Semper Fidelis (12 page)

^{CCIUS HAD DISRUPTED}
the end of Ruso’s meal, but he was not allowing anything to distract him from his own. While the tribune picked at a bowl of olives and perused a scroll on the table in front of him, Ruso stood as silently and unnoticed as the slave in the corner, and wondered why Tilla was always determined to argue instead of apologizing. He had enough troubles without standing here feeling annoyed with her. He was probably about to be reprimanded for his public quarrel with Geminus.

Had he been too harsh on Geminus? The man was undoubtedly a bully who frightened his men into taking dangerous, sometimes fatal risks. On the other hand, he had dived into the river to save Sulio and then later climbed onto a roof to try to talk him out of suicide. He was a centurion with years of experience. He had been specifically chosen for the job of instilling into raw recruits the discipline that would send them out to fight.

Nothing. He could not even persuade one to sacrifice an arm to save his own life.
Accius was still eating. Ruso shifted his weight onto the other foot. Beside him, the slave watched for a signal from his master with the air of a man used to making himself invisible.
Whatever had happened to Tadius—and Ruso was convinced that he still wasn’t being told the whole story—he had to admit that it was up to Geminus to deal with it. Looking at the situation from the other side, he could see how annoying it must be to have an unknown doctor arrive and start interfering. Almost as annoying, in fact, as it was for that doctor to have a centurion dictate what should happen to his patients.
On the other hand (did that make three hands? He had lost count), if the man had nothing to hide, why start making threats about reporting Tilla’s past to the tribune?
Accius spat out the last olive stone, looked up, and said, “Ah, there you are!” as if his visitor had just walked in through the wall.
“Sir.”
“How are your medics doing?” Before Ruso could answer he said, “I went to the hospital but you weren’t there.”
“They’ve mostly done a good job in difficult circumstances, sir.”
“Good. Are all your patients fit to move?”
“One’s doubtful, sir.”
“Then we may have to leave him with the Sixth and have him sent back later.”
When Ruso looked blank, Accius said, “That’s what I called you over to tell you. Apparently the Sixth are only a couple of days’ march away.”
“I see, sir.” Ruso felt the muscles in his shoulders relax. He was not here to be reprimanded. Nobody had reported his disagreement with Geminus. Why would they? He was getting as nervous as the recruits.
Accius was talking about the arrangements for the takeover. “So our recruits will have their final trials the day after tomorrow, and then we’ll be ready to march them to Deva as soon as the Sixth take over.”
“I’ll tell my men, sir.”
“Good.” Accius paused. “How did you think the ceremony went this morning?”
Ruso said, “Very well sir.”
“Yes.” Accius appeared pleased, as if some other answer had been possible. “I thought so too. I think we’ve cleaned off the slate so we can start again.”
Ruso took a deep breath. “Sir, there’s something I need to mention to you.” He glanced at the slave. “It’s confidential.”
“Is this really necessary?”
“Yes, sir. I think it is.”
Accius glanced at the slave. “More wine, and then clear out till I call you.”
“It’s something I should have mentioned before, sir,” Ruso confessed. When the slave had refilled the wine—with none offered to the visitor— and cleared away the olive stones, Ruso began to attempt a version of events that laid out the facts while skirting round the truth in the middle of them. “It’s all been dealt with, sir, but I think you ought to know that some time ago my wife received some coins that turned out to be from a stolen pay wagon.”
“And did she report this?”
“She didn’t realize, sir.” At least, not until he had pointed it out to her. “We were about to leave for Gaul and she spent some of the money. When we returned, I found the governor’s security adviser had put her name on one of his wanted lists.”
“Would that be Metellus?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I hear he’s a useful chap.”
“He’s very thorough, sir.” Ruso could have added
sly
and
vindictive
and
My wife calls him a snake,
but did not.
Accius said, “Do they know about this at Deva?”
“I’m not sure, sir.”
“You didn’t think to mention it when the Legion offered you a new contract?”
“No, sir.”
“So why is it so important to tell me now?”
Ruso cleared his throat. He could hardly say that Geminus was attempting to blackmail him. “It was starting to worry me, sir.”
“Gods above, man! I don’t have time to sit here while you tell me what’s worrying you!”
“No, sir.”
“Make sure you report it when we get back to Deva.”
Ruso hoped his relief did not show. “Thank you, sir.”
“Frankly, I’m surprised to find an officer married to a local. Not that she’s not attractive. Some of them do have a kind of . . .” He paused, searching for a word. “. . . rustic charm. But surely marriage was hardly necessary?”
“It wasn’t necessary, sir, no.”
Accius looked at him for a moment. “I see. Yes. Very forward-thinking of you. Mingling with the natives. Setting an example. Bringing up standards.”
“I do my best, sir.” Usually without success.
“Just be careful they don’t use you.”
Ruso lifted his chin. “Use me, sir?”
“Begging for sympathy. Expecting special treatment. That sort of thing. If they think you might be on their side.”
Ruso cleared his throat. “I think we’re all on the emperor’s side here, sir.” Accius was the son of a politician. He would be used to hearing pompous platitudes.
“Yes, of course. But given your wife’s unfortunate history, you need to make it clear where your loyalties lie.”
“You needn’t have any concerns about my wife, sir.” Suddenly he saw his opening. Geminus was not his personal problem. He would do the correct thing and refer any decisions up the chain of command. At the same time he would establish Tilla’s loyalty. “In fact, that’s the other reason I wanted to talk to you. Only today she reported a worrying rumor she’d heard in the street. She thought we should know.”
“Really?”
No, not really, but it was close enough. “The locals are saying that the lad who drowned was well-known as a poor swimmer, and the river was exceptionally high, but Geminus refused to allow the ferry across to pick them up.”
“I hope you explained that Geminus entered the water himself to try and pull the men out?”
“It’s why they got in to start with that’s the issue, sir.”
Accius did not look pleased to be brought back to the point. “The recruits are here to be challenged and stretched, Ruso. Not to enjoy themselves. No doubt that looks a little harsh to the locals.”
“Yes, sir.” He had begun now, so he might as well finish. “There’s something that concerns me about the second death as well, sir. The training accident.”
“Geminus has briefed me on that one.” The fierce eyes met his own. “I believe he’s spoken to you as well.”
“Yes, sir. But if something’s affecting the welfare of the men, it’s my duty to try and deal with it.”
“The live men,” Accius agreed. “I don’t expect you to resurrect the dead ones.”
“I believe the victim was shackled to a weight before he was killed, sir. It wasn’t just a piece of horseplay that went too far.”
Accius shook his head. “It’s not pretty, I know. We have an intake of recruits who can’t be trusted. To be frank, I think they dressed up a murder as an accident and invented a native rite to explain it. Keep this to yourself, but at one point Geminus was seriously concerned about mutiny. Personally I’d discharge the lot of them, but it’s po litically sensitive. Some of their fathers are the heads of tribes who are supposed to be our allies. I’m telling you this because we’ll have to keep a close eye on them all the way to Deva.”
“Yes, sir.” Accius, he decided, would go far—if only he could resist the urge to outshine the men above him.
“Anything else bothering you?” Accius’s tone suggested that if there was, he did not want to hear it. Ruso told him anyway.
“Sir, we’re accusing the deserter of murder, but the locals are saying he was a good friend of the victim.”
Accius scowled. “What did I just warn you about? That pretty wife has you dancing on a string. Civilians don’t know the facts, so they speculate. No doubt some of them are saying Geminus forced that man off the roof.”
“Not to my knowledge, sir. I appreciate that he’s a relative of yours, but—”
“Are you saying I can’t form a fair judgment?”
“No, sir. I’m saying Geminus’s men are unusually frightened of him.”
Accius reached for the water and topped up his wine. “Doctor, do you really imagine that nobody has looked into all this other than you?”
“No, sir.”
Accius took a long drink and placed the glass exactly back over the damp ring on the table before speaking. “I’ve spoken to Geminus at length about the suicide,” he said. “He tried to persuade the man to come down, but Sulio had convinced himself that he was personally under a curse. His last words were a confession about his involvement in the death of Tadius.”
Ruso said nothing.
“Recruits complain, Ruso. You should know that.”
Ruso had heard far more complaints than would ever reach the noble ears of the tribune, but it would not be tactful to say so.
“Especially Britons,” Accius continued. “They’re not used to discipline. Even the ones whose fathers are soldiers have grown up running wild with their native cousins. The gods alone know what they get up to at those shrines in the woods that they aren’t supposed to have. Add that to the usual behavior of recruits—spending all their wages on extra food and drink and impressing the local girls, so they have to send requests home begging for things like socks that they haven’t bothered to buy for themselves . . . If we didn’t stop their wages for the basics, half of them would have no boots.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Frankly, anything your wife has heard is likely to be a long way from the truth. Get her to give you the names of the rumormongers and I’ll have them brought in and spoken to.”
Ruso’s stomach clenched. This was not at all what he had expected or intended. He said, “I’m not sure she knows, sir. She may have just overheard something in the street.”
“Well, tell her to find out. If she was close enough to listen, she must have a description.”
“Sir, I saw evidence of the shackling.”
“Then for all our sakes, keep it to yourself. We don’t want the recruits any more stirred up before the march. As for the rest . . . well, it never does any harm to know what’s being said around the enemy campfires.”
“I’ll let you know if she hears anything else, sir.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that. We need to deal with the gossipmongers now, before any of this nonsense gets passed on to the Sixth. I’m sure you can explain to her why she needs to be more helpful this time than she was over the pay wagon.”
Ruso swallowed. “The Britons have loyalties just like we do, sir.”
“She’s your wife, Ruso. Her loyalty is to you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you, of course, are loyal to the Twentieth. Which, as you helpfully reminded me earlier, serves the emperor.”

It was not something good: Tilla could tell from his voice. “There is no need to argue,” she told him, following him out onto the walkway, “because I am right. The other knot was the same. Be cross with someone at the hospital, not me.”

He called from the walkway, “Nobody over there has any right to go into my case!”
“Well, someone has, and they are not very good at it!” Too late, she added, “What is the thing we need to talk about?”
But all he said was “Don’t speak to anyone till I get back.”

Tilla closed the door and surveyed the room. Two bowls, one half full of cold stew. A scroll of stupid poems. And nobody to talk to.
It’s no good moping, girl. There’s work to be done.
She lit the spare lamp. Then she set out to reassure herself that nobody had meddled with the rest of the medicine bottles, the little linen bags, and the limewood boxes in the case, and to make sure that the salves were still in their right containers. It was one of those times when a person could see the use of being able to read.
***
The medicines were neatly stacked in their compartments and the extra lamp had fizzled out by the time she heard footsteps on the walkway. She snatched up the scroll, but the footsteps went past. She put the scroll down again. If her husband had to do an emergency amputation, he could be gone all night. She might as well go to bed.
She was on the way back from the latrine when a voice said, “Stop there, miss!” In the torchlight, one large figure separated itself from another. Before she could dodge, the second man had placed himself behind her. She told herself not to be afraid. This was the mansio: There were plenty of people around. Anyway, he had called her “miss.” But then, a man could hide bad intentions behind good manners.
She said loudly, “Who are you?”
“The tribune wants you.”
“What for?”
“Follow me.”
If they tried to take her out of the building, she would scream. Faintly consoled by the thought that she had a plan, she set off behind them.
The torchlight glinted on the scabbard of his sword. He was, at least, some sort of soldier.

Accius was scowling at a map on the desk in front of him while a secretary hovered at his elbow. Tilla was not greatly reassured to see Minna perched on a stool in the corner, where it was much too dark to see the sock she was supposed to be darning.

Finally Accius rolled up the map and sent the secretary away with instructions about messages to the forts on the route. Then he dismissed the guards. Tilla heard the door clamp shut behind them. She fought an urge to haul it open and run.

“Tilla,” he said, looking her up and down as if he were trying to decide whether he would allow her to keep the name or give her another one.
The black smudge of soot across his forehead made his dark features even crosser than usual. A man this rich would not light his own fires, so she supposed he must have been to a temple.
“Real name,” he continued, “Darlughdacha. From a small tribe amongst the Brigantes known as the Corionotatae.”
Tilla stared at him. How did he know all of that? He had even pronounced it correctly.
“My attention has been drawn to the security rec ords at Headquarters.

“Some of my people are—” No, that was wrong. Latin was always harder when she was nervous. “Some of my people were involved, sir. Many just wanted to bring up their families and tend their sheep.” Why was he talking about this now? Why was he talking to her at all? Was that what her husband did not have time to say: that he had told Accius all about her? It was all very well saying “Don’t speak to anyone till I get back,” but what should she do now?

“Your concern for the Legion’s reputation is noted.”
What concern?
“I hear you’ve been collecting information from the locals for us.” She was aware of Minna in the corner listening to every word. Did he

know about Virana? Or maybe even that she had befriended Corinna, wife of a deserter? How could she know what to say without knowing what he had heard?

“I have spoken to your husband,” he told her. “Since you are not . . .” He paused, searching for a word. “Since you do not have the usual background for an officer’s wife, I have decided make some things clear to you personally.”

By the time she realized she was supposed to thank him, it was too late. “As the wife of an officer of the Twentieth Legion,” he continued, “your duty is to support your husband in the home. You need not trouble yourself with military affairs. In any way.”

Tilla opened her mouth, but before anything could come out, he said, “Civilians have no idea of the facts. They have no appreciation of all that your husband’s legion does for them. Any hint of encouragement from someone connected with the Legion merely fuels unfounded rumors that we then have to go to the trouble of correcting.”

“You will confine your discussions with the natives to the necessary business of running your house hold.”
Minna’s needle had stopped moving.
“Your husband will be giving me a list of the names of the people who are behind this latest gossip, so we can visit them and correct the false statements they have been making.”
Tilla knew about visits from the army. They were not easily forgotten, even after the damage had been repaired and the bruises had healed.
Minna had put the sock down and was watching to see her response. Tilla suddenly remembered how stupid most Roman officers thought the natives were. She let her mouth fall open and gazed at Accius with an expression of wide-eyed, tongue- tied awe.
Was that a faint relaxation of the scowl? He said, “Meanwhile, madam, the Legion appreciates your wish to be helpful. If we ever need your assistance, I will let you know.”
Finally Tilla managed to speak. “Sir, what must I do next time people try to tell me things?”
The scowl returned. “Tell them that complaints should go through the proper channels.”
Tilla bowed her head demurely. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I will ask my husband to explain to me what the proper channels are.”