by Ruth Downie
So when the woman they called Merula had held up three colors against her this morning and chosen the blue one, she was not surprised. The fabric was a coarser weave than anything she would have worn at home, and it had reached the patched stage at which she would normally have handed it on to one of the servants. But it was infinitely better than the scratchy rust red army tunic that was wide in all the wrong places and much too short, and in which she had always felt like a curious exhibit in a cage.
Tilla blew out the candle and lay down on the bed. She closed her eyes. It was the will of the goddess that she should escape: She saw that now. Her prayer was answered. People were being sent to help her. Merula had provided clothes. And now the medicus had told her the splints could come off in twenty days. In her own mind, in the plan he knew nothing about, that gave her eighteen days to find a good pair of shoes and a cloak with a hood to cover her hair. On the nineteenth day she would slip out, release her arm from the bandages, and walk away, just another pedestrian in the street, while the man who thought he owned her would be searching for a woman wearing a sling.
She had wondered where she would go, but today the outraged girl in the awful yellow and blue check had provided her the answer.
Before the medicus had interrupted and insisted on asking his own questions, Tilla had learned with very little prompting that not everyone around here was as progressive as this girl with her soldier boyfriend. Even some of the girl's own family were still trying to pretend the legion would go away if they ignored it. Whereas, although the signaler was a Briton by birth, he had chosen to join up and make something of himself. No man born a Roman citizen could have served the emperor with more dedication-and now the army had betrayed him.
Privately Tilla thought the girl should have known better than to involve herself with anyone from the Catuvellauni, a tribe who would sell their own grandmothers if the price was right. Nor was she interested in the woes of the boyfriend, who had probably done something he should be ashamed of to become a Roman citizen in the first place. What interested her was that the girl's family lived less than half a day's walk from here, and apparently they were not sympathetic to the army. She had her first destination.
She would have to be careful, though. There were few people in these streets who would recognize her, but she must make sure she did not run into the medicus who thought he owned her, or his goocUook-ing friend who was in love with himself, or, worst of all, the hideous Claudius Innocens. In the meantime, she must use her time here to watch and learn. She must find out how Asellina and Saufeia had managed to elude the men who guarded the doors. After that, she would be on her own. And in order to give herself the best possible chance, she needed to find out whether anyone here really did know what had happened to Saufeia.
37
Ruso's soot-smirched hand was shaking only a little as he placed the little ointment pot on the ledge of the mortuary window. "Rest in peace," he murmured, then backed out swiftly and closed the door behind him. As he strode away down the hospital corridor, the blue glass bead remained in the pot, safely inside the mortuary. As-he hoped-did any spirit who might be feeling attached to it.
He took another long drink of water before washing off the worst of the soot in the bathhouse, wondering what Priscus would have to say in the morning around the blackened state of the towels and the feathers floating around in the cold plunge. But minutes later, surveying the little hospital room that was his for the remainder of the night, he felt almost grateful for the administrator's insistence on cleanliness, tidiness, and the readiness of all beds at all times.
Ruso placed the candle on the table next to the cup of water and made sure it was steady. He sniffed at the trunk he had brought across with him from the house and wiped at a couple of feathers stuck to its wet surface. Apart from the odd dark trickle, the water did not seem to have penetrated inside. His books were safe, thank the gods. He left the lid open. He would have to put everything outside to air tomorrow. It would all dry sooner or later, but he would be living with the smell of smoke for weeks.
He delved into the trunk and took out one of his father's old letters. He placed it on the table beside the candle and thought how narrowly he had escaped joining him tonight. Then, finding the scroll he sought, he climbed into bed and pulled up the white hospital blankets. If anything could lull a man back to sleep, Hippocrates' musings On Airs, Waters, and Places was it.
The problem with Hippocrates, as Ruso realized some minutes later, was that he was not interesting enough to distract his reader from mulling over an eventful night.
After the scorched pillow had exploded in a snowstorm of feathers, Ruso had abandoned firefighting and dragged his burning mattress into the street. Yelling for help, he then rushed back into the house. Dogs raced around barking and yelping as he stamped out the wisps of burning straw the mattress had scattered in his wake. He wrenched open Valens's door, shouting into the darkness for him to get up and finally thumping him only to find his fist landing on an empty bed. As he ran back into the hall there was a commotion outside. Relieved, he hurried to greet the night watch and was hit in the face by a shock of cold water. Six men clutching buckets then stampeded past him into the house and proceeded to fling water around his bedroom in a manner that suggested they were enjoying themselves while he fought his way through them, desperate to save his books. Despite turning his bedroom into a swamp, the watch captain then insisted the house be abandoned for the night in case the fire should break out again.
"Well," said Valens as he and Ruso made their way to the hospital later, lugging as many of their valuables as they could carry, "it's a shame about the stink, but at least you managed to save most of the stuff. And your very fine self, of course."
"I can't understand it," confessed Ruso. "I went to bed as usual.."
"Ah well, it's easily done. And you have been rather busy lately, what with all your women."
"But I didn't leave anything burning!"
They stepped inside the hospital entrance hall, returned the greeting o? the surprised night porter, and paused to nod to Aesculapius. Over the sound of their boots in the empty corridor Valens said, "You'll have to take back everything you said about dogs, you know."
"I've got nothing against dogs!" Unlike the captain of the watch, who had found plenty to say after the terrier bitch had bitten him in the excitement.
"Where did they go, by the way?"
Ruso shifted his grip on the trunk. "The watch asked the vets to take them in and check them over. Listen, I'm sure I didn't-"
"Ruso, it doesn't matter. Really. They're sending a gang to help clean up in the morning and I expect the stores will lend you some bedding until you can replace mine. Frankly, for a chap who's just nearly had his house burned down-and I could have been in it, did you think of that? — I'm really extremely calm." He paused in the doorway of an empty room. "I'll take this one. You can have the one around the corner. Don't snore too loud or Priscus will complain."
"Priscus?"
"He's here somewhere. Monitoring levels of after-hours activity."
Ruso checked to make sure Priscus was not lurking in the corridor, and cleared his throat. "Valens?"
Valens flung his armful of possessions onto the floor. "Gods, those feathers are everywhere. What now?"
"What if it wasn't me?"
"Ruso, you're overwrought. What do you mean, what if it wasn't ›you? Next you'll be blaming the dogs. Just try and be more careful in the future, will you?"
Ruso put down On Airs, Waters, and Places, rubbed his eyes, and squinted into the candle flame. Perhaps he really had forgotten to pinch out his light. Perhaps the puppy had grabbed it, carried it down to the end of the bed, and… and Valens was right, he was overwrought. He turned back to Hippocrates. Moments later he found himself mulling over the conversation with the civilian liaison officer.
How much do you know about ghosts?
Nothing.
But would you want to annoy one
?
He did not believe in ghosts, but neither did he believe in mattresses that set themselves on fire. That was why he had deposited the bead in the mortuary. And why, although he could scarcely believe he was doing it, he now stepped out of bed and gazed around the little room, wondering what he could find that had a connection with the emperor Trajan.
Eventually he delved into his purse and took out a bronze coin. He placed it on the trunk that had been with him in Antioch. Trajan gazed sideways from the surface of the coin while Ruso stood facing him with his arms outstretched.
"Noble Trajan," he said to the trunk, keeping his voice down in case anyone should overhear, "Noble Trajan, this is Gaius Petreius Ruso. We met in Antioch. I was there when you… " He paused.
You must put yourself forward, Gaius!
"I saved your life in the earthquake," he said. Just in case there was any doubt, he added, "We got out through the window. Now, my Lord, they tell me you may be with the gods, and I am in need of your help. I pray you will keep me safe through this night from any spirits who wish me harm, and I ask you to grant peace"-How very, very much he hoped Priscus was not lurking outside the door-"I ask you to grant peace to the spirit of the woman who died wearing the blue glass-oh, this is ridiculous!" He flung himself back on the bed. There was no sense in being logical about the gods in daylight only to abandon oneself to superstition and trembling during the hours of the night. A man did not become a god just by dying, no matter what his successor might decree.
Ruso perched himself on the bed with the blanket around his shoulders, splashed cold water on his eyes, and settled down to spend the rest of the night with Hippocrates.
38
The man who came to crash open Ruso s shutters and wish him a hearty good morning found him propped against the wall with his head lolled to one side. An abandoned scroll lay beside him on the bed and a solid pool of wax marked the site of a dead candle. "How are you today, sir?"
Ruso rubbed his neck and tried to maneuver his head back to an upright position. As he did so he suddenly realized why he was here. "I'm still alive!" he announced to the surprised orderly.
The pleasure was short-lived. He had just remembered his first job this morning: to go and retrieve the contents of that pot from the mortuary and find Decimus.
How quickly a man's hopes could crumble. The porter clutched the little bead in his heavy fist as he tried to rub away the tears spilling over into the creases between his fingers.
"I'm sorry," said Ruso.
The porter nodded and managed, "Thank you, sir." He sniffed.
"How did you know it was her?"
"I didn't. But I knew your girl had disappeared some time ago and I thought you'd be able to identify her jewelry."
"I wish I hadn't said them things about her."
"You were the only one who kept looking for her."
The porter sniffed again. "Did she suffer, sir?"
"I'm told there were people on the scene very quickly, but nobody heard any cries for help. It's quite possible she lit a fire to keep warm, fell asleep, and knew nothing about it." Had it not been for the dogs, would he have woken last night? Would he have realized what was happening? He didn't know.
The man had opened his fist and was rolling the bead around in his palm with the tip of a finger. "I bought this for her in Viroconium when I was on leave, sir. It was on a necklace. Just a cheap thing."
"She must have valued it to wear it."
"She told me not to waste a lot of money on presents. I was saving up. I was going to get her out of there. She promised me she'd wait." Ruso said nothing.
"Why didn't she tell me she was going to run away?"
"Perhaps she went on the spur of the moment," suggested Ruso.
"She didn't have time to send a message."
The porter sighed. "She was a good girl, my Asellina. I know what people said. But it wasn't her fault she had to work in that place. I was going to buy her out. We had plans." The man looked up suddenly "All that about the sailor. I knew it wasn't true. First they tried to blame me for stealing her, then they just made up that sailor to shut me up. What do you think made her run away, sir?"
"I don't suppose we'll ever know," said Ruso, not voicing the thought that finding the girl's remains proved nothing: She could have been hiding while waiting for any number of sailors. Or soldiers. Or even a well-heeled local. He put his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm very sorry, Decimus."
The man picked up the bead between his forefinger and thumb. "Can I keep this, sir?"
"Of course." Ruso coughed, and wondered how much smoke he had inhaled the night before. "Tell me some more about her," he suggested." She sounds…" He paused, not sure how to phrase it. "She sounds like a kindhearted sort of girl."
"Wouldn't hurt a fly, sir. She never had no enemies, Asellina. Got on with everybody." The man paused. "Except… well, you know. But she never meant no harm."
"There were people she didn't like?"
"Oh, no, sir. She liked everybody. Well, near enough. They have customers down at the bar that nobody likes. But they have to be nice to them, it's their job. The thing was, sir, she used to see the funny side of things. She used to make me laugh. But not everybody knows how to have a good laugh, do they, sir?"
"No," agreed Ruso, relieved. Clearly Asellina had not been vindictive in life: Even if there were such things as ghosts, there was no reason to suppose that in death she would be any different.
Decimus wiped his nose on his fingers and got to his feet. "She deserves a decent funeral, sir."
"Now we know who she is, I'll get the civilian liaison to go and see Merula. Then you'll have to talk to her about funerals."
Decimus nodded and squared his shoulders. "I'll see to it. Are you all right yourself now, sir?"
"Fine, thank you."
"I was sorry to hear about your troubles last night. And now they go and find my Asellina this morning. What do you make of that, sir?"
"Nothing," said Ruso, to whom daylight had brought the conclusion that he must have left the candle burning. "It's just a coincidence." The puppy must have then knocked it over and rolled it across the floor, where the flame had caught a trailing edge of his blanket. "One last thing, Decimus."
"Sir?"
"If you're going to drown your sorrows, don't do it at Merula's. And don't go alone."
The porter managed a weak smile. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
After Decimus had left, Ruso thought about the girl who had always seen the funny side of things, who had lain cold and unburied for all those months while the rest of Deva carried on its business around her. The second girl from Merula's bar whom he had met only in death. Now, surely, there would be a proper investigation. In the meantime, he had to go and see what was being done about making his lodgings fit to live in.
39
It was early evening by the time Ruso found time to check on his slave. He found men crowded around the bar, blocking the entrance. As he approached, he heard the twitter of flutes. Evidently the bad news about Asellina had not been allowed to disrupt business. Finding a place in the crowd, he was in time to see the object of everyone's interest display a length of shapely leg through a slit in a silky outfit that left just enough to be imagined. The dancer arched her back and slid one hand slowly up her thigh. Ruso felt the surge of a desire too long denied.
A voice said, "Good, ain't she, our Chloe?"
He had not noticed Bassus moving over to stand next to him.
"Very," agreed Ruso, hoping he had not been watching with his mouth open.
"I'll get her to give your girl some lessons."
Chloe was swaying across the room toward them. Ruso, making an effort to concentrate, said, "I don't want her working here."
" 'Course not," agreed Bassus as Chloe entwined one braceleted arm around Ruso's neck. "But a bit of private dancing, that's an extra skill, see?"
Ruso felt the flicker of Chloe's tongue against the lobe of his ear.
> Bassus was saying something about it all being money in his purse.
"Yes," said Ruso thickly, his mind not on his purse at all.
Suddenly he was deserted: Chloe had moved on to work the tables. A legionary was grinning with embarrassment as she ran her hand down his chest. His companions jeered and whooped as the hand slid lower.
Ruso tightened his grip on his medical case. He was making his way to the stairs-ignoring complaints from customers whose view he was blocking-when Bassus's "Not that way, Doc!" registered. He turned to find the man pointing him to the kitchen door.
Ruso retraced his steps to loud suggestions that he should make up his mind.
"She didn't have nothing to do up there," explained Bassus. "She's helping the cook out instead."
"I said she wasn't to-"
The doorman's hand was heavy on his shoulder. "Don't you worry, Doc, I'm protecting our little investment. She's well out of sight." He winked. "I told Merula we got to keep her as a surprise."
Ruso wondered which was worse: having Bassus as an enemy or having him as a friend. "And untouched," he insisted.
"You leave it to me, Doc." Bassus's words would have been more reassuring if he had not added, "She'll be as untouched as the day she come in here."
As Ruso entered the kitchen a cloud of smoke and steam that reminded him uncomfortably of last night billowed from the griddle. A stocky figure swung away with one arm raised to protect her eyes. Lucco swerved to avoid a collision. The dishes piled against his small chest swayed and rattled, but he managed to keep them balanced. Across the kitchen, Daphne set down her rolling pin beside an expanse of flattened pastry and paused to massage the small of her back with floury hands. Both she and Lucco looked as though they had been crying. The cook, who would not have known Asellina, seemed only to be squinting because of the smoke. When it cleared she turned back toward the spitting griddle with a look of determination and a spatula, while Lucco resumed his journey to the crockery shelves. No one seemed interested in Ruso's arrival, and the figure seated at the table with her fair hair in two long plaits did not look up.
