“So why are you telling me this?”
Metellus’s sigh sounded genuinely regretful. “Because you seem to think I’m some kind of magician, Ruso. You seem to think that I know everything and I’m in control of everything. And I want you to understand that I’m not. Frankly, sending in Asper was a bad decision, and I’m grateful to you for sorting out what was going on up there. So I promise to do my best to have your wife’s name taken off the lists, but you must realize these things are widely circulated and copied and to be honest, I can’t guarantee to catch every-what are you- Ruso!”
It was too late: Neither the arms milling in the air nor the shriek of “No!” could halt his fall from the edge of the landing stage. Ruso was only sorry the tide was in.
Back at the house, Valens was working his way through a queue of patients while Serena was scolding the nursemaid and the cook for letting a sticky twin hide under the couch with the honey jar. He found Tilla upstairs clearing out the box of baby clothes. Leaning casually against the doorpost, he said, “I’ve just thrown Metellus in the river.”
For a moment there was no reaction. Then she put the little pair of sheepskin boots down on the bed and stared at him. “What did you say?”
“I’m sure I’ll regret it, but not yet. How did he know you’d been given stolen money last autumn?”
He was not fooled by the blank look.
“I told you to get rid of it,” he said. “What did you do with it?”
She picked up one of the boots and slid a couple of fingers inside. “We needed food for the journey.”
“But I specifically told you-”
“Yes. But we were leaving, and it was a waste to throw money away.”
He bent and snatched the boot away from her. “Listen to me! This is important. Somebody must have reported you. Now he’s put your name on one of his bloody security lists and he doesn’t seem to know how to take you off it.”
There were tears welling up in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, thrusting the boot clumsily back into her hand. “I didn’t mean-it’s just that if I don’t frighten you, you don’t take me seriously.”
She picked up both boots and a soft woolen tunic and placed them back in the box. “I have let you down.”
He pushed the door shut behind him. “I asked you to do something, Tilla, and as usual you did the opposite.”
She did not answer.
“I’ve been trying to buy off Metellus by sorting out this mess in Verulamium, only that didn’t work, either, because when I asked you to stay at the mansio, you went off with the guards. Why do you do this to me?”
“Did he drown?”
“I doubt it. It wasn’t deep enough, unfortunately.” He slumped down on the bed beside her. “I can’t go on like this.”
She said, “There is something else I must tell you. Then we will decide about going on.”
He closed his eyes and lay back on the bed. He was not sure he wanted to hear anything else, but she began to speak anyway.
“After my family died and I went to live with the Northerners,” she said, “there was a man who would not leave me alone even though he had a wife already.”
“I know.”
“You do not know all of it. I found out I was with child. I told his wife. She brought a woman to help me.”
Help. A small word with a world of meanings.
“Afterward I was very ill. I think this is why you and I have no baby, and perhaps we never will, and I should have told you this before.”
He was conscious of his own breathing. It was almost hesitant, as if any sudden movement would shatter the fragile bond between them. He knew what she must be hoping to hear: something like, It doesn’t matter, or I don’t mind, or You are still a good wife to me. But it did matter, and he did mind, and he wished she had not told him. Metellus’s words came back to him: I can’t forget what I know.
“The Iceni said if I want to look after the baby I must go to live with them,” she said. “So now I am asking what you want. Because if you want a child of your own, and somebody who does what she is told, you must find a new wife.”
“Is that what you want?” he asked, his eyes still closed. “To go and live with the Iceni and bring up Camma’s baby?”
When she did not answer, he opened his eyes and sat up. “Is that what you want to do?” he repeated.
“I am asking what you want,” she said.
“I don’t think I can live with the Iceni, Tilla.”
“You were not invited.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never really… I always just assumed that somewhere in the valley of the unborn there was a son or a daughter waiting…” He stopped. “I need to think about it.”
“Yes.” She got to her feet. “I shall give the clothes to Serena. I expect she will be needing them before long.”
“I didn’t mind him, you know.” He scratched one ear. “He was a fine little chap.”
“Yes.”
“He would have done quite nicely, really. I’d have gotten used to the hair.”
“Yes.”
From somewhere in the garden came a burble of childish laughter. He reached forward, put his arms around her waist, and rested his head against the belly that was not holding his baby, and perhaps never would. “Everyone else,” he said. “Why not us?”
76
Ruso’s guess about Dias was more accurate than he had expected. Not only had Dias not received a medical discharge from the Third Brittones: His description along with his real name was found on a list of deserters stored among the records at the Residence. In the meantime Firmus had unearthed evidence that Rogatus was guilty of taking bribes and interfering with the Imperial post. The procurator was recommending that the governor condemn the pair to work in the Western mines, where lead and silver were extracted in conditions so poisonous that it was tantamount to a death sentence.
Firmus delivered this information to Ruso in person, looking very pleased with himself. “It was my idea,” he said, shifting sideways in an attempt to get comfortable on Valens’s couch. “And Uncle agrees that it’s very appropriate. He’s going to clamp down on traveling officials demanding things they aren’t entitled to, as well. He says he’s glad I brought it to his attention. In fact, he’s written home to tell Mother I’ve made a good start.”
“What about Gallonius?”
“Oh, he’s more useful left where he is.”
“But-”
“He’ll tell the Council to offer Albanus the job of quaestor.”
“But-”
“Gallonius will do exactly what he’s told from now on, Ruso. Metellus has put his name on some sort of list.”
“I see.”
“He knows if he doesn’t behave, we’ll dig up your report and execute him for forgery.”
We. Firmus might have meant Rome, but more likely the word was shorthand for the procurator, the governor, Metellus-and me. The men who had agreed to leave a corrupt and murderous Briton in place because he was useful to them. Ruso hoped Albanus would think long and hard about that job offer.
“So as you see,” continued Firmus as he was leaving, “it’s all worked out rather well. Even though you really weren’t an investigator, were you?” He bent to squint at the pile of letters on the hall table. “Have you taken up clerking now?”
“Just writing to a few acquaintances,” explained Ruso. “Don’t worry, I won’t be using the official post.”
He stood in Valens’s doorway and watched the youth and his escort of guards strut off in the direction of the footbridge that led across the stream to the Residence. Pyramus was hobbling along behind. At this rate, Firmus would go back to Rome a success.
As for Ruso-he was living in a backward province with a barbarian wife whose name was probably on several security lists. They were both mourning the loss of a baby who belonged to neither of them, and of the other children who had existed only in their own imaginations. Instead of using his training and his ingenuity to help live patients, he had been wasting inordinate amounts of time investigating suspicious deaths and disappearances for the benefit of men who didn’t deserve it, and his career was no further forward than it had been when he first joined the army. He glanced down at his stack of requests for jobs in Britannia. He could not impose on Valens for much longer. He needed either to send them, or to burn them and go back to Gaul.