. “So this is about Tilla.”
Catavignus smiled as if he knew he had been caught out. “Pretty name. Did you give it to her?”
“I think she made it up.”
As Catavignus said, “She is all we have left of my brother’s family,” the surly boy appeared and announced that the builder was here again.
“Tell him I’ve no more to say to him. Felix had the money. He needs to talk to Felix’s centurion.” Catavignus turned back to Ruso. “I take it you know what happened to my brother?”
“More or less,” said Ruso.
“Ah. Yes. Well.” Catavignus took an ominously deep breath. “He and his family farmed a plot of land just north of here. They were . . .” He hesitated. “My brother’s family led a wild existence,” he said. “There have always been cattle raids across the border, but my nephews made a habit of it. The northerners, of course, retaliated. One night I woke to hear the alarm horn being blown—we lived close by in those days—and rushed up there to find my brother’s house burned and the haystack and the stores ablaze, and in the light of the fires . . .”
Catavignus lowered his head and appeared to be struggling to compose himself. “Excuse me,” he said. “The memory is still painful. When daylight came we searched through the wreckage but the fire was so fierce we could not even account for all the bodies. I’m ashamed to say we all assumed my niece was among them. Of course if we’d known she was a prisoner, I would have taken steps to bring her back. So as the surviving head of the family, I can only say how very grateful we are to you for looking after her.”
“She has worked for her keep.”
“My niece has always been the flower among the brambles of my brother’s family,” continued Catavignus. “A delightful girl.”
Ruso scratched one ear and tried to remember if he had ever thought of Tilla as “delightful.” The word had possibly wandered into his mind, but if so, it had swiftly fled when confronted with the reality. “She’s very attractive,” he conceded. He might also have said erotic, eccentric, frustrating, obstinate, and very likely unfaithful, but not in front of her uncle.
“She tells me you treated her kindly. I suspect you were very patient.”
“I’ve done my best,” said Ruso, glad Catavignus had not witnessed the conversation outside Susanna’s just now.
“Newcomers find our women headstrong at first, but I promise you they’re well worth the effort of taming.”
“Like your hunting dogs?”
Catavignus’s smile reminded him of Tilla. “Like our horses,” he said. “Visit her here whenever you like. My people have a tradition of hospitality. I’ll see to it that you have complete privacy.”
Ruso managed, “Thank you.”
“We’ll be honored to welcome you into the family.”
Ruso’s mind was echoing, Into the family? when the surly boy interrupted again to say the man from the infirmary was here to see the master.
Catavignus frowned and excused himself for a moment. To his surprise, Ruso heard the voice of Gambax outside.
Moments later Catavignus reappeared. “Always a pleasure to do business with the army.” He sat down and smoothed his mustache with a forefinger. “A busy morning. Where was I? As I was saying, my people have many kinds of marriage to suit all situations.”
“Marriage?”
“Spring is the right season. And it’s quite common for the wife here to stay in the home of her kin. So if the husband has to be away on duty he can be sure she’s safe and well looked after.”
“Nobody’s talked about marriage,” pointed out Ruso.
“You mean you’ve not been bedding her?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“We’d be happy to reduce the bride price in recognition of the kindness you’ve shown her.”
“There’s a bride price?”
“Traditionally, yes, but a nominal sum will do. You’ve already been very generous.”
Ruso swallowed hard. “Have you discussed this with her?”
“I’m talking to you first. Finding out your intentions.”
Ruso shook his head. “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said, “But my intentions in caring for your niece really weren’t, ah—” He could hardly say that he had bought her from a rogue trader in a back alley. Nor, despite his own feelings about it, was it fair to tell her uncle she had slept with Rianorix. “I mean, I know she’s very . . . I am. . . I have been very fond of her. But my first marriage wasn’t a success. I’m not looking to settle down with a wife and family. Even if she did want me as a husband, which I doubt very much.”
Catavignus frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that, Doctor. She does come with land as well, did I forget to mention that? Of course, as a military man you wouldn’t be farming it, but I could put in a tenant and send you the rent wherever you’re posted. Less a very small deduction for costs, of course.”
“Land?” said Ruso, stupidly. “Rent?”
“Of course to an officer like yourself, a little rent here or there is nothing. I’m just trying to make the offer as fair as possible.”
“I’ve never really thought of—”
“Don’t worry, Doctor. I see what you’re trying to say. I’ll keep looking. Somebody will have her, I’m sure. Now, come with me, and I’ll introduce you to my daughter.”
Whatever either man might have hoped for in a meeting between Ruso and Aemilia, both were disappointed. Aemilia had retreated into her room and barricaded the door. Her father’s insistence that a very important officer had come to see her only produced a howl of, “Go away!”
Catavignus explained to Ruso that his daughter was not well, and less politely to Aemilia that she was shaming the whole family.
“Go away!”
Ruso asked for a chance to try on his own. When her father had retreated he said quietly, “Aemilia, this is important. I know about the ring you were given by—”
“Go away!”
“Aemilia, I’m a medicus. Perhaps I could help—”
“Go away!”
“Please just let me—”
“Go away!”
“Aemilia, I know you saw Felix on the night—”
This time “Go away!” was preceded by a loud scream and followed by the dull boom of fists hitting the back of the door.
Catavignus appeared in the corridor, yelled at his daughter that she was a disgrace, that if she didn’t open the door this minute she would be beaten.
Not surprisingly, this did not entice her out.
“Don’t worry,” said Ruso. “I’m used to this. Don’t bother with the beating. I’ll just come back later.”
60
ALL THE WAY back to the infirmary Ruso was running over his alarming conversation with Catavignus.
My people have many kinds of marriage.
Of course there were many kinds of marriage. There were at least three. There was his brother’s sort: the kind where the couple liked each other from the start. There was the sort contracted by the rich and powerful, where the couple didn’t like each other—if they had even met— and probably never would, but the marriage cemented some form of political or financial alliance. Finally there was the sort where each found the other vaguely attractive—well, not unattractive—and where the families of both assured the candidates that they were eminently suited and it really was time that each of them married, so why not each other? After all, how long were they going to wait around being particular? Then they spent the next three years finding out that they didn’t like each other at all, and wondering how much longer they would have to wait for the development of—well, if not affection, at least mutual comprehension. Then, after yet another misunderstanding, the wife sent a long letter home detailing all the husband’s shortcomings. Instead of telling his daughter to pull herself together, t
he wife’s father scribbled a terse note to the husband demanding that he shape up. After that, it was only a matter of time before the wife packed her many bags—or rather, had her slaves pack them for her—and booked a passage home at the husband’s expense.
None of these seemed to be the sort of marriage Catavignus was suggesting. Certainly none of them covered the relationship he had enjoyed with Tilla before he had made the fatal error of bringing her home.
He exchanged a nod of greeting with the man from We Sell Everything, and made his way back through the gates to discover that Valens had commandeered his chair in the treatment room.
“Ruso! Where have you been? Come and sit down. Gambax, get him a cup, there’s a good man.”
When Gambax had gone Ruso frowned. “I’m trying to get the beer drinking under control here.”
“Really? Gambax told me you and he had a drink together when you first got here. Then you asked specially to be put in the room with the barrel. I hope you’re not falling into bad ways, Ruso. Beer’s not good for you, you know. Bad for the membranes, makes you bulge, and produces flatulence. Dioscorides says so.”
“Then why are you drinking it?”
“To be sociable, of course. Actually they seem to be a friendly lot here. I met some chap in the baths yesterday who invited me to dinner tomorrow. And another man dropped by just now to ask if you wanted to go out hunting.”
“Metellus?”
“I thought about telling him I was your brother, but nobody would believe I was related to a miserable toad like you, so I told him the truth and swore him to silence. He seems like the sort of chap who can keep a secret.”
“Oh, he is,” agreed Ruso. “Secrets are his business. I hope you told him I was too busy?”
Valens’s handsome face clouded over. “Actually, he seemed to think you’d enjoy it. So I said I’d cover for you here. You’d better hurry, they’ll be going any minute.”
“I’ve already told him at least twice that I won’t go. And it’s raining.”
“Oh, don’t be miserable, Ruso. A little rain won’t hurt you. I’m doing you a favor—ah, Gambax. The doctor doesn’t want a beer after all. He’s assigned me to cover the infirmary for him while he goes off stag hunting.”
61
RUSO’S PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE of hunting was limited, but even he knew that late morning was not the time to start and that this was a bizarrely equipped expedition. The mounted company he intercepted on its way to the east gate consisted of Metellus, a dozen fully armed cavalrymen, and six hounds in the charge of a mounted servant. A couple of riders had rolled hunting nets strapped to the backs of their horses as if this had been an afterthought.
“Are you expecting the stag to put up a fight?”
Metellus smiled down from beneath the brim of his helmet. Already the drizzle had started to coalesce on the metal surface and trickle down to drip on his cloak. “You can never tell with these British beasts,” he said. “Hurry and get ready, Ruso. They’re waiting for you over at the stables.”
“I’ve told you several times—”
“You will want to join this hunt. Trust me.”
Ruso reflected that if he had to count off on the fingers of one hand the names of people he trusted least in the world, Metellus would be among them. But his curiosity had been piqued. Valens could cover his duties at the infirmary. Thessalus was asleep. He did not know what to do with Tilla—even if he could find her—and Aemilia was probably still barricaded inside her room.
He went back to the infirmary to get changed.
The party rode out in silence along the north road for about a mile, then branched off onto a narrower road leading up into the eastern hills. The fort was out of sight now. They were following the course of what seemed to be a tributary valley. To their right, the pasture sloped away gently into a wooded glen. To their left was a patch of high flat land with a few animals grazing around the dark clumps of marsh grass. Just past the marsh they passed some foundation trenches that had been abandoned halfway through digging. A dog began to bark as they approached a ramshackle round house. The man in charge of the hounds ordered them to heel. A woman shouted at the house dog to shut up.
Farther along they paused outside a smaller round house that was in better repair. Two men in rough tunics and armed with hunting knives emerged and saluted Metellus. He dismounted and there was a brief exchange before Metellus beckoned to the dog handler, who took his animals into the house. Metellus turned back to talk to the two guards. They led him around to the back of the house. The dogs and the handler emerged and headed for the gate.
Curious, Ruso dismounted and slipped in through the doorway.
The place was as gloomy as all native houses, since most of the British had a strange aversion to the insertion of windows. It stank of burning. Ruso stepped to one side so he was not blocking the light. Something crunched beneath his boot. The ground was strewn with the black skeletons of charred wicker, and above him the thatch was scorched. He moved forward, picking his way through a scatter of smashed baskets and an upside-down crib whose neatly woven base had collapsed into its walls as though someone had jumped on it. He coughed as he inhaled the ash that was still floating in the air from someone tipping over the fire irons into the hearth. He was beginning to realize whose house this was. On the far side, a wicker chest had been upended and a collection of clothes tipped out onto piles of dead bracken and blankets that must have once served as a bed.
Behind him, Metellus said, “This is where we found the pair of them.”
Ruso said, “Why would I want to see this?”
“Come outside.”
Obediently, he followed the aide out of the door and around past a meager woodpile to where a brown blanket lay over something on the rough grass. As soon as he saw the shape, Ruso knew what was underneath.
Metellus glanced around, then beckoned him across. They both crouched down. Each took a corner of the blanket. The first object to appear was an empty sack, besmirched with soot. Ruso steeled himself and lifted the blanket higher.
“You can finish your postmortem now,” said Metellus.
62
AEMILIA WAS STILL in her room. Her insistence that she was not to be disturbed left Tilla—who was sharing her room—with nowhere to go. Finally, still agitated by the argument with the medicus and uneasy at being idle while someone else did all the work, she wandered into the kitchen and asked Ness if there were anything she could do to help.
“To help me?” demanded Ness, surprised.
She was given some dry laundry to fold, but it was obvious that despite having complained of overwork Ness was discomfited by her interference.
“So,” said Tilla, holding up an undertunic to gauge where the center was, “How is it, working for my uncle’s family?”
“They took me in when I was without a home,” said Ness, folding a garment herself at twice the speed. “There is plenty of money for housekeeping.” After a pause she said, “And Miss Aemilia needs someone to look after her.”
“And my uncle?”
Ness shrugged her thin shoulders. “He is not changed.”
“No,” said Tilla. “That is what I thought.” She put one of a pair of large gray uncle-style socks inside the other and said, “I shall go and take my cousin something to eat.”
“She already has something,” was the surprise reply. “She took a jar of honey in there with her.”
Clearly Aemilia was not planning to starve.
“How are you now, cousin?”
Aemilia eyed the forefinger she had just been licking. “Everyone is laughing at me.”
“No, they are not.”
“I am shamed.”
“You were deceived. Everybody knows you did not steal that ring. If you had, you would never have worn it in public.”
Aemilia sniffed. “I have been thinking about the ring,” she said. “I am sure Felix did not know it was stolen.”
Instead of saying, Yes, he did, tha
t is why he asked you to keep it a secret, Tilla sat down on the bed and dipped a finger in the honey.
“Nobody will want me now.”
“Of course they will,” urged Tilla. “You are pretty and kind and friendly.” It was a pity she could not truthfully add “clever,” or “hardworking.” “Your da has a good business,” she said. “And he is building you a new house.”
“Yes!”
Surprisingly, it was the mention of the ridiculous house that seemed to cheer Aemilia. Tilla felt her cousin’s sticky fingers wrap around her arm.
“Once the rebels are dealt with—and Daddy says they will be, very soon—lots of people will want to live here. It will be safe to move out to the edge of town. But without Felix . . .” Her grip loosened.
“Last week,” she said, “we had a man turn up with a gang to make the heating tiles for the baths. We haven’t even got the foundations in yet. Felix said Daddy shouldn’t have sent them away because we were lucky to get them. But we weren’t ready for them. Daddy was worried about how much everything’s going to cost. And it’s even worse now because without Felix we don’t know who they are to get them back when we want them.”
“Did Felix make enemies, Aemilia?”
“All the girls were jealous of me.”
“They would be your enemies, not his. What about his business associates?”
She shook her head. “He had difficult customers, but he never bothered me with things like that. He said I took his mind away from his business problems.”
“Can you think of anything at all that could help Rianorix?”
Aemilia chewed a fingernail. “I didn’t mean this to happen,” she said. “But if he didn’t do it, they cannot hurt him, can they?”
This was hopeless. If anyone were going to help Rianorix—and it was very unlikely the medicus would do so now—Tilla would have to do it alone.
If only she had chosen to walk back to town that night.
