Semper Fidelis m-5 Read online

  “His men must have seen dozens of people. He would hardly tell me about all of them.”

  “Yes, sir. Yet these three all said exactly the same thing in the same order. It was as if they’d rehearsed it.” He paused to let that sink in. “I’m willing to bet that none of them remembered the native before Victor was arrested.”

  Accius sighed. “I should know better than to listen to a doctor. You people see a pimple, call it a deadly disease, and prescribe six weeks in bed with daily visits.”

  “They’re hiding something, sir.”

  “They’re describing the same man! Besides, they couldn’t have known you were going to come asking. Why would they all get together and make something up?”

  It was a fair point, and one Ruso had already considered. “Sir, think back to your childhood. When my brother and I did something we weren’t supposed to, we agreed what we’d say in case we got caught.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” said Accius. “I don’t have any brothers.”

  Ruso was struck by a picture of the lonely young Accius wandering through a large house, wishing he had somebody to play with, and suddenly thrilled by the attentions of a storybook war hero. No wonder he had been determined to defend him. “The point is, sir,” he said, “we only ever did it when we knew there was something to cover up. And the more clever we tried to be, the more likely we were to trip up. If they said they hadn’t seen anyone-which I imagine they told Clarus-they’d have been fine. But they decided to embellish their cover story when Victor was arrested.”

  “Or they could have discussed their memories around the campfire one night.”

  “Then they would have gone to Clarus, sir. And Clarus would surely have told you that he had evidence against one of your men.”

  “Hm.”

  “One of the other veterans told me that Geminus wasn’t popular when they served together. I think this may go a lot further back than we realize.”

  The silence that followed was interrupted by the trumpet signaling time to move on.

  “Well,” said Accius, “that’s something to think about.” He took a step back toward the road. “Thank you, Ruso. You will now forget everything you have just told me.”

  “Yes, sir. Sir, the recruit under arrest is-”

  “He’s none of your concern. If you want to do something useful, help us get the rest of them to Deva.”

  “What about my wife, sir?”

  “Just stop her from making any more trouble.” Accius strode away to deal with more important matters, leaving Ruso wondering how to carry out that most challenging order of all.

  Chapter 70

  Ruso was trying to find out who he should ask about borrowing a horse when he found Dexter riding alongside him. The man had never been friendly, so he was surprised to hear a greeting. He was even more surprised when Dexter said, “You did a good thing, Doctor.”

  “I did?”

  “Somebody should have done it way back.”

  “Geminus?”

  “Me, I was never happy about him. You just turned up and dealt with it. Like that.” He snapped his fingers. The horse tossed its head.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “Shame about young Victor, but he’s not the sharpest tool in the box, is he?”

  “He didn’t do it, either.”

  “I bet you’re thinking, How did the old man get away with it for so long?”

  “Sports Night?” said Ruso, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice. “You know, then?”

  “Where did you think you were, the amphitheater?”

  “It was just a bit of harmless fun to start with. But the old man didn’t know when to stop. And I didn’t have the authority to stop him.”

  “Men were being injured!”

  “They weren’t my men.”

  Perhaps not, but Dexter must have been betting on them.

  “Then he went and lost that lad in the river. Even Geminus could see he’d gone too far there.”

  “But by then he’d implicated everyone else,” Ruso surmised.

  “He was a clever bastard.”

  “Was it you who told the maintenance crews to follow me?”

  “We had to know what you were up to. They were keen enough to help. Nobody likes an inspector.”

  “You could have backed me up!”

  Dexter shrugged. “What’s done was done. The old man said if we talked, we’d all be thrown out with no payoff. Or worse. So we decided to keep the lid on it.”

  And they said centurions were the bravest men in the army.

  “You don’t how it was,” continued Dexter, as if he had guessed what was in Ruso’s mind. “You weren’t there.

  “I got the general idea from his dog. Where is it, by the way?”

  “Still with him,” said Dexter unexpectedly. “We couldn’t have a dangerous dog on the march, so it went on the pyre.”

  Ruso pictured the wolf dog standing calmly alongside its master and felt more kindly disposed to it in death than he had in life. “Bella,” he said, as if he felt he should mark its passing by naming it, and then tightening the muscles in his leg so that the stitches pulled. “How much does the tribune know?”

  Dexter shrugged. “That’s what he’ll be trying to decide, ready for telling his story at Deva.” He paused. “Nobody meant it to end like it did, you know. It was just a bit of fun.”

  “I didn’t kill Geminus,” Ruso repeated. “Neither did Victor. So where were you that night?”

  Dexter was staring ahead to where the recruits were marching in ragged lines four abreast. “Busy knocking heads together,” he said. “But if that’s the way the wind’s blowing, maybe I’ll take the credit.” Urging his horse into a trot, he moved forward to ride alongside his men.

  Ruso watched him trim the lines and fall in beside some of the junior officers. According to Pera, Geminus’s shadows had managed to get themselves sent north with Hadrian, but he supposed most of the officers had been tainted by Sports Night in one way or another. No wonder they were keeping a close eye on the recruits. They were terrified of them.

  Chapter 71

  The tribune’s guards had shown little interest in Tilla, but Minna seemed to be taking the duty very seriously. Her approach to guarding a hostage who might yet turn out to be an officer’s wife was to travel behind, watching her every move, ask from time to time if she was quite comfortable, and then do very little about it if she wasn’t.

  Tilla was bored, frustrated, and still feeling faintly queasy from the cough medicine. Only the fear of causing more trouble for her husband had kept her in her seat all day, watching the land gradually begin to rise and fall as the convoy trudged toward the hills at the speed of the slowest ox in front.

  From time to time she had sent Virana to find out what was going on. There was no good news. The Medicus was busy. Victor was spending another day limping along behind a supply wagon. He must be in agony: Already his wrists were rubbed raw and his feet would be blistered where he had been unable to shake the grit out of his boots yesterday. The medics had bound them up, but another day of marching must have made them much worse. There were at least eighty thousand paces between here and Deva, and Victor would feel every one of them.

  The sun was well past its midday height when the convoy ground to a halt yet again for no apparent reason. Tilla had had enough. Without glancing back at Minna, she and Virana jumped down and went forward to see if there was anything interesting happening.

  By the time they got there, the empress’s painted carriage had been unhitched and was propped on stacks of wood by the side of the road. The front wheels lay in the grass. As was the way with breakdowns, there were a lot of men standing around pointing at various parts of the carriage and telling each other what had gone wrong and how to fix it. Several more were crouching by the props to hold them steady, and offering advice to the one man underneath who was actually trying to do something. As Tilla approached, a loud and very rude word suggested things were
not going well down there.

  “Really!” Minna, of course, had not been able to resist following them. “Fancy speaking like that in front of the empress!”

  The empress, seated on a folding stool under a parasol held by one of her slaves, looked weary rather than shocked. Minna managed to corner another of her slaves and ask if there was anything the tribune’s household could do to help, and that was how, somehow, the empress, the parasol, and the first slave ended up in Celer’s smelly cart while Tilla and Virana walked behind them the mile to the Falcon’s Rest.

  Tilla remembered the Falcon’s Rest from their journey to Eboracum. It was the sort of inn that was only there because it was on the way to somewhere else. It squatted on a minor crossroads and scowled down from its high barred windows at any travelers who might be approaching in search of a meal and fresh horses. Its defensive stance had made her feel oddly cheerful. It was a reminder that, without soldiers to hide behind, the Romans were frightened people.

  There was no fort here, and the air was already filled with the clatter of mallets on tent pegs by the time Celer delivered his important passenger to the front door of the Falcon’s Rest and Tilla and Virana scrambled back in for the short drive past a straggle of smaller eating houses to the stable yard at the back. Tilla had already worked out that there would be a shortage of beds, and she was not going to risk being turned away.

  As soon as they were in, she sent Virana off to buy something to eat and looked around for somewhere better than the cart to spend the night. The main mansio building formed one side of the stable yard: two stories pierced with more mean little windows, those of the better rooms glassed to protect the guests from smells and flies and drafts. By the time the empress and her hangers-on were installed, there would not be much room in there. The rest of the yard was surrounded by stables with what must be stores above.

  She thought about mice and rats. Then she thought about sharing a room with Minna.

  She climbed down so Celer could unhitch the mule, and slipped a couple of coins to a stable hand. He directed her to the corner of a hayloft and then went back to dealing with more horses than they probably saw in a month.

  Tilla was unloading their luggage and wondering whether it had been wise to send Virana out on her own with money when Minna arrived to ask if she had found a comfortable place to spend the night. Finding that Tilla would be out of her sight, she promised to come and visit her again very soon. Meanwhile she would “ask the stable hands to keep an eye on you,” as if it were a kindness.

  By the time all the luggage was hidden in the hay, Tilla was beginning to wonder whether Virana was coming back at all. So it was a relief when the girl finally reappeared with a triumphant smile, four sausages, two apples, and a jug of beer. “The Medicus says,” said Virana, lifting one hand out of habit to push away hair that was no longer in her eyes, “he will talk to the tribune as soon as he can.”

  “You have seen him?” asked Tilla, wriggling to get comfortable on the hay and reaching for the beer. “How is he?”

  “He is still walking around free. And he made me swear to tell him truthfully whether the tribune is trying to bed you. I said he was not, and he said he was glad you are safe.”

  “What use is being safe? I have wasted a whole day with that woman watching me!”

  “He says he knows it is very annoying for you.”

  Then why, Tilla wondered, did he not speak to the tribune straightaway and demand her release? Corinna must be frantic with worry about Victor. She could be doing something to help. Instead, here she was, sitting in the cozy gloom of the hayloft drinking beer, because the master of that stupid Minna had the power to have her husband locked up again. Maybe she could sneak out after dark.

  “But the Medicus is doing things!” said Virana brightly. “He has been talking to the Praetorians and trying to find out what they know about the murder.”

  Tilla frowned. “Who told you that?”

  Virana took a bite of apple and paused to chew it before saying, “Everybody knows.”

  “‘Everybody?’”

  There followed a list of names, some of which Tilla vaguely recognized as the putative fathers of Virana’s baby.

  “They’re very cross. They don’t want to go to Deva. They think something horrible is going to happen.”

  It was doubly annoying to be stuck here when Virana was able to wander about, spreading gossip. “What makes them think that?”

  “Marcus complained to the centurion about being watched by guards, and the centurion said, ‘This is nothing. You wait till you get to Deva.’”

  “Perhaps he meant things would be better at Deva.”

  Virana shook her head. “That is not the way Marcus heard it. It was ‘You wait till you get to Deva and then it will be much worse.’ So Marcus asked him what was going to happen at Deva and he didn’t answer.”

  It might be something; it might be nothing. Tilla said, “If the recruits are under guard, how were you talking to them?”

  Virana grinned. “The guards are very nice if you’re friendly. They let me talk to Marcus. He’s the one I like best. And he still talks to me, so when we get to Deva-”

  Tilla put her head in her hands.

  Virana paused. “Are you all right? Is it the cough medicine again?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sad about Victor? Corinna says he can hardly walk and please, please, can you tell the tribune again that he really didn’t kill Geminus?”

  “Virana, I am supposed to be looking after you for your family.”

  “I thought I was here to help you.”

  “Yes, but … I am older! I am responsible! You must stop going round the camp, being friendly with the soldiers! What will-” Tilla stopped. Virana would not care what her mother thought. “Marcus won’t want to marry you if he sees you with other men.”

  Virana’s mouth rearranged into a pout. “You think I am stupid.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I am not. I made sure Marcus didn’t see us.”

  Tilla fought back a wish to fling herself backward into the hay and scream. As calmly as she could manage, she went back to her first question. “Who made the recruits think that the Medicus has been talking to the Praetorians, Virana? Was it you?”

  Virana squared her shoulders and gave a little wriggle like a hen settling down over her eggs. “I shan’t tell you things if you get cross with me.”

  “If you don’t tell me anything useful,” said Tilla, “I shall have you dumped at the side of the road and you can walk home.”

  “It is not my fault you are stuck here with that woman! Why is everyone horrible to me?”

  “Because you are very annoying. Do you know who told the recruits, or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “One of them heard some of the Praetorians talking at the latrines. They said the Medicus was snooping around, asking questions, but it was all right: The native would get the blame. Now Marcus and the others are all arguing about what to do.” She glanced up. “They told me to go away. But I’ll go back if you like. If you give me my dress-”

  “No,” said Tilla. “It’s bad enough that you go wandering alone amongst the soldiers, without wearing that.” Seeing Virana’s face fall, she added, “But you have done well, and I thank you.”

  Again Virana’s expression changed to one of pleasure and surprise. It was as if nobody else had ever taken the trouble to encourage her.

  Tilla pushed aside a faint sense of foreboding. Virana had been told she would be sent home after this. That was what was going to happen. She would worry about how to do it later on.

  Chapter 72

  The owner of the sheep had been warned in advance. Ewes and lambs had been driven into another field beyond the immediate reach of hungry soldiers, leaving a fine swath of cropped grass for the rows of goatskin tents and a fine scattering of droppings to be kicked aside before the occupants of those tents wished to lie down in
them. The tents were set out in neat blocks, reproducing the layout of the barracks the men had occupied in Eboracum. The horses and the draft animals were grazing under guard in an adjoining field, and the vehicles had been drawn up on a patch of dry, gravelly ground not far from the gate.

  Ruso sat on the back of the hospital wagon, swinging his legs and surveying this scene of impressive organization and calm. Dexter had men patrolling the hedges and ditches of the perimeter, and the smoke from a dozen cooking fires was spiraling into the fading sky. One thing the army knew how to do well was pitch camp. Even the laziest man was spurred into action when his nocturnal comfort depended on his own efforts, and as usual the only complaints came from the squads who found themselves allocated a damp patch. No one would suspect that the men in the tents over by the oak tree had murdered the centurion of the men who were camping by the hawthorn hedge.

  With luck, the Praetorians would believe that he had swallowed their implausible account of events on the night that Geminus was killed. If they thought he suspected them, venturing anywhere near their tents after dark would be a very big mistake.

  Ruso slid down from the back of the wagon. Austalis was settled. Pera was doing his best to tend to Victor’s wrists and swollen feet, and there was nothing more anyone could do to help. He really should go and rescue Tilla from the custody of the tribune’s housekeeper and see that she was settled with the other camp followers. He could hardly keep up the pretense that she was still a hostage, even if it was for her own good.

  “Food!” The voice of the hospital cook rose from behind the wagon. “Come and get it!”

  On the other hand, he was very hungry. Perhaps he would just have a bite to eat first. Then maybe he would stay with her in the civilian camp, leaving Pera in charge here. Otherwise he might find himself compelled to make a lone nighttime visit to the Praetorians. He could hardly refuse to answer a call to a sick man just because the messenger who summoned him might be luring him into a trap.