Tabula Rasa: A Crime Novel of the Roman Empire

by Ruth Downie

  When asked why, the old man told him that they lived in the wild and hunted things for a living and were half bear themselves. They had a manner of speaking amongst themselves that nobody understood. Now that they had been to town and traded furs for their winter supplies, they would go back into the mountains and not be seen for months.

  Ruso tried to ignore the shriveling sensation inside his stomach. When he asked how long ago they had passed, the man looked blank. Presumably it was not the sort of question he was used to answering. This was a world with no clocks, where an often invisible sun was the only way to judge the passing of time.

  Finally the man said, “They may be at the Three Oaks Inn. That is where they leave the road and go toward the hills.”

  “How far is that?”

  “Two more of your miles.”

  Ruso, thoroughly unsettled, thanked him and rode on, partly because of a foolish desire not to look like a coward in front of a native, but mostly because the five or six miles of lonely road behind him were just as nerve-racking as the two in front.

  Once the old man and his pony had faded into the gloom, Ruso’s doubts returned. It seemed Branan’s captors would turn off the road well short of Habitancum, where he had been hoping he might muster some help. He was heading alone into unknown territory where he knew none of the natives. He did not have the authority of the Legion, nor the support from Tilla, Valens, or Albanus that he had enjoyed in past crises. He did not even have the slim protection of being able to prove he was a healer: He had brought no instruments or medicines with him that would mark him out from any other Roman officer.

  He dug the fingers of one hand into a fistful of coarse gray mane and glanced at the looming shapes of the trees on either side of the road. This was madness. He should turn back. There was no shame in admitting he had made a mistake. He should go back and fetch help now, while he still could.

  Except . . . Branan was somewhere ahead of him, and if he did not find those men before they headed off into the hills, he never would. How could he face Senecio and Enica, knowing he had abandoned their child? What would he say to Tilla? He thought of her, back in the relative safety of Parva, hunting for the rumormonger and trying to comfort the family she had so wanted to be a part of. She too had been stolen from her people and taken north. She had spent long months waiting for rescuers who never came.

  He was not going to let that happen to Branan. However things turned out tonight, he would do his best to let the boy know he was not forgotten. Someone had come. Someone wanted to take him home.

  Chapter 61

  The gate guards were unusually welcoming, although they were disappointed when Tilla told them the nervous-looking boy she had brought in on an army horse was not the one who had been stolen. The watch captain had a message to show her: It seemed Branan had been taken to Coria by a slave trader, and her husband had gone to get him back. In the light of this the tribune had called off the local search and he was now relying on Tilla to persuade the father to stop hanging around the fort and go home.

  “Has the old man been told this?”

  “We tried, miss, but he won’t believe us.”

  Senecio wept with relief when she told him the news was true: She had read the words for herself in her husband’s own writing. Branan was alive, and the army was on the trail of the slave trader. Aedic stood pink-faced and staring at the ground as she knelt beside the old man and assured him that slave traders looked after their stock and that none of them wanted to be seen dealing in stolen children. Grasping Senecio’s cold hand, she reminded him that her husband was a man of authority. Such an officer had only to say that Branan had been snatched from his family and the trader would have to hand him over.

  Finally, the old man agreed to go home. The watch captain was so relieved to be rid of him that he did not even bother to object when Tilla asked to have Aedic safely delivered home too.

  On the short walk back to Ria’s bar she was stopped two or three times by people wanting to know the latest news. She told them and tried to share their delight. Only now that there was hope for Branan was it dawning on her that she had traveled many miles today and barely eaten. She needed to sit down quietly in the company of a good dinner. A rich tasty soup with fresh bread to dunk in it, or . . .

  She stopped on the threshold of Ria’s, her hands raised to her face in dismay. There were three people sharing a jug of something at the table beside the counter, and until this moment she had forgotten about all of them. Somewhere the goddess must be laughing. Here was her prayed-for Samain meeting with her family. Her cousin Aemilia and Aemilia’s husband Rianorix had traveled all the way from Coria expecting to celebrate a wedding blessing that was not happening. If that were not bad enough, sitting on the stool next to them was the thin form of Albanus, who had arrived to visit his nephew.

  “Cousin!” cried Aemilia. “At last! Where have you been?”

  “Don’t worry, mistress!” Virana called from behind the bar. “I’ve told everybody everything!”

  Everything? That the wedding blessing was withdrawn, that Albanus’s nephew had disappeared days ago, and that a child had been stolen? No wonder nobody was looking happy.

  Aemilia’s artificial curls flopped around her ears as she made a great deal of fuss about the wasted journey, using the fluent Latin that her father had insisted she learn. “We would never have gone to find you at the old man’s farm if we had known, cousin. It was so embarrassing! Thank goodness we brought our own cart for the luggage and we left the children at home.” They had even brought a gift: a pair of fine linen sheets that she managed to mention several times while her husband poured himself another beer and drank it. He looked away when Tilla caught him sneaking a glance at her.

  She was glad she was not alone with him. It must be at least three—no, four years. He was little changed. Perhaps a little heavier. No doubt Aemilia would make sure he came home every night for dinner. If the northern raiders had not come and snatched Tilla away, this was the man she would have married. What was that expression Senecio had used about her mother? We were very close at one time. Had her mother and Senecio expected to marry too? And if the pair of them had met again in later years, after they had both grown into different lives, would Senecio have hidden behind his beer and left his wife to do all the talking, as Rianorix was now?

  Albanus was clutching his wine cup with both hands and looking intently at Aemilia as if he were waiting for a sign that she might stop talking. “I can only say I am sorry,” Tilla said when she could get a word in.

  “We heard about the stolen boy all the way over in Coria,” Aemilia continued, “but of course we didn’t know you had anything to do with it. What a dreadful thing, to lose a child! We left strict instructions with the staff, didn’t we?” She did not wait for her husband to respond. “The children are to be watched at all times. The nursery slave is to watch the children and the housekeeper is to watch the nursery slave and make sure she does what she’s told. You can’t be too careful.”

  Tilla said, “Branan is with a—” as Albanus said, “I hear your husband is searching for the boy.” But before Tilla could explain, Aemilia exclaimed, “We did our best to help, you know. I got the staff to search the whole of the brewery and the yard and check the malting house in case that poor boy was in there, although I don’t know why he would be unless he escaped and tried to hide. Of course, if we’d known it was his father doing your wedding blessing, we would never have set out. Oh, and, cousin, do you remember Susanna in the snack bar? She said to wish you well and if she hears anything about the boy she’ll be in touch straightaway.”

  Albanus took a quick breath, but he was not fast enough.

  “She’ll be so disappointed when I tell her there’s no blessing. Perhaps you could get someone else to do it. Have you thought of that? Now that we’ve come all this way, I’m sure we could find somebody you haven’t upset. Don’t you think so?” She twisted round to survey the other occupants of the
bar. “Perhaps the owner here could suggest someone.”

  Tilla put a hand on Albanus’s arm. “I am sorry you had a wasted trip too,” she told him. “My husband is away searching for the stolen boy and nobody is here to see you.”

  Aemilia turned her attention to Albanus. “It’s such a shame,” she agreed. “Fancy your nephew not being here after you’ve come all that way! You poor man! You’d think somebody would know where he was, wouldn’t you?”

  Albanus glanced across to where Virana was lighting the lamp in the bracket above the counter. “Nobody was available to talk to me at the fort,” he said to Tilla. “The young lady here did try to explain, but I don’t think I quite understand. Could you please tell me exactly what has happened to my nephew?”

  Chapter 62

  Ria’s dimly lit storeroom smelled of beer and onions, but it was the only respectable place Tilla could think of to hold a private conversation. Wishing her husband were here to explain all this himself, she fetched down what was left of Candidus’s kit. While Albanus exclaimed softly over it, lifting the shield and trying the helmet on for size, she put the lamp in the bracket, brushed the dust off the third step of the loft ladder, and sat down.

  Albanus put the kit to one side and perched himself on top of a barrel. He placed his hands on his bony knees and leaned forward as if he were anxious not to miss anything.

  Still trying to think how to smooth the path of the bad news, Tilla cleared her throat. “Your nephew was here until a few days ago,” she said. “He worked in the hospital for my husband.”

  When she hesitated, Albanus prompted, “And then?”

  “Then one day he did not come. My husband waited, but he did not turn up.”

  “Did he send a message?”

  “No. So my husband spoke to lots of people and sent letters asking for him and found some of his things still in his tent, but nobody knew where he was. Then he arranged for the army to search all the local farms, but Candidus was not there, either.”

  “I see.” Albanus pressed his hands between his knees. “Everyone’s gone to a great deal of trouble.”

  She would not tell him that the search had wrecked her own chances of a wedding blessing. “The officers think he has run away.”

  “I see. Oh, dear. I had so hoped that joining the Legion . . .” His voice trailed away into a disappointed silence.

  Tilla shifted uneasily on the ladder and wondered if it would be kinder to stop there. Albanus seemed to have no trouble believing that his nephew had run off. But then he looked up. “You said that the officers think he deserted his post. Is that what you think too?”

  She blinked. She had expected Albanus to ask her what her husband thought. This was a much harder question to dodge. She said, “I think it is possible that he has run away, yes.”

  Albanus said nothing for a moment. Tilla thought she heard the curfew being sounded. Out in the bar, Ria was shouting that it was closing time. Then he said, “Please do me the honor of being completely honest with me. Is there reason to think that something worse has happened to him?”

  “That is possible too,” Tilla confessed, wondering how to explain. “It is all very complicated.”

  To her surprise, this seemed to bring Albanus to himself. He delved into the folds of his tunic and pulled out a writing tablet, followed by a stylus. “Perhaps I can help,” he said, flipping the tablet open and sitting poised for dictation like the clerk he had once been. “Please. Tell me everything.”

  When she had finished he spent a moment rereading his notes, tapping the blunt end of the stylus on the edge of the tablet. Finally he said, “This is all very worrying.”

  “It may not be Candidus,” she said, carefully avoiding the saying the word body.

  Albanus tucked the tablet into his belt and propped the stylus behind one ear. “It may not,” he agreed, “but his knife was found near the right place at the wall, and you have not mentioned anyone else who was missing at the time.”

  “It could be someone that nobody knows.” She tried to make that sound more likely by adding, “From a long way away.”

  “Perhaps it is,” he agreed, getting to his feet. “Yes. Of course. Thank you for explaining. Thank you for everything you and your husband did to help find my nephew. I’m so sorry to have caused everyone all this bother.”

  Her “Where are you going?” came out harsher than she had intended, and Albanus looked startled. He began to apologize again.

  “Don’t you want to look for him?”

  He scratched his thinning hair. “I shall have to think what to do. This has all been rather a shock.”

  She said, “Sit down, Albanus!” and to her surprise he did exactly that. “I know you would rather deal with my husband,” she told him, “but he is not here, and you only have me, and if we do not work together, he will be very cross with us both.”

  Was that relief on his face?

  “Tonight I am tired from trying to find missing boys,” she said, “but my husband is dealing with all that now. In the morning we must think of a new way to look for Candidus. Something the tribune will not find out about.”

  Albanus’s eyes widened. “You think a tribune is involved in this?”

  “Accius is a good officer,” she explained, “but his orders are to get the wall built. He is never going to agree that there may be someone buried inside it, even though I have met the person who saw it happen. He will want to cover up anything he finds out, so that the season’s work is finished and the Legion can go home. If your nephew is inside the wall and we leave everything to the soldiers, you will never know.”

  Albanus shuddered, and Tilla knew he was thinking of Candidus’s spirit, condemned to wander these windswept hills without the proper rites that would send him on his way to the next world, or whatever it was that Romans thought was on the other side of their gloomy River Styx. Then he straightened his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height so that his gaze met her chin. “I promised my sister I would look after her son,” he said. “I will be grateful for any help you can offer.”

  “Good,” said Tilla, stifling a yawn and feeling her stiffening muscles protest as she rose from the step. She was too tired to feel hungry now. She led him out into the bar, where Virana was sweeping up and Ria was setting out clean cups for tomorrow morning. Her cousin and Rianorix had gone, and she had failed to wish them good night or even find out where they were staying. “I have kept you past the curfew.”

  Virana said, “He’s staying here,” just as they were all startled by a bang on the shutters.

  They exchanged glances. Ria shouted, “Too late, we’re closed!”

  “Open up!” came the voice. “News from Coria!”

  Chapter 63

  A native youth with wild hair and bleary eyes stumbled over the threshold and looked at the three women. “Which one of you is the Medicus’s wife?”

  Tilla stepped forward. “Is the boy found?”

  The lad sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Message from Susanna. She says to tell you the boy’s been taken north by some fur traders. The Medicus has gone after him, and he wants you to tell the tribune to look again at Mallius.”

  “North?” Tilla put a hand to her mouth. She remembered being taken away by strangers from another tribe. The thought of something like that happening to a child made her shudder. “Who went with the Medicus?”

  The youth shrugged. “That’s all I know. I came as fast as I could. Thought I’d never get here. There’s patrols out.”

  “You are very brave, coming all that way,” Virana told him. “Especially tonight.”

  “And now you’ll be wanting a drink and some supper,” put in Ria, as if he had arrived specially to inconvenience her.

  The youth grinned. “Thanks, missus. And the horse too.”

  Virana pointed out that he would need a bed for the night as well, but the youth said he would be happy to sleep in the stable. Ria told Virana to bring food and wen
t to rouse her husband to deal with the horse. When she was gone, Virana said, “Are you all right, mistress? You look very tired.”

  “You should rest,” Albanus agreed. “There is nothing we can do tonight.”

  Tilla stared at them both. “Rest?” she demanded. “My husband will be murdered by foreigners, and Branan will be taken up into the mountains and never seen again! How can I rest?”

  Albanus gulped. “Are you quite sure?”

  She subsided onto a bench. “No. Of course not. I am sorry.” She pressed her eyelids with her fingertips to relieve the tiredness.

  “Why has the tribune got to look at Mallius?” asked Virana.

  “I don’t know.” Tilla opened her eyes and blinked the dryness away. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Has he done something bad?”

  “I am not even sure who he is,” she admitted.

  “Oh, you know!” Virana insisted. “The one who used to make his hair lighter. The one who hurt his wrist. He likes wine and not beer.”

  None of those things was a reason for the tribune to take an interest in him.

  “You must have seen him,” Virana continued. “He was one of the ones who went to search the farm and they upset everybody looking for Candidus, and then people thought one of them might have stolen Branan and then they didn’t.”

  The youth had gone to see to the horse, Virana was in the kitchen fetching his food, and Tilla was alone with Albanus in the bar. He looked as downcast as she felt. She tried to think of something hopeful to say but could not. Finally he said, “Your husband is a good man.”

  “I know,” she said, ashamed of wishing that sometimes he would be a little less good and a little more safe. She had no idea how she would sleep tonight after hearing Susanna’s message. She must try to think about something else. “We should look at this Mallius ourselves,” she said. “He might know what happened to Candidus.”