"They're refusing to go near the place. They think it's bad luck."
"The mortuary's no use," put in Ruso swiftly before the man could suggest it. "It's not private enough." Besides, admitting another unknown corpse would mean a fresh encounter with Priscus.
"I thought if we could find out who it was," continued the officer,
"we could ask a couple of its family or friends to come and shift it quietly, and then get the priests to purify the place first thing tomorrow morning so the builders can go back in. We just need to find out who it is without telling anyone it's there."
"We?"
"I've made a start. The family who used to rent the place are all alive and well and HQ's got nobody reported missing."
"I don't see what else you can do."
"It doesn't narrow it down much, I know. You see my problem."
"Yes, but I don't see how I can help you with it."
The liaison officer cleared his throat. "Neither do I," he admitted, "but you're the one who knows about this sort of thing. Even the builders told me to fetch the doctor from the hospital who investigates suspicious deaths."
"I don't! And I'm supposed to be at the hospital by the seventh hour."
"Oh come on, Ruso-don't be modest!"
"Really. I'm not the least bit interested in investigating suspicious deaths."
"But everyone thinks you are. Come on, man. Don't leave me on my own with this. We've all got to do our best for Trajan's birthday, haven't we?"
Any faint hopes of being able to identify the body were dispelled as soon as Ruso's boots crunched across the debris-strewn site of the burned building. At first glance it was difficult to distinguish the human form, which was the same color as the blackened timbers in which it lay curled. He glanced back through the gap that had once been a doorway to see the liaison officer standing at a safe distance. "You didn't tell me it died in the fire!"
The liaison officer winced. "Keep your voice down!"
"How long ago was that?"
"Sometime in late spring. The building was already boarded up ready for demolition so they didn't bother trying to save it. Just pulled down the one next door to stop the fire spreading and left it to burn. "
Ruso glanced around him. The undemolished remains formed a chaotic jumble that reminded him of the collapsed houses of Antioch. This would have been one of the old single-story buildings: mostly wood with rough plaster, probably straw or dried bracken on the floor, and a thatched roof. It would have gone up like a torch. Anyone caught inside would have had to move fast, and whoever this was hadn'tmoved fast enough.
He picked his way across the wreckage, testing the charred timbers to ensure they would take his weight, and crouched to take a closer look from a different angle. He was not sure what he was supposed to be looking for. Yes, it was a body. Yes, it was dead. No, there was no way even its own mother would recognize it. Ruso murmured a quiet assurance to its spirit that he came as a friend. Just in case.
The liaison officer had untied his neckerchief to hold over his nose. He was making no effort to approach. Ruso scrutinized him for a moment, thinking. Then he unsheathed his knife and dug away a loose flake of charcoal. The fire had been fiercely destructive of human flesh but surely something must have survived that would give a clue to the identity of the body. A knife, a belt buckle, a cloak pin… maybe nails from the boots… All of these were things that could have been found by anybody prepared to make the effort. All were things that Ruso should be finding, and wasn't.
"Any ideas?"
Ruso shook his head. "I really haven't got much to go on here." He straightened. "And I haven't the faintest idea whether it's suspicious.›You'll have to…" His voice trailed into silence. He bent down again and poked at something with the point of his knife, then reached forward and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. Then he dropped it into his palm, spit on it, and tried to rub away the soot.
"What have you got?"
Ruso sheathed his knife and made his way over to the liaison officer. "I can't tell you who it is," he said, glancing around to make sure no one in the street could hear him, "but I think it's a female."
"Another one? Gods, that's the second one found this month. And you've no idea at all who it is?"
"I'm a doctor, not a fortune-teller," said Ruso, skirting the question rather than admit a tentative thought that he would be investigating tomorrow. "Whatever they tell you, I don't investigate deaths, suspicious or otherwise. You'll have to start asking around in the morning."
"Damn. It's going to have to stay here till then, isn't it?"
"Unless you have a better idea," said Ruso. Unable to resist, he added, "Good luck finding somebody to guard it."
33
Ruso nodded to Aesculapius and then to Decimus the porter on his way into the hospital. He was going to have to talk to Decimus, but not now.
Albanus seemed relieved to see him. It was now well past the seventh hour, and the clerk seemed to think the patients lining up along the benches were blaming him for the delay.
Ruso had strapped a broken finger and dismissed its owner with instructions to send in the next patient when an expensive smell wafted into the surgery. He looked up. "Priscus! Are you ill?"
"Fortunately, no," was the reply. "But I do need to see you."
"I'm busy."
"Of course. Perhaps you would be good enough to drop by my office when it's convenient?"
"Later," said Ruso, not specifying a time.
Priscus closed the door. Ruso pictured him gliding away down the corridor, perfuming the rest of the hospital.
He was occupied with patients for most of the afternoon, but a discreet inquiry as he slipped out of the fort-avoiding Priscus-suggested that the public celebration of Trajan's birthday had been a success. No rumors of ill omens seemed to have reached the men on duty at the east gatehouse. If the liaison officer had bothered to mount a guard, it must have been very discreet.
Relieved that he would not have to face questions about a cover-up, he hurried down the street toward Merula's. It occurred to him as he strode through the scatter of bruised petals, fallen leaves, and animal droppings, which marked the course of Trajan's birthday parade, that he would not normally visit a broken arm twice in one day. On the other hand, neither would he normally lodge a female convalescent above a disreputable bar guarded by two ex-legionaries intent on a quick profit.
He was almost there when a female voice shouted, "Doctor!"
He looked up. A pregnant belly, followed by its owner, also clad in vibrant yellow and blue check, was lurching across the street toward him.
"Doctor!"
The woman, who was wearing only one shoe, halted and glanced down at his case again. "Doctor?"
Ruso closed his eyes briefly and dreamed of a world where women stayed quietly at home and sewed things and understood the value of Modesty and Obedience-not to mention Not Turning Up Dead Under Suspicious Circumstances. When he opened them again, he was still in Britannia. He said, "Do you need help?"
"Doctor!"
"Midwife?" he suggested. Perhaps he had an immediate use for Tilla after all.
A vigorous shake of the head suggested exasperation as well as denial.
She stabbed a forefinger into his chest, then waved her arm back in the direction he had just come. "Hospital."
"From the hospital, yes."
"Hospital!" She turned her head aside and spat in disgust.
"Ah," said Ruso, feigning understanding and wondering whether her guardians knew she had escaped.
"Soldier!" The arm waved back toward the fort and then indicated her own large form. "Soldier!" she repeated.
Ruso shook his head in a manner which he hoped looked suitably regretful, and lied. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."