"Well, if somebody's already blabbed it to you, it can't be that secure, can it?"
The scribe's face brightened. "Is this a test, sir?"
"Yes. Well done, Albanus. You've passed."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now can you tell me whether the legate has gone off on the same tour as Officer Valens?"
"Yes, sir."
"Yes he has, or yes you can tell me?"
"Both, sir."
"Thank you." Ruso paused. "I suppose you'll be wondering why I wanted to know that."
"Oh no, sir."
"No? Good!" Ruso put his hand on the doorknob. "Ready for ward rounds?"
By the end of the morning Ruso realized he was starting to like Albanus. The man made himself genuinely useful during a full ward rounds and busy clinic, taking a pride in the swift production of whatever information was needed and apparently enjoying his chance to boss the other clerks around.
Ruso made a point of thanking him and was amused to see Albanus blush. "Go and get something to eat," he told him. "We'll start again at the seventh hour."
The scribe hesitated. "Will you be here, sir?"
"At the seventh hour."
"But between now and then, sir…"
"I will be somewhere else."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Only Officer Priscus said I was to know where you were at all times. In case there's an emergency."
"If the bandagers can't deal with it," explained Ruso, "get the watch to sound a call for me. I won't be far away."
Ruso lingered only to leave brief instructions with the guards and then hurried out under the east gatehouse, long strides taking him swiftly down the busy lunchtime street and away from the sound of all but the most energetic of trumpeters.
Moments later he heard a familiar voice calling his name. He kept walking. He had done his very last favor for the civilian liaison people. If they had a problem, he didn't want to know about it. He had enough problems of his own.
"Ruso, wait!"
He turned. "I'm in a hurry."
"Oh, I don't want you to do anything!" said the civilian liaison officer, falling into step with him. "I just want a quick word."
"Very quick, then."
The man broke into a jog to keep up. "I just wanted to say I was sorry to hear about your fire. And to thank you for your help with naming that body the other day."
"Oh," said Ruso, slowing down to negotiate the ladder of an off-duty soldier painting the front of a house. "Right. It was just good luck that I'd spoken to the porter."
"They've finished clearing the site now. There aren't any more bodies."
"Well, I suppose that's good news."
"I went down to the bar to tell them myself," continued the liaison officer, as if this were not his job but someone else's.
"How did they take it?"
"The owner wasn't too happy about paying for another funeral."
"No, so I hear."
"I told her she ought to keep a better eye on her girls."
"Maybe we need to keep a better eye on our men. This is the second runaway who's been found dead."
"We are aware of that, Ruso. We aren't quite asleep over in HQ, you know."
"You might also want to look at a part-time slave trader who supplies girls to bars. He's called Claudius Innocens."
"Really? What do you know about him?"
"Not much," said Ruso. "I just don't like him, that's all."
"I'll mention it," said the officer. "If there's an investigation."
"You mean there isn't?"
"It's not up to me," said the officer. "I just write reports. But thanks for the tip."
As they parted company it struck Ruso that it was no wonder the men of the Twentieth needed to be given talks about security. They had been stationed here far too long. The staff weren't quite asleep in HQ, but there were certainly corners over there where a man with limited ambition could lie down and snooze undisturbed, except when he roused himself to pass on a piece of interesting gossip. He supposed it was the liaison officer who had told Valens that the legate would be leading the First's mission in person. No wonder Valens had wormed his way onto the list. Valens, not Ruso, was seizing the chance to shine. Valens, the army doctor with no combat experience.
Not, by all accounts, that there was much chance of any combat on this trip. If the local chief were to have a change of heart about his loyalty to Rome, he would hardly be likely to have it during a visit from the legate and the First Century Which, of course, was the point of the trip. Anyone who really wanted to see some action, Ruso had been assured, would seek a posting up north to join in the fun the army were having with the Brigantes.
Ruso had long ago lost any illusions about combat being fun, but it occurred to him that it would do no harm to check out the state of the medical service in the north. If he could cook up some excuse for a few days away, he could return Valens's favor by leaving him to manage all the medical work on his own. In the meantime, Ruso was going to take advantage of his housemate's absence to save himself some cash.
43
Tilla was shredding cabbage. She was doing it carefully, slowly, and badly. No matter how hard she tried to hold the knife steady with her left hand, it faltered. Before they toppled onto the scored wood of the kitchen table and broke into untidy shreds, the slices of cabbage were tapered like door-wedges. This mattered to no one else-the cabbage was to be stewed anyway-but Tilla's mind was traveling far ahead of tonight's supper.
She put down the knife, grasped at the air to flex her stiff fingers, and picked it up again. Her work was slow, but it pleased her. She needed to train her left hand into some sort of dexterity if she were to escape and survive. Even if the Roman healer had rebuilt her shattered arm perfectly-which seemed unlikely-her right hand would be feeble after being bandaged for so long. Besides, with every rasp of the knife through the crisp green flesh she could imagine it was not a cabbage she was slicing up, but a man.
To her relief Innocens had gone, leaving the girl Phryne locked in the upstairs room. Phryne, pale but apparently not ill, had been let out to join the other girls on the morning trip to the baths. Tilla had held a brief conversation with her on the way, but Merula had moved close enough to overhear, and they had fallen silent.
Inside the baths, Phryne was the last to take her clothes off. For a moment Tilla wondered if she was going to refuse, but Chloe murmured something in her ear that persuaded her to cooperate. Finally undressed, Phryne sat in the corner of the hot room with her child's body huddled in a towel, watching the other girls as they strolled about in the steam, chatting and laughing, their naked flesh glistening with sweat. Her eyes kept returning to Daphne's blue-veined breasts and enormous rounded belly, taking in the dark line that ran down from the protruding navel and the silver streaks that showed where the skin was stretching and splitting. The girl brought one hand to her mouth as Daphne flopped down splay-legged on the bench, poured oil into one palm, rubbed her hands together, and began to massage the surface of the bulge.
Two girls Tilla did not recognize wandered into the hot room. As soon as they saw who was in there, they retreated. A few moments later some older women wrapped in towels paused in the doorway, looked around, glanced at each other, and then ventured in. They clopped past Merula's girls in wooden bath shoes-they had brought their own, Tilla noticed-and seated themselves in the farthest corner, turning very straight backs toward the rest of the room.
Not long ago, Tilla would have shared these women's contempt for Merula and her girls. Yet now that she lived among them, she had begun to realize things were not as simple as she had supposed. The girls were kept to serve the same army that had built this bathhouse, which the respectable women were now enjoying. This morning, when a man in the street had shouted an insult at them, the same Bassus who had grabbed Tilla as if she were an animal went across to him, said something to him, and then with one swift movement smacked the flat of his hand against the man's ear. Several passersby hurried on while Bassus stood over the fallen man with his arms folded, looking around as if he were daring anyone else to insult his girls. When Merula thanked him he shook his head sadly "People 'round here," he said. "They don't know nothing about respect."