Semper Fidelis (14 page)

^{HE LAZY LARD ARSES}
of the maintenance crews were lazy no longer. It was a bright morning, and everywhere Ruso went, men in brown working tunics were hammering wooden shingles onto roofs, sweeping up old leaves, filling potholes, clearing dumped rubbish, scything grass, slapping on paint, greasing hinges, and opening windows to air long- neglected buildings. The granaries had been opened to release extra wheat, and pink- eyed slaves who had been up all night grinding flour were now shambling back and forth to the ovens with trays of loaves.

An arrhythmic clanging had been echoing across the fort since first light as the sweating blacksmiths labored to keep pace with the demand for tools and repairs. Evidently they were not succeeding: Ruso had been called upon earlier to patch up two men injured in a fight over a rusty spade, and a third who had been knocked out by the ill-fitting head of an axe. A long queue outside Stores was jeering as the clerk who had refused to give Ruso more lamp oil last night was being told by a man twice his size exactly where he could shove his damned permit.

Ruso had snatched barely three hours in bed after Accius’s emergency planning meeting last night. The hospital’s role—to open up the empty wards to accommodate the Praetorians—was decided early on, but clearly there was no hope of being sent away to get some sleep. As the discussions wore on, he found himself reflecting that at least they had some warning. He could only imagine the consternation of the man in charge at the humble ferry port of Petuaria when Hadrian’s ships had been sighted in the river Abus instead of the Tinea. There had been a collective sigh of relief at the meeting when Accius announced that the tides were not high enough for Hadrian’s rowers to bring him upriver as far as Eboracum. At least, if he were traveling by road, it would be possible to monitor his progress.

Ruso had just left Accius’s second briefing meeting of the morning, where a dusty cavalryman had confirmed that the imperial invasion—which was how Ruso thought of it—was still six or seven hours away. He strode back toward the hospital, anxious to see Austalis, who to his immense relief seemed to be showing signs of responding to treatment. He had set aside his plans to amputate, pleased that his visit here might at least have achieved one useful outcome. As for the Geminus business . . . it was unfortunate, but with the tramp of the emperor’s escort growing closer every second, it was hard to see who would care about the loss of a few recruits.

As he rounded the corner, he was startled by a rumbling growl. Furious, deep-throated barking. Something huge and brown with teeth hurtling toward him. He flung himself sideways, hauled open a door—thank the gods, it wasn’t locked—slammed it shut and threw himself against it, feeling the jolt as the massive creature collided with the other side.

Back to the door, gasping for breath, he marveled at the closeness of his escape— until the room went dark and the snarling dog crashed in through the open window. Wrenching himself away from something tearing at his tunic, he was out of the door and scrambling up the nearest pillar with the dog snapping at his feet. Finally he collapsed, breathless, on the shingles of the walkway roof. Below him he could hear the dog scrabbling against the pillar, still barking and snarling as if he’d just attacked it, instead of the other way around. He ran a hand over the back of his left thigh, feeling torn flesh and the warm stickiness of blood.

Somebody was yelling over the din. He lifted his head to shout, “Careful, it’s vicious!” just as the barking stopped.
“Here, girl,” said the gravelly voice of Centurion Geminus. He sounded almost affectionate. Then he called, “Sorry about that, Doc. Did she get you?”
Cautiously, barely able to believe what had just happened, Ruso peered over the rough edge of the roof. Geminus was standing next to a creature that was part large hunting dog and very definitely part wolf. Man and animal were joined by a slack rope that looped around the dog’s neck.
“Is that yours?” demanded Ruso, eyeing it with suspicion. “She tried to have my leg off. She shouldn’t be out.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t have had your leg off,” said Geminus cheerfully. “Not Bella.” He patted the dog. “Would you, girl?” Then he said, without a hint of irony, “If she was serious, she’d have had your throat out.”

Ruso maneuvered onto his back and lifted his leg to examine the bite. It was messy but, as far as he could make out, not deep. The hem of his tunic was shredded and soaked with blood. He was aware that he was shaky and not thinking straight, his body still fearful even though his mind knew the danger was over. Geminus was saying something, but it was a moment before he could unscramble the words.

Insisting on escorting him back to the hospital, Geminus apologized again for his dog, but in a tone implying that Ruso should have known better than to be walking around while the dog was loose. Then he moved on to discuss the plan to invite Hadrian to watch the recruits’ final tests tomorrow morning. Ruso, forcing his jittery mind to concentrate, gave him the latest news on Austalis.

Ruso had just remembered that he had promised to talk to Geminus about tattoo removal when the centurion said, “No hard feelings over your complaint, by the way.”

“Complaint?”
Geminus chuckled. “You thought he wouldn’t tell me?”
When Ruso did not reply he said, “We’re all grown men here, Doc.

Ruso could not think of a reply. His leg hurt, and the revelation reverberating around his mind was leaving no space for anything else. He had dared to complain to Accius. Instead of keeping it quiet, Accius had told Geminus about their conversation. Now Geminus’s dog had attacked him.

Geminus was still talking. “Only fair to give a man a chance to tell his side of the story, eh? You were honest with him, he was honest with me, I’m being honest with you. You only had to ask about the river. I’d have told you. Both those lads had swimming lessons. I taught them myself. They knew what to do. They’d have been all right if young Dannicus hadn’t panicked. As for what went on with Tadius: You’re right. Shameful.” He broke off to shout, “Oi! Sharpen your blade, son!” to a youth who was ineffectively swinging a scythe at a patch of nettles.

They were outside the hospital entrance now. Geminus clapped a hand on Ruso’s shoulder. “Sorry about the leg,” he said. “But you look to be walking all right. Tell Stores I said not to bill you for another tunic. And let me know how young Austalis does, will you?”

Ruso stood in the hospital doorway, feeling the blood pooling inside his boot. He watched man and dog walk away. Geminus had not explained what the animal was doing loose in the street at the very moment Ruso had been approaching.
If she was serious,
s
he’d have had your throat out.
She had seemed serious. If he hadn’t moved fast enough, would Geminus have stopped her? When nobody in authority cared about the fatal bullying of a few humble recruits, how closely would anyone have questioned the loss of one medic? His death would be just another accident for the unlucky garrison of Eboracum.

^{S SHE LEFT}
Corinna’s house, Tilla realized that reaching Virana’s family was not going to be as easy as she had thought. News of the emperor’s arrival had galloped ahead of him. The streets of Eboracum were already thick with people and vehicles. Drivers were yelling at each other, trying to keep their animals under control and ignoring the attempts of the legionaries stationed on each corner to direct the traffic. The air was thick with curses and children crying and the calls of bewildered sheep and cattle being driven in for slaughter. She had hoped they might be able to pick up a lift out of town with a passing carter, but as they dodged their way through the crowds and a flurry of plucked chicken feathers, it was clear that the world was converging on Eboracum. Farther out, innocent of the chaos ahead, still more muddy farm vehicles were lumbering toward town, stacked with produce to sell. Everybody seemed to have brought something: a loaded mule or a handcart or a side of bacon or a couple of hens in a basket or just handfuls of freshly picked flowers. One old woman was trying to sell lucky pebbles from the shore where the emperor had landed, while her husband had carved wooden souvenirs depicting the great man as a lumpy figure with bulgy eyes. All were hoping for a good price and a view of the famous couple. Tilla almost had to drag Virana away from a group of entertainers whose cart had a juggler balanced on top of the luggage, entertaining any other travelers willing to throw him a couple of coins. The road grew emptier and Virana’s spirits visibly sank as they turned north. Finally they were on a track that was mostly churned mud with patches of grass sprouting in the middle. After a few minutes Tilla saw smoke, and beneath it the thatched cones of three or four buildings. “Is that it?” “I feel really, really sick.” Virana’s head hung down. She had let her hair

Tilla tucked one hand firmly under the girl’s arm and urged her forward. “Not far now.”
Beyond the gate, a pair of geese announced their arrival to two young men who were loading a mule cart. Farther back toward the houses, a barefoot girl of about ten was milking a goat. It was a scene that reminded Tilla of her own home in the good days. Before the raiders came.
The girl moved the bucket out of kicking distance and abandoned the goat, running toward one of the buildings. “Mam!”
A woman emerged, pushing graying hair out of her eyes with exactly the same gesture as Virana. She stared at the two figures by the gate. “Where have you been, then?”
“As if we can’t guess,” put in the smaller of the young men, sounding more disdainful than fierce.
The girl chased the geese away and dragged the gate far enough open for them to squeeze through. “You’re in trouble!” she announced gleefully. “Barita’s still sulking and I’m not big enough to do things. Who’s that?”
Virana glanced at Tilla and mumbled something. The bigger brother looked Tilla up and down and gave a noisy sniff through a flattened nose before observing, “She can bring you here anytime.”
Tilla introduced herself as a friend from Eboracum.
The smaller brother swung a basket of cabbages up into the cart and said, “At least this friend’s not in uniform.”
“Remember your manners, you!” snapped the mother. She turned to Tilla. “You’ll have to excuse them: They take after their father—not that he cares. I do my best, but they take no notice. None of them.
Will
you get off that gate? How many times?” The small girl grinned and slithered to the ground. The woman turned to Virana. “You, get in the house and put some proper clothes on. What do you think you look like, running around like that?”
Virana cast Tilla a look that said,
I told you so!
although she had not.
Tilla said, “Perhaps—”
“She looks like what she is,” observed the smaller brother. “A cheap little bitch who opens her legs for the soldiers.”
“Shut up!” Virana shrieked at him. “Just shut up!” Then with a sob she buried her face in her hands and rushed toward the house, the pink skirt trailing in the mud.
Her mother rounded on him with “Now see what you’ve done!” as if it were all his fault. To Tilla she said, “Nothing but trouble since the day she was born, that one.”
Tilla said, “I think she has a kind heart.”
“Hah! That’s what they used to say about me. Too kind, I was!”
“What about you, then?” The smaller brother, who really was very rude, had turned to Tilla. “You another friend of the soldier boys?”
“Take no notice of him, miss,” put in Flat-nose. “All mouth and no manners, him.”
“I came to bring your sister home,” said Tilla, deciding the rude one was not worth the bother of slapping. “She was not sure she would be welcome.”
“She don’t have to be bloody welcome,” observed the rude one. “She lives here. What’s it to do with you?”
“I am a friend of your sister,” said Tilla. “And since you ask about soldiers, my husband is a senior medical officer with the Twentieth Legion.”
In the silence that followed, she was conscious of them all staring at her.
“Well done,” muttered Flat-nose to his brother.
The small girl said, “Are we in trouble, miss?”
“Not you,” Tilla assured her. She turned to the brothers. “Perhaps, when you have finished loading all those things you are hoping to sell to the soldiers you despise so much, you will escort me into town?”
“They’ll escort you into town and like it, miss!” said the mother before they could answer. “And they’ll keep their big mouths shut for a change. Miss, you come into the house for a sit-down and a drink while you’re waiting. You two, get that load on. You should have been off at dawn. At this rate, the emperor will be gone before you get there.”

Tilla’s eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the house while she breathed in the familiar smells of wood smoke and cabbage water and dog. Virana approached and offered a cup of fresh goat’s milk. She had changed into a dull brown tunic tied loosely around the middle with braid. Her eyes were swollen and her hair was even more disheveled than usual. Tilla said, “Virana, your mother needs you. And it is safer for you to be here.” Safer, at least, than ending up in a whorehouse in Deva. But she could hardly say that in front of the mother, and without it she was not sure her claim sounded very convincing

Virana sniffed and went back to sit next to her little sister on the log by the hearth. Her mother thanked Tilla for bringing her home, adding with a sidelong glance, “The longer she hangs around the fortress, the more shame she heaps upon us. At least her sister got herself properly betrothed to a decent—”

“She wasn’t betrothed!” interrupted Virana. “Only officers can get married, Mam. Everybody knows that.”
The mother sighed. “Well, he can’t marry her now, that’s certain.” She raised her voice and called into the shadows behind her. “Barita, come and say hello to the officer’s wife!”
A muffled voice from the darkness said, “Leave me alone!”
“If your father were here, my girl, he’d have you out of that bed in no time!”
No reply.
The mother shook her head but made no attempt to roust her daughter. “I’ve told her she can’t keep this up. There’s plenty of lads round here would take her on. She’s not disgraced herself like this one.”
Suddenly there was movement. A wild-haired, blinking figure in creased clothes shambled into the light. She moved toward her mother. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she hissed. She turned to address her sisters and Tilla. “You will never understand! None of you!” With that, she shuffled back toward the darkness.
Tilla said, “I am sorry for your loss.”
The girl spun round. “You? What do you care?”
“Oh, Barita!” sighed her mother. “There are plenty of other lads!”
“You are right,” agreed Tilla, wishing she had kept quiet. “It is none of my business.”
“It was never anyone’s business,” retorted Barita. “You’re just like the rest of them. Wash your hands and walk away!”
Virana folded her arms. “Anyone would think she is the only one with troubles.”
“Oh, will you two stop!” cried the mother. “Barita, put on your good tunic and comb your hair.”
Tilla drained the milk and said she would go and see whether the cart was ready. She was halfway across the yard when Barita’s voice called after her: “They place bets! Geminus and his men were betting on whether Dann and Sulio would get across the river!”
“Enough!” Tilla spun round, raising one hand for silence. “Say nothing more.”
“Walk away, officer’s wife! Pretend you haven’t heard. Just like everyone else.”
Even with her hands over her ears, Tilla still heard, “Tadius and Victor tried to get it stopped. None of the others had the courage to help. Not one!”
Tilla could feel her own heart beating. Flat-nose and the rude one had paused to watch her from the far side of the cart. The girl was standing with her hands on her hips, waiting for a response. Tilla walked over toward her. “You have not spoken about this,” she said. “I have not heard it, and neither have your mother and your brothers and sisters.”
“So, Brigante woman,” said the rude one, “you are just as bad as they are.”
“And you are a fool!” snapped Tilla. She turned back to Barita. “I am already in trouble because I repeated what a person told me, hoping as you do that something would be done. They have done nothing to help, and now they are trying to make me say who told them.”
“Tell them it was me! Tell them Barita of the Parisi told you. Tell everyone what I said. If I die, I will be in the next world with Tadius.”
“They will not just come for you, girl! Have you not seen what they do to troublemakers? They will come for your family as well. When they have finished with you they will feast on your animals and sell you as slaves. Do you want that to happen?”
“But your husband—”
She seized the girl’s thin shoulders. “Understand this. I have already explained it to your sister. My husband is a good man, but he is only a doctor. He cannot tell the other officers what to do.”
The girl’s red-rimmed eyes glared into hers for a moment, then she lowered her head. “It was my fault,” she whispered. “All my fault. He talked of nothing but the drowning and how wicked it was. I grew weary of listening. I told him he must either stop complaining or do something about it. So he did something.” She looked up. “If you want to keep your man, tell him to stay silent.”
Tilla gathered the stale-smelling girl into her arms. “Your revenge is to live,” she murmured. “They will go back to Deva in two days. Say nothing to anyone else, and you will be safe.”
“They tried to send a message to the legate in Deva, but they were betrayed.” Barita drew back. “I have no weapons to avenge my man, but I tell you this: There really is a curse upon that place, and upon Centurion Geminus. I know this is true because I am the one who put it there.”

^{ILLA HAD LEFT}
the room in the mansio with its shutters closed. It seemed very gloomy after the sunlit courtyard. That was why she took a moment to notice the figure in the bed. She stepped back, wondering if the slave had let her into the wrong room, but no: There was her bag, and the medicine boxes on the floor. She was not the one in the wrong room. She opened her mouth to call the slave back, then stopped. There was something odd about the sleeper. Keeping away from the bed and ready to spring toward the open door, she reached out and fumbled with the window latch. Eventually one shutter swung open.
That was when she screamed.

A couple of flies rose from the pillow and circled around the room. The slaves all arrived at once and crowded into the doorway, craning around each other to gawp at the bloodstained snout of a dead pig poking out from under the sheet. The pig was lying on the pillow where Tilla had woken this morning next to her husband.
Somebody said, “Who put that there?”
Tilla swallowed and forced herself to step forward. Gripping the bedding between finger and thumb, she whipped the blankets back. The “body” was nothing but a couple of cushions.
Standing above the bed, she could see that the spatter of blood up the snout was an arrangement of letters. They were clumsily done—it must be hard to write on a pig’s snout with blood—but she managed to spell out enough to know what it said. One word.
TRAITOR.
She turned to face the slaves. “Did anyone see who put this here?”
But of course nobody had. The manager appeared, stared at the head in horror, and then hurried to promise investigations, punishments, and disposal of the offending object. He assigned Tilla a new room on the opposite side of the courtyard, escorting her there personally while the slaves followed with her baggage and the boxes of medicines. He promised to send warmed wine to soothe her nerves, and a message to alert her husband.
In the end, he seemed so worried about her that Tilla found she was trying to comfort him instead of the other way round. It was only a pig. Just someone’s idea of a silly joke. She was not hurt. She just wanted a clean bed, and this one would be fine, thank you. No, there was no need to leave one of the girls with her.
But when she was alone, someone rapped on the door of the new room and she found herself on her feet, knife in hand, before she had time to reason with her fear. It was a struggle to form the words “Who is it?” and only when it really was the slave with the warmed wine did she feel safe enough to put the knife away.

^{HE PROBLEM WITH}
the dog bite—apart from the damage, the shock, and the pain—was that it was behind him. From the front, Ruso looked perfectly capable of paying attention to someone else’s problems. Greeted by “Sir, the window in the blanket store’s been leaking and the bedding is all musty,” he was tempted to reply,
I don’t care! I’ve just been chased and bitten by a bloody great wolf dog!

“Should we launder it, sir? Do you think the emperor will mind a few wet blankets?”
“The Praetorians will,” he pointed out. “They’re sleeping in them.”
“We’ll just air them, then, sir, shall we?”
“Good idea.”
He was relieved to find the treatment room empty. It was only a dog bite. There was no point in wasting other people’s time, and besides, he was no longer sure he trusted anyone else.
With the worst of the blood wiped off, he lay on his back on the table, raised his left leg in the air, and contorted himself to an angle at which he could examine the jagged tooth marks. It was perversely disappointing not to have something more dramatic to prove how nearly he had ended up as dog food. He reached for the cloth, took a deep breath, and swore as the vinegar penetrated the torn skin.
He was concentrating on the agony of prodding one of the deeper recesses when he heard a discreet cough, glanced through the crook of his left knee, and saw a three men standing in the doorway, watching him.
“I see I’m interrupting,” said Accius.
Ruso rolled over and sat up, wincing as the wound came into contact with the wooden bench. “I was bitten by a dog, sir.”
“I’m here to inspect and encourage,” Accius informed him. He might have added,
Not to hear more of your complaining.
“Any problems?”
“None that I’m aware of, sir.”
“Good.” Accius squinted at a couple of writing tablets held out to him by a secretary. “Looks like the heralds have whipped up a good crowd,” he said, handing the first one back. “Tell them to send plenty of patrols out to keep order. And make sure the crowds know to cheer and wave, not just stare like simpletons.”
The news on the second tablet seemed to surprise him. “Already? This is turning into a circus. Tell them to wait outside. They’ll have to give them to his secretary at Headquarters tomorrow.”
He turned back to Ruso. “Embassies and petitions. Swarming round like ants after honey. Anyway, it’s just as well I had the men smarten up their kit yesterday, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think we’ll put on a good show. Which reminds me: your wife.”
Ruso felt himself tense.
“She seems like a practical sort. Ask her to report to the legate’s house, will you? Some steward chap of Hadrian’s has turned up to oversee things, and he’s making a fuss. I’ve sent my own staff in to help, so she won’t be on her own.”
Housework. All he wanted was housework. Nothing to do with informants and names and consequences. Ruso should have been insulted to hear his wife and Accius’s slaves mentioned in the same breath, but instead he was relieved. Hoping she was somewhere a message could reach her, he said, “I’ll see what she can do, sir.”
“She doesn’t know any decent entertainers around here, I suppose?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“No, of course not. Respectable married woman. Well, we shall have to do without. Somebody found a juggler, but he wasn’t up to much. Did Geminus have a word, by the way?”
“After his dog bit me, sir.”
“Good. I had a chat with him on the way to worship last night. He took it like the man I always knew he was. Shame you weren’t there. He could have put your mind at rest personally.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re not a follower of Mithras, are you, Ruso?”
“No, sir.”
“You should consider it. Not only an inspiration, but you make good contacts. Friends wherever you go.”
Ruso, whose former clerk was miles away in Verulamium and whose old friend Valens was somewhere sucking up to people more important than himself, felt suddenly like the only man left out of the club.
“Geminus has his rough edges, but he’s a fine centurion. Staunch. A lot of men owe their lives to him. I couldn’t allow the end of his career to be blighted by unfounded rumors.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, onward! Tell your men to keep up the good work.”
Accius was enjoying himself. Hadrian might not be his family’s choice for emperor but this was his chance to shine, and he knew it. “Not long to go now. Eboracum’s luck has turned.”
“I hope so, sir. Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“There is,” said Accius. “When Hadrian gets here, stay out of his way.”