That was how it was in places like this: A man inside a fortress had only to sneeze and moments later half a dozen people on the far side of the wall were wishing him good health. He said, “It hasn’t been a good day.”
“It is over now. Sit and eat.”
“There’s someone waiting-”
“Let them wait.” She pulled the chair out for him, then handed him a cup. “Why did he do it?”
He took a sip of the wine and hoped they would not have the nerve to charge much for it. “I don’t know.”
“They said he was from the Atrebates.”
“Was he?” Nobody had mentioned Sulio’s tribal origins. Probably because only other Britons would be interested. “Tilla, I can’t stay. I’m sorry. I have to go and talk army business over dinner.”
“But I thought-”
“And there’s a patient waiting for you in the entrance hall.”
She sighed, looking at the food. “I suppose if I put a cloth over the top, it will do for breakfast. So you are going back to the fort?”
“I’ll be here, planning the move back to Deva with the tribune and the local centurions.”
“I do not like that tribune.”
“I didn’t know you’d spoken to him.”
“When you are not there, he looks at me.”
“Really?” He would keep an eye on Accius from now on.
“Not in that way,” she added quickly. “At least, I think not. More as if I am something strange and interesting.”
“What a perceptive man.”
“And, unlike you, he has never been rude to me.”
Ruso grinned, just to show he was not in the least bit perturbed by Accius being younger than he was, almost handsome, powerful, rich, and unable to keep his eyes off other people’s wives.
Tilla had moved on to a new subject. “I suppose Minna will be there, too, bossing the slaves around.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Finish the wine at least. It will help you put up with all the boring soldiers.”
“I’ll be as boring as I can. Then perhaps we’ll finish early.”
She leaned across the table and kissed him. “I am sure you will be very good at it.”
It was not until he was sitting on a towel in the hot room of the mansio bathhouse, feeling the sweat begin to sting his eyes and trickle down the small of his back, that he realized he had forgotten to ask her to clean up his kit.
Later, perhaps while they were both polishing in a scene of domestic harmony he could not quite picture, he would see if she could shed any light on this business with the recruits. Despite a brief fling with the followers of Christos in Gaul, Tilla retained a firm belief in the power of cursing and blessing. She might have some insight into what the Britons thought was going on here. And then he could work out how to deal with it.
Ruso did not know a great deal about curses, but he did have a wide experience of army recruits. The impression he had formed at medical examination boards was that most of them were very young and poorly educated. Many were away from home for the first time, and even the best were trying not to show how nervous they were. His limited contact with them farther down the road suggested that Geminus’s men would now be exhausted by the rigors of training, feeling trapped inside the fort, struggling with a level of discipline they had not known at home, and no doubt wondering if they had made a terrible mistake. Isolated from their own tribes, fed on rumor and grieving for lost comrades, he could see how these young men had worked themselves up into a panic.
Accius, evidently well briefed, had done his best to settle them down before they went back to barracks for their evening meal. As befitted a young man with an expensive education, he knew how to give a speech. Better still, he knew when to stop. In a very short space of time he had said all the things they needed to hear. He had looked out over the men of the Twentieth assembled beneath the roof from which the recruit had jumped. He introduced himself with the clarity and authority of a man twice his age. He offered them his sincere condolences on the death of Sulio, whose mind had gone. He honored the bold rescue attempt of Centurion Geminus and the men who had supported him. He commended their example to the recruits, reminding them that soon they would be back at the Legion’s main base in Deva, where the discipline, bravery, and loyalty they had begun to develop here would bring them the advancement they deserved. They would be a credit to their centurion and their families back at home.
Finally, he announced a dawn parade at which he would personally preside over the sacrifice of a prize ram to Jupiter. Prayers would be said for the safety of the emperor and the spirits of the departed, and every man would be there in full dress uniform to witness it.
Accius was undeniably impressive, and it had seemed to Ruso that the young men whom Geminus marched out of the hall were less wild-eyed than before. Perhaps it was the presence of an officer of Accius’s standing. Perhaps it was the prospect of a long evening shining up such parade kit as recruits in basic training might manage to muster. Most likely it was the neat way the tribune had managed to respond to their fears without openly acknowledging them. He must have known what had been going on, and the people who had briefed him must be the centurions with whom Ruso was about to spend the evening. Perhaps he would find out what really had happened to young Tadius-and why Pera wanted it kept quiet.
Ruso wiped the sweat from his eyes and breathed in gently so as not to scald the lining of his nose. Deciding he had suffered enough, he got up from the bench and clacked across the hot floor on wooden sandals. A quick scrape of the dirt, a cold plunge, a rubdown, and he would be ready for a dinner which might turn out to be much more interesting than he had led Tilla to believe.
Chapter 12
The black beads were cheap and the pink dress had been made for someone much slimmer. The first owner had probably abandoned it when efforts to scrub out a spatter of grease spots across the middle of the skirt had left them marooned in a faded patch.
Before Tilla could speak, the girl said in British, “Are you the doctor’s woman?”
“I am the midwife,” said Tilla in the same tongue. The girl was too young to be the boy’s mother, so she was not Lucina come to ask why some stranger had been claiming to know her. It must be Pamphile, or Hedone, or some other working girl who was supposed to be looking forward to the arrival of the Sixth Legion. Which was more likely to mean her owner was looking forward to a rise in his profits.
“I am Virana.” The girl glanced over her shoulder at the manager. “Grumpy over there doesn’t like me. But you did say to come here, didn’t you?”
Tilla gestured toward the courtyard door. “Come with me. We will speak in private.”
“You are not Parisi,” the girl guessed, following her along the walkway. “From your accent-Brigante?”
“Near enough,” agreed Tilla, because no matter how many times she explained about the Corionotatae, people only remembered the names of tribes they had heard of before.
“You are Brigante, and you have married an officer!” It seemed the girl had never heard of such a thing. “How did you do it?”
“That is a long story.” Tilla ushered her into the room and gestured toward the chair with the red cushion.
The girl seated herself and gazed around her, lifting the corner of the cloth to see what was laid out on the table. “Is this your dinner?” She tipped the flagon toward her and sniffed the contents. “I don’t like wine,” she said. “Beer is much nicer.”
“Yes,” said Tilla, putting the flagon back and replacing the cloth. She had left Marcia’s letter on the table, hoping her husband might read her some news of his family in Gaul. Now she moved that out of the girl’s reach too, hoping this was indeed a patient, and not just a local nuisance whom the mansio manager had failed to keep out. “You look in good health, Virana.”
“Oh, I am! Is that your husband’s armor?” The girl reached out and ran a fingertip along the curve of the metal plates.