“Proper justice!” shouted someone. There was a chorus of support. A small chant of “No more lies!” broke out and died away again as Sabina raised one hand for silence.
“-and for the immediate release of their comrade Victor, whom they believe is innocent of the murder of Centurion Geminus.”
Tilla noticed that he did not say what he thought of Victor himself.
Sabina said, “That is it?”
“Yes, madam.”
She held out one hand. “I will receive their petition.”
Accius looked around wildly. “Madam, my men have not yet-”
“Here you are, Empress!” Virana stepped forward, tugging a little scrap of rolled-up parchment out of her cleavage. Sabina took it between finger and thumb as if she were holding a dead rat by the tail. She teased it partly open with one fingertip and frowned. Then she lifted her head and said in a voice that was clear, but without the strength of one used to making speeches, “Men of the Twentieth Legion, on condition that you leave immediately and peacefully and return to your camp, I, Vibia Sabina Augusta, am pleased to grant a full and absolute pardon for your conduct this evening and to grant your petition.”
As the cheers gathered into a fresh chant of “Sa-bi-na!” she handed the parchment to Tilla. “Look after it. I can’t read a word of it in this light. I shall have to sign it in the morning.”
Chapter 81
Ruso watched the recruits march out of the stable entrance behind Accius, the odd drunken stumble the only hint of the chaos they had caused just now. They appeared to have taken to heart the tribune’s warning that the first man to step out of line again would be crucified, and so would his comrades on either side of him.
Just before they formed up he had murmured to Marcus, “You’re a different man from the one I met at Eboracum.”
“It was you who gave me the courage, sir.” Then he grinned as if Ruso would be pleased with the compliment, and as if everything would be all right from now on, and wisely pulled the shoulders of his tunic down over his tattoos before merging in amongst the other recruits.
Meanwhile, Clarus had rushed outside to ensure that the Praetorians who had been spoiling for a fight didn’t pick one, and then returned to resume his anxious guard over the empress.
A couple of slaves crept out from wherever they were hiding, barred the gates, and disappeared again. The clearing up would have to wait for daylight.
Ruso sat on the mounting block, folded his arms, and gazed up at the stars. A horse stamped over in the stables, no doubt relieved that the terrifying humans had all gone away. Tilla had whispered a hasty “Wait for me!” but she had gone inside with Sabina and was probably still trying to smooth ruffled feathers. He should probably go straight to the camp, but he doubted the men would dare cause any more trouble now. He would just enjoy a few more moments of peace, then get out before everyone here locked up and went to bed.
There above him was the Great Bear, and above it the North Star and the Little Bear, and around them all the constellations he should remember the names of but never could. Through all the madness of this evening they had been shining there, constant, hidden only by the confusion of light and smoke made by humankind. No doubt there was a lesson there that he ought to ponder on the road tomorrow. Tonight, he was merely relieved that the crisis was over.
Between them, Accius and Sabina had managed to convince the recruits that they should proceed peacefully to Deva. If they were lucky, the legate would uphold Sabina’s unauthorized pardon-it might be politically awkward not to-and withhold the charge of mutiny. Victor, now amply punished for his desertion, would be free from the unjust accusation of murder. And if Clarus chose not to prosecute the Praetorians who had apparently settled an old grudge by murdering their former comrade, that was his business. Even Accius would have to admit that it was a kind of justice.
A distant owl hooted. Something changed in his peripheral vision, and he realized the light in one of the windows above him had gone out. As he watched, another light died. He got to his feet, noticing for the first time that he was cold, and made his way across the yard to where the lamps were still glowing in the main entrance hall.
He was almost there when a figure stepped out of the shadows. He had sprung back and grabbed his knife before reason pointed out to instinct that the blond hair belonged to his wife.
“Husband!” she hissed, raising both hands. “It is me!”
It occurred to him that “It is me!” was unnecessary, since no one but Tilla was likely to call him “husband.” Next it occurred to him that only a very tired mind would notice that sort of thing when there were far more pressing matters to attend to. Like Tilla assuring him that nobody was dead.
He was pleased she was safe, and that no one had been killed, and he thanked her for the good news.
“It was Marcus.”
“What was?”
“The horrible screaming and the-” She broke off to give a muted demonstration of a ghastly choking gurgle.
“I see.” He had no idea what she was talking about, but Marcus had looked perfectly healthy just now and no doubt the explanation would be more complicated than it was worth.
“One of his friends told me. He learned it from a charcoal burner who used it to frighten off the soldiers when they came sneaking through the woods to steal his fuel.”
“Ah.”
“And I can tell you something else: The scorpions from Rome had orders from the emperor’s secretary to kill Geminus.”
“I see.”
“How can you see? I have not told you yet. You are just saying “I see’ without listening.”
“Yes.”
Then she told him. And then he did see, and he wished he did not, because what she was so proud of having found out was something that would be much, much better left hidden. And the way she had gone about finding it meant that she now had an enemy far worse than Metellus.
“But I did it to help!”
“I didn’t ask for your help, Tilla.”
“You wanted to know who it was. I have found out for you. It was not some old grudge after all. Someone gave the order through Tranquillus. I think the empress was trying to help us.”
He doubted that, but what Tilla thought did not matter much as long as she kept it to herself. “Who else knows that you know?”
Tilla gave a huff of exasperation. “You think I am fool enough to go around telling everybody?”
“If it’s just Clarus, we might be safe. He won’t go round saying he was overpowered by a girl. If you just stay out of his way …” He stopped. How likely was it that Clarus would believe his secret was safe with someone like Tilla?
Not very. And now Tilla was saying “There is just one other person …” in a tone that suggested he was not going to like this very much.
“I did not mean to say anything,” she said. “It just came out.”
“What did?”
“It was just me and her, alone on the stairs, and she was frightened, and I tried to cheer her, and I think I said … oh, dear.”
“What?” he demanded.
“I made sure to whisper. Nobody else heard.”
“Just tell me what it was!”
She sniffed. “I said something to the empress about knowing she was on our side. And if the men knew what she had done, they would be grateful.”
“Oh, gods above!” Ruso ran one hand through his hair. “Whatever possessed you to say that?”
“I am sorry! I thought …” She shook her head. “I felt sorry for her. She is never allowed to do anything and when she is brave enough to try, nobody knows, so nobody can thank her.” She looked up. “Anyway, I did not say what I was talking about.”
“You really imagine she didn’t guess?”
She lowered her head. “She did not question it. I think she knew.” While part of Ruso’s mind was praying, Holy Jupiter, let this not be true, the other part was reasoning that it made far more sense than some ancient Praetorian grudge that could surely have been resolved years ago.