Caveat emptor mi-4 Read online

  “Can I ask how the inquiry’s going, sir?”

  “It’s finished,” Ruso said. “They’re going to accuse the chief magistrate.” He put his finger to his lips and added very quietly, “It’s not finished, but I don’t trust the guards. What the hell are you doing here?”

  Albanus glanced around the room again before murmuring, “I’ve come to warn you about something, sir. I don’t think you’re going to like it very much.”

  Albanus was right. He did not like it very much. Albanus had done some more ferreting around in Londinium and worked out for himself that Julius Asper was in the pay of Metellus. “I thought you’d want to know straightaway, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And that’s not all, sir.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, sir. I made some inquiries about what Caratius was up to while he was in town. According to his friend’s cook, he arrived at the friend’s house and stayed there all night.”

  “I see,” said Ruso, who had never thought Caratius was the mysterious hooded burglar anyway.

  “You might like to know that his friend is a man, sir.”

  Ruso frowned. “Well, of course he’s a man. He’s a priest of Jupiter.”

  Albanus shook his head. “I don’t think you quite grasped my meaning, sir. His friend, where he stays all night whenever he goes to Londinium, is-”

  “Ah!” So Caratius had a male lover. He wondered if Camma had known.

  “Anyway,” continued Albanus, “the point is, he definitely didn’t go anywhere all night. But his guard went out.” Albanus paused to scratch his head. “I’m not sure this helps us much, sir. I don’t think the guard could have done any burgling in the small hours. Not unless he was acting earlier in the evening. The cook said he was back on the doorstep before long, so drunk he could hardly stand up.”

  Ruso reached for his knife without thinking and cut a slice of cheese he didn’t want to eat. The only part of Albanus’s information that was new was the business of Caratius’s lover. It was unlikely to be relevant, but the man had traveled a long way to bring it and the sight of a friendly face was more of a relief than he cared to admit. He thanked him. Then he began the difficult task of persuading him to go away.

  “It’s good of you to take the day off to come and see me,” he said, leaning back in his chair and speaking normally again. “I’ll see if I can get the procurator to cover your expenses.”

  “Oh, I haven’t just taken the day,” explained Albanus brightly. “I’ve given the boys a week’s holiday.”

  “Ah.”

  “And the expenses are already dealt with, sir.” On any other face, that expression would be called “smug.” On Albanus it still retained vestiges of innocent delight as he announced, “I’ve never been on the fast coach before. It’s rather exciting, isn’t it? A bit bumpy, though.”

  Ruso felt a deep sense of foreboding. “Your expenses are dealt with?”

  “Oh yes. Young Firmus gave me a travel warrant.”

  Ruso glanced at the window before mouthing, Why?

  Albanus whispered, “The procurator thought you ought to be warned about Metellus, sir.”

  The procurator knew about Metellus too?

  The procurator knew about Metellus. Ruso closed his eyes and wished he believed in Tilla’s Christos, the god who answered prayers anywhere and did not demand cash in return. How long would it be before Metellus found out and assumed Ruso had betrayed him?

  When he opened his eyes again, Albanus was looking uncertain.

  “I asked young Firmus to tell the procurator what I’d found out, sir. I hope I haven’t done the wrong thing?”

  “No,” Ruso assured him, feeling something curl up inside his stomach. “No, you’ve behaved absolutely correctly. Although I do recall telling you both not to get further involved.”

  “I know, sir,” Albanus confessed. “But frankly I wasn’t sure that you’d followed every possible line of inquiry before you left. And you’ve been very good to me in the past, so I thought I’d give you a bit of help.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The procurator didn’t seem very happy, sir. I think his ribs are rather painful.”

  “You’ve actually spoken to him?”

  “Yes, sir. And he said to tell you to wrap up the investigation and get straight back to Londinium.”

  First the well-wisher, then the Council, and now the procurator. It seemed everybody wanted him out of this place. “It may take me a while to finish here.”

  “I’m happy to help in any way I can, sir.”

  “I’d like you to escort Tilla back to Londinium this afternoon.”

  The disappointment showed on Albanus’s face, but his voice remained neutral. “There are a couple of other things, sir. They might be a bit embarrassing.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ruso assured him. He was beyond embarrassment now.

  “Well, I think I might have upset the local doctor. I stopped at the gates and asked for Doctor Ruso and somebody fetched him instead and he was rather cross when I wasn’t ill.”

  “Never mind,” said Ruso. “I’m not his favorite person, anyway. What’s the other thing?”

  Albanus cleared his throat. “Sir, is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

  “Yes.” At least he could reveal that much. “But it’s complicated.”

  “I know it’s none of my business, sir, but it would help if I just know what to say to whom.”

  Ruso said, “I don’t want you getting involved in it.”

  “No sir,” said Albanus in a tone that signified disapproval. “And, frankly, it’s all very awkward, but I need to know what to say to Doctor Valens.”

  Ruso frowned. “Valens? What’s he got to do with it?”

  “Well, sir, how much does he know? Have you told him your own wife is somewhere else but his wife is staying here with you? Or am I supposed to pretend I didn’t just see her in reception?”

  55

  Ruso had just finished installing Albanus in Julius Asper’s office with an abacus and instructions to check what pay was owed to the guards-a task that should keep him out of trouble until it was time to leave-when he opened the door to see three women hurrying toward him across the noisy expanse of the Great Hall.

  Tilla was wearing a blue plaid overtunic he had never seen before, hitched up over a belt because it was too long. Camma was carrying the baby, Grata clutching the wooden box that had contained Asper’s money and the coin mold.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your wife has been attacked!” declared Grata.

  With three of them trying to explain at once it was a while before he grasped that the attack had taken place last night. He had not been told earlier because Tilla had insisted she was not hurt and she did not want everyone to make a fuss.

  “That’s ridiculous!” He put a protective arm around her, thankful for once that this morning’s guard included Dias. “My wife’s been attacked in the street!” he declared, formally inviting Dias to intervene, as if he might not have overheard while standing three feet away.

  The guard captain asked for details. Tilla repeated that she was not hurt, she did not want a fuss, nothing was stolen, and no, she had no idea who had done it. Meanwhile Grata was insisting that the man had tried to strangle her and Camma was tugging at the elbow of Tilla’s undertunic to show where it had been freshly darned in wool that did not match. “He threw her on the ground. Look! Her other dress is covered in mud and ruined!”

  Ruso felt his wife shrinking against him, as if all the well-intentioned outrage were a further assault. “Come with me,” he insisted, drawing her back toward Asper’s office. “We’ll clear Albanus out and you can tell me exactly what happened.”

  “Albanus?”

  “He’s going to take you back to Londinium this afternoon,” said Ruso, letting Albanus tactfully scuttle out before closing the door and holding her close. Finally he settled her into Julius Asper’s chair.
“You’re very pale. Are you really all right? What did he do to you?”

  He examined the movement of her neck, checked the bruised knees and the grazed elbow, and conceded that the damage could have been worse. “Did he try to-”

  “No,” she said, guessing the question. “He said it was a message.”

  As she explained, he felt himself begin to tremble with rage. He wanted to throttle the unknown bully who had terrified his wife. He was angry with himself too. He should have warned her about that first anonymous letter. He should have arranged for someone to walk her home from the mansio.

  “And you really didn’t see anything?” he persisted. “What about his voice? Was he a local?”

  “Please stop walking up and down.”

  “Could you guess his height? What was he wearing?”

  “I don’t know! Stop. You are giving me a headache.”

  “I should never have let you come here. I’ll get you back to Valens. I don’t care how it looks, at least you’ll be safe there.”

  Tilla looked up. “I forgot. There is something to tell you. When we went to the mansio to find you this morning we saw Serena. She said there was a man who asked the boys’ nursemaid which room the investigator was using.”

  “What?” He stopped pacing. “When? Why didn’t she say so before? Can she describe him?”

  “Two days ago. They asked all the mansio staff, but nobody thought to ask Serena’s people.” When she had finished passing on the description she said, “I think I have seen this man before.”

  He frowned. “So have I, but I don’t believe it. I can’t imagine him attacking you in the street.”

  She managed a smile. “Perhaps he has a big strong friend.”

  “He’ll be needing one when I get ahold of him.” He bent to kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay with the other women and don’t-”

  His warning was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. He was about to turn the visitor away when Tilla said, “It is all right.” She squeezed his hand. “I am feeling better now.”

  The caller was an out-of-breath Gallonius, red in the face and full of apologies for the dreadful outrage that had taken place last night. He had only just heard the news. He had come right away to offer condolences to the lady and the services of the local doctor. He did not know what was happening. The whole town was appalled. Verulamium was usually such a law-abiding place, priding itself on welcoming its visitors… He could not believe it. Really, he could not. It had brought shame on them all. He could not apologize enough. When they caught the man, he would be made to pay for this appalling attack on an innocent and respectable married woman.

  Concerned that Gallonius would soon be in need of a doctor himself, Ruso tried to calm him down.

  Finally reassured that Tilla had suffered little more than a serious fright, Gallonius promised to have stern words with the guard captain about street patrols and said he would arrange a personal armed escort for the rest of her stay.

  “My wife’s leaving for Londinium at midday,” Ruso explained.

  Gallonius looked disappointed, as if this confirmed his worst fears. “And I had hoped you would both come to dinner at my town house tonight. As a small compensation, on behalf of my people. Investigator, perhaps you might…?”

  While Ruso was trying to excuse himself from an evening of more apology and outrage, Tilla took his hand and looked up at him with an air of innocence that he recognized as the prelude to insubordination. “I would like to stay for dinner,” she said. “I would feel so much safer traveling back tomorrow with you, husband.”

  “That would be marvelous!” exclaimed Gallonius. “My wife will be delighted to meet you both. I’ll go at once and tell cook.”

  Having refused to leave as ordered, Tilla then insisted that she did not need a guard escort to go and help bury Asper’s ashes, which were in the treasure box. She also refused the suggestion that Albanus go with them. “It is the middle of the day, husband, there are lots of people about and there are three of us.”

  “I know, but-”

  “I am not going to hide forever because of one man.”

  “I’m not saying you have to hide forever. I just want you to be careful.”

  “I am careful!”

  “Last night-”

  “This is not last night! Do not treat me like a child.”

  “I’m not! I’m treating you like the woman who may be carrying my child.”

  She looked at him for a moment, then squared her shoulders. “That is not fair.”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t want you getting hurt. And by the sound of it, the others will be safer with you out of the way.”

  She took him by both hands. “You are a good man,” she said. “And a kind husband. But I am a grown woman and I will be safe with my friends.”

  “Promise me you’ll stay close to them.”

  “All the time,” she promised. “Believe me, I do not want to meet that man again.”

  Albanus looked relieved at being allowed back into Asper’s office. “I couldn’t quite think what to say to that very tall woman out there, sir. The other one left to go off and argue with your guard chap so she was just standing there with her baby. I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to be making conversation with her or not, so I didn’t say anything. It was all rather embarrassing. Is it true she’s a descendant of Boudica?”

  “So she says.”

  “Dear me.” said Albanus. “I hope I haven’t offended her.”

  56

  The Quaestor’s office was closed. There was no response to Ruso’s knocking. His impatient rattling of the handle only brought out the clerk from two doors down, who told him Nico was ill. The doctor had given orders that he was not to be disturbed.

  As they left the Great Hall by the street doors, Dias looked to right and left. “Where to now, sir?”

  “The quaestor’s house. I need to check some final details for my report to the procurator.” He hoped the excuse did not sound as lame as it felt.

  “The quaestor’s ill, sir.”

  “I know.”

  Dias said nothing as they tromped through a series of right angles from the forum to the narrow and quiet street where Nico lived. On arrival he looked disgruntled at being left to guard the dandelions sprouting in the gutter, but he had to agree that a sickly and mouse-sized quaestor was unlikely to present any danger. Inside, Ruso was in luck. The buxom landlady in charge of the building in which Nico rented rooms was more impressed by the arrival of an investigator than by the faint voice reminding her from somewhere above them that the doctor had said he was not allowed visitors.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Ruso asked as he followed her up the creaking stairs of lodgings that were surprisingly modest for a man who controlled the town’s money.

  “He’s come out in a terrible rash, sir. You can ask him.” The woman flung open a door and announced, “The man from Londinium to see you.”

  Nico was huddled in a narrow bed in the gloom, enveloped in a blanket and an atmosphere that smelled of unwashed man, unemptied chamber pot, and linseed oil. At the sight of his visitor, he shrank away and looked as though he was hoping to slide off his pillows and scuttle away down a gap between the floorboards.

  “I can’t talk to you,” he said. “I’m ill.”

  Ruso waited until the woman had gone, then opened the door again to make sure she wasn’t listening on the stairs. Somewhere outside a dog erupted into frantic barking.

  He said, “What’s this about a rash?”

  Nico’s eyes widened.

  “I used to work in an army hospital,” Ruso explained, clapping back the shutters to let in some light and reveal the source of the barking. A terrier was chained to a stake in the middle of an untidy yard. It was leaping up and rattling the chain, straining to escape toward a rubbish heap piled against a tumbledown fence. Beyond the fence was the stolid form of Gavo, evidently under orders to watch the
back of the house no matter what the dog had to say about it. Ruso was satisfied that none of the conversation inside the room would be overheard.

  Nico had pushed his bedding down to his waist. He lifted his pale linen tunic to reveal a bony chest that was indeed covered in an angry rash. A greasy brown substance had been plastered over it.

  “Is it on your back as well?”

  Nico leaned forward to demonstrate that it went across the top of his shoulders and around his waist, but the center of his back was normal.

  Ruso gestured to him to replace the tunic. “Any back pain, headaches?”

  “Terrible pain in my back and legs,” said Nico. “My head hurts and my tongue is hawble.” It was halfway out of his mouth before he finished the sentence.

  “So it is,” agreed Ruso, cocking his head sideways to get a better view of the ugly white coating Nico was demonstrating.

  “The doctor says I mustn’t be disturbed.” Nico waved one hand weakly toward a bottle on the shelf. “He’s given me a powerful new medicine to try, but it’s doing no good.”

  Ruso took out the stopper, sniffed, and wished he hadn’t. “Very powerful,” he agreed.

  “He’s read the signs. He said I mustn’t speak to anybody about the missing money.”

  There was no point in asking which signs: It would be some conjunction of the stars, or an arrangement of freshly spilled animal guts, or whatever local equivalent was peddled to the gullible.

  Ruso crouched to peer under the bed and reached for an old scrubbing brush that lay beyond the chamber pot. He ran his forefinger over the bristles, and then put it back and wiped his hand on his tunic. “How are you sleeping?”

  “Terrible. I just lie awake for hours.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be the only one last night. What did you think of the thunderstorm?”

  “Dreadful,” said Nico. “I hate thunderstorms.”

  “Right then,” said Ruso, straightening up. “I wouldn’t worry too much. I’ve seen this before. It gets better by itself.”

  “It does?”

  “Usually when the patient stops scrubbing his chest with a stiff brush and putting chalk on his tongue. I was an army medic, Nico. I’ve seen some of the best malingering there is and yours doesn’t come close. There wasn’t a thunderstorm. Now sit up and tell me who attacked my wife last night.”