“If you say so.”
“And beautiful.”
“Oh, absolutely. Anyway, those chaps back there obviously took to you both, even though you did try to strangle the one with the things in his hair. And the place can’t be that bad. Albanus says he’s staying on for a few days after the funeral.”
“Albanus is staying because Grata is there,” said Tilla, setting the pot aside to wipe up the milk the baby had just dribbled all over her lap, “and because Londinium is full of small boys who do not want to learn Greek.”
Ruso did not want to think about Albanus and the disappointment on his face last night. Ruso had broken the news of Camma’s death to both clerk and housekeeper in Camma’s kitchen. Through the tears Grata had said, “Dias did it.”
“I think so too,” he agreed, “but he’s clever. If Caratius’s workers saw anything, they were too frightened to say. The only thing we can prove about Dias was that he was in Londinium. And that’s using a witness who was drunk at the time and may be too loyal to testify.”
“And me,” put in Grata.
“I’ve been talking to this young lady, sir,” said Albanus, placing one hand on Grata’s shoulder with surprising boldness. “She is prepared to testify that Dias sent a false message to lure Asper and his brother to their deaths.”
Ruso had promised them both that he would see what the procurator said. The Albanus he had known back in the army would have been satisfied with that. These days he was confident enough to argue.
“Grata is being very brave, sir. She’s prepared to give evidence despite being threatened.”
“I know,” Ruso had said, “and I appreciate it.” The trouble was, he suspected nobody would want to listen.
The carriage lurched as the driver urged the horses forward. Valens gave the group on the mansio steps a cheery wave. Ruso raised a hand in farewell to Publius and his wife, and if Gallonius and Dias thought he was acknowledging them, they were wrong.
“What I was thinking,” said Valens, settling back into his seat, “was that if you aren’t taking that job, I might pop back while you’re all at the cemetery and have a chat with them about it myself. To be honest, things are a bit tricky with Serena at the moment, and a move might-”
“It’s not a job,” said Ruso. “It’s a bribe.”
Valens frowned. “Are you sure?”
Tilla said, “The handsome one you just waved to was your burglar. He has killed four people and we think the man who is in charge of these carriages was helping him. The fat one made my husband cover everything up because they do not want Rome saying they cannot govern themselves.”
Valens leapt up and hung out of the open doorway, narrowly missing a collision with a stack of wood as they overtook a lumbering ox wagon. “That chap back there was in my house?”
“He and the stable overseer killed Asper and his brother. Then he did away with the town finance officer and probably Camma as well,” said Ruso. “Not to mention having a crack at us too.”
“Jupiter almighty! So what are we going to do about it?” Valens looked as though he was ready to jump out of the carriage and confront him.
Ruso remembered when he had been that naive too. It seemed a very long time ago. “The plump one is a local bigwig,” he said, “and your burglar’s in charge of the town militia. The procurator won’t care as long as the money’s straight, so…” He stopped.
“But surely we should be able to do something?”
Ruso ran both hands through his hair. “Wait a minute.”
“This is outrageous!” exclaimed Valens, slumping back into his seat. “These people can’t go around murdering Roman citizens!”
“Or the rest of us,” put in Tilla. “What are you thinking, husband?”
Ruso was not ready to put it into words. He needed to go back over what had happened, seeing events through the new window that had just opened in his mind. He got up. “I need to talk to the money changer. Satto saw the money.”
“What are you-”
“Satto saw that money! That was what he showed me!”
“What money? Be careful!”
He had already leapt. He landed unsteadily on the side of the road, calling, “I’ll see you at the cemetery.”
“Where are you going?”
“I think I may have gotten it all wrong!”
71
When Tilla looked back on their time in Verulamium, the things she would remember most were not the grand buildings or the busy markets, the sight of Camma nursing the baby beside the kitchen fire, or even the terror of waking in Suite Three to find that someone had tried to suffocate her. What she would remember was the funerals.
This was the last of them: a farewell to the woman who had drawn her into this and become a friend. Now Camma was following her lover to the next world: being sent off by a man who had married her, perhaps out of vanity, but certainly with no malice and perhaps even some hope of good.
A surprising crowd had turned out to watch the baby that still had no name see the flames lit for a second time. She supposed it had to be expected: Camma’s life had ended in scandal, and the number of onlookers, the sound of wailing, and the sight of the official carriages drawn up on the roadside was causing other travelers to stop and see who was being cremated.
There was another, more modest pyre already burning on the other side of the clearing. A little knot of mourners clustered around it defensively as the crowd and the noise swelled. Tilla approached one of them. “This was your child?”
“Six years old,” said the woman. “She had a fever.”
“I am sorry.”
The woman looked at the baby. Tilla was glad she did not try to touch him. You could never tell how bad luck might spread. The woman said, “Treasure that one while you can, sister.”
Six years old. Six years of caring for a child, only to lose her as so many were lost to illness and accidents against which neither midwife nor the Medicus had any power.
She had not yet found the right time to tell him that she had woken late in Serena’s room with a familiar dragging sensation in her lower belly and risen to confirm that the medicine had failed. She would wait until they were well away from this place to break the news that the child who lived only in their hopes was as far away as ever.
Tilla moved back toward the fresh pyre on which the slaves were laying the shrouded form of Camma. On the far side of the clearing, a squad of guards was forcing its way to the front of the crowd, making way for Gallonius, here to be seen yet again paying his respects. As if anyone was likely to care. She recognized Gavo and, behind him, lurking in the third row, Dias. Even here, she thought, he cannot leave us alone. She wanted to march up to him, wrench the spear from his hand, and shout, “That child over there was six years old! Is there not enough death and misery without men like you dealing out more?”
When the slaves had done their work, Caratius stepped forward and unwrapped the shroud to reveal Camma’s face. Dias was looking across the pyre with a smug expression. Tilla followed his gaze and realized it was aimed at Grata. Grata’s expression was sullen, but what could one woman do? As if he had asked and answered that question himself, Dias gave her a half smile and turned to say something to the man next to him.
The Medicus appeared on the far side of the circle, out of breath and seemingly lost in his thoughts. If he did not do something soon, their final duty in this place would be over. They would be on their way back to Londinium with a shameful tale of fear and deceit, but also with the news that the tax would be paid, which was very likely all anyone would care about. The procurator would accept the tax and then send the money north to pay the army, who were there to keep her own people under the emperor’s thumb.
If there was any honor in this place, it was very well hidden. She would be glad when the Medicus went back to treating the sick.
He was moving now. Striding across the grass to say something to Caratius, who looked surprised and annoyed, and who finally said something brief in return. Then the Medicus stepped aside and Caratius moved forward to stand at Camma’s feet, facing the pyre. The onlookers fell silent. Everyone wanted to know what a man could say to honor a wife who had abandoned him for a tax collector.