Tabula Rasa (35 page)

“The Legion,” Ruso explained, deciding to stick to the truth as far as possible. “I’m helping Tribune Accius sort this out.”

There was a sound behind the slave. Another figure was moving toward them. “Who’s there?” demanded a woman who sounded as though she was not expecting to like the answer. At that point it seemed to dawn on the slave that he had not asked.

“Medical Officer Ruso from Parva,” Ruso explained, rescuing him.

“He’s come to see the master,” the slave told her, shifting to one side in the gloom of the corridor to reveal a short woman with her hair pulled back from her forehead as if it were a nuisance.

She looked Ruso up and down. “The master’s not here.”

Ruso, wishing she would go back to wherever she had come from, carried on talking to the man. “We realize this puts your master in an awkward position, but if he’s willing to testify, we’re prepared to accept that he didn’t know he was receiving stolen goods.”

“The master doesn’t receive stolen goods!” exclaimed the woman. “Who’s been telling you that? This is an honest business.”

“We know,” said Ruso. “But anyone can be deceived. So the sooner he brings the boy back, the better.”

The woman said, “What boy?” at exactly the same moment as the man said, “I’ll tell the master when he comes home, sir.”

“Will that be today?”

“Probably not, sir.”

“When?”

“We don’t know,” said the woman.

“What do you do if anyone arrives to conduct business?”

“This great oaf takes messages,” the woman said, prodding the man in the ribs.

“Tell me how to find your master,” he said, “and I’ll go and sort things out with him before he gets into worse trouble.”

The man looked at the woman, who said, “We don’t know where he is.”

Ruso was losing patience. “Then how do you get messages to him?”

“He’ll send someone,” said the woman primly. “When he’s ready.”

Ruso wondered if it would be possible to get the official questioner back from wherever he had gone. This dancing around the truth was a waste of time. The gods alone knew where Branan would end up unless they got hold of him fast. Recalling the name mentioned by the brothel keeper, Ruso asked, “Has he gone to Coria to see Lupus?”

Again the man looked at the woman, and that told Ruso what he needed to know. He put one hand on the latch. “Tell him he needs to hand the boy in at the nearest army base straightaway and have them send a message back to the fort at Parva. The longer the boy is away, the worse it gets for your master.”

He stopped himself just in time from saying,
Everyone will be looking out for the boy, so he can’t be sold.
If that were the case, their master might think his safest course was to do away with Branan, deny all knowledge of everything, and blame his slave for talking nonsense. Instead Ruso thanked them for their help and stressed the urgency of the message.

He was at the end of the street, searching his purse for small coins for small boys, when he heard the man’s voice behind him requesting, “A quick word, sir.”

His spirits rose as the slave looked round to make sure the woman had not followed him. They sank again when he heard, “I wanted to ask about joining the Legion, sir.”

Ruso looked at him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Only free citizens can enroll.”

“I’m hoping to be freed shortly,” the man explained. “Freedmen can join now.”

“Are you sure?” Ruso had heard this somewhere before. It seemed to be a common misconception.

“Your man who sold the boy. He’s a freedman. I recognized him.”

Ruso was about to respond when he heard the woman shout, “What are you doing out there?”

“You must be mistaken,” Ruso told him, willing the woman to go away. “What did you think his name was?”

The slave shook his head. “I’m no good with names, sir. And it was some years back, but I remember that face. We were sold by the same dealer. I think he went to a family down south.”

The woman was hurrying toward them. “What are you telling him?” she called. “You keep your mouth shut!”

“Describe the man you remember,” Ruso urged.

The slave looked nonplussed. “But you’ve got him locked up. You said.”

“I’m just trying to compare . . .” But Ruso was floundering, and the slave knew it. Ruso backed toward the horse and freed the reins.

“Where’s he going?” demanded the woman. “What have you said to him, you great lump?”

Ruso grabbed the saddle and vaulted up, but the slave had seized the horse by the bridle. He was saying, “Sir, my master—agh! Get off!”

Smacked on the nose, the horse unclamped its teeth from the man’s arm and danced sideways. Ruso kicked it into motion, not caring which way it went as long as it was out of there. By the time he managed to catch hold of the reins and regain some sort of control, he was careering up Vindolanda’s main street and terrified pedestrians were darting for cover. Glancing back, he saw people running after him. The slave was clutching the bitten arm, but whatever he was yelling was lost beneath the clatter of hooves on stone.

“Good horse!” Ruso told it as it swerved to avoid a pack mule and an old man with a sack over one shoulder. When he reached the road he turned east, speeding toward Coria.

Chapter 55

He tried to hail a couple of official dispatch riders on the way to Coria, but both deliberately rode straight toward him, so he had to dodge as they thundered past in a blur of flying manes and hooves. He should have paused to ask Accius for a permit, although how they would see him waving it at that speed, he did not know. Instead he pulled in down by the river at Cilurnum to give the horse a brief rest and send identical messages to Accius and Tilla:

O
n the way to question slave trader in Coria. Hopeful.

Coria was a busy little town on a crossroads, and like Vindolanda, it had grown up under emperors who did not dream of Great Walls. Its lush meadows and broad river valley made it a favorite leave destination, but by the time Ruso reached it he was too weary to appreciate it. Even the horse was too tired to bite anyone as it was led into the stables at the fort. There were dark patches of sweat on its coat and its mouth was flecked with foam. Ruso’s suspicion that he did not look a great deal better was confirmed when the groom directed him to the bathhouse without being asked. Instead, he left a message for the commanding officer and then hurried through the streets to the Phoenix Inn.

Nisus had stayed there for the whole of his leave, as Ruso had expected. The owner knew of the slave trader called Lupus, who was often in town, but did not know where he might be found at the moment. Since it was close, he tried the
mansio
next. The manager seemed to think his arrival was some kind of test and assured him that an establishment funded by taxpayers did not accommodate that sort of person. Ruso was willing to bet that it would accommodate almost any sort of person if there were no official visitors in residence and the guest was willing to pay, but he did not bother to argue. He and Tilla had spent some time in Coria a few years ago, and he knew someone who would be far more helpful in the hunt for the slave trader.

“Doctor!” cried Susanna. Her tone of surprise caused several of her customers to look up from their food. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m trying to find someone.”

She looked perplexed for a moment, then held out both arms, offering a public embrace he wasn’t expecting. “It is good to see you! How long has it been?”

“Too long,” he said, glancing around the brightly decorated snack shop and comparing it favorably with Ria’s. He could not imagine Ria hugging anyone. Or paying anyone to paint scenery on the walls.

Susanna’s necklace sparkled and her hair was more subtly colored than before. He said, “You look well.”

“Hard work and the goodness of God, Doctor. Sit down. You look worn-out. What can I get you?”

He had intended to rush, but she was right: He was tired, and he needed to eat. He sat, leaning back against a wall on which peacocks and doves strutted in a rather blotchy garden. Before he could order anything, Susanna had joined him and dispatched one of her girls—not one he remembered—to bring them both drinks and him a bowl of pancakes with honey. “You’ll like them,” she promised. “Now, let’s see, what’s happened to everybody since you were here? I hear you and Tilla are married and having a blessing!”

“We married in Gaul,” he told her. Her face fell when he explained who he was looking for. “We heard. That poor family. Such a terrible thing, and in daylight too! They’re lucky they have you there to help.”

It was not a popular view, but he enjoyed hearing it anyway. Conscious of the couple on the next table now straining to catch every word, he leaned closer to ask a delicate question.

“Lupus?” Susanna considered her answer for a moment. Then she said, “Yes. Yes, I’d say he might. It’s a pity you weren’t here yesterday. He was sitting at that table over there.”

He blinked. Surely it couldn’t be that easy?

It wasn’t. “But he was leaving town today.”

“I need to know whether he sold the boy on while he was here,” he said. “If he didn’t, I need to find him.”

A soft hand closed over his. “You leave the locals to me, Doctor. If that little boy’s here, I’ll find out.”

After a faintly embarrassing pause while she gazed deep into his eyes, Susanna let go. “Aemilia will be sorry to have missed you,” she said. “They’re out of town.”

“That’s a shame,” he said, relieved. Tilla’s cousin Aemilia meant well, but today he did not have time to listen to her.

“In fact, I thought . . .” She stopped. “Well, I must have misunderstood.” She patted him on the hand. “You enjoy your meal while I just pop out and ask where Lupus went. I’ll get the girls to pack you up some food to take with you.”

Ruso allowed himself to relax back against the doves and peacocks. Finally, somebody was pleased to see him. Better still, she seemed to know what to do.

The pancakes arrived, generously dolloped with honey, and as he sliced each golden surface and rolled it onto his spoon, he began to word his next message to Tilla. He would tell Accius as well, of course, but he wanted to imagine Tilla crouching beside the old man and saying, “Good news! Your boy is on the way home!” He could imagine the welcome as he rode back to the farm with the boy seated—no, two on a horse would never work over that distance. He would get a pony assigned to the boy. Or maybe they would arrive in style, in an official vehicle supplied by the local commandant. The news would have run ahead of them. Neighbors, weary with searching but elated, would be lining the road, cheering and waving. Locals and foreigners together, differences forgotten in the joy of knowing that a missing child was safe and well. Ruso would sit back in the carriage and smile the satisfied smile of a man whose efforts had been justly rewarded, and modestly tell everyone that Fortune had been kind to him and that he was glad to have been able to help.

The elation did not last.

Chapter 56

Ruso had arrived at the wrong time of day for a man who wanted a fresh horse. Everything was either out or worn out. Finally he was granted the reserve mount: a mare with a peculiarly uncomfortable gait and reins repaired with twine.

Luckily, Lupus’s cartload of caged stock trundled along no faster than the couple of dozen slaves chained behind it could walk. Three men with clubs were assigned to encourage them, but even so, the assembly was only a couple of miles out of town and heading east when Ruso found it. That was when his vision of triumph began to fade.

He surveyed the lines of chained slaves as he passed, but there was no sign of Branan. The cage held only a nursing mother and a couple of small children. There were two men at the front of the vehicle: one who was driving the mules and another whose skinny neck poking out from a mound of furs reminded Ruso of an ostrich. “Lupus?”

It was, but Lupus did not recall any native boy sold to his agent in Vindolanda.

“We know he bought him,” insisted Ruso, struck by a sudden fear that the agent might have got rid of the boy privately rather than deliver him to Lupus. “There are witnesses.”

The neck sank into the furs as if fearing attack.

“If we don’t find him, the family can still prosecute your agent for receiving stolen goods.” It ought to be true, although he had no idea whether it was.

The neck twisted round. “Piso!”

Lupus signaled Ruso away with one skinny arm while a bald-headed man with muscular shoulders and a club in one hand strode forward to speak to him. So this was the man Ruso had failed to find in Vindolanda. He guessed the big slave who had said too much would be meeting the blunt end of that club when his master got home.

After a moment’s consultation the bald man retreated and Ruso was summoned back.

“My man in Vindolanda bought the boy in good faith. The seller said the family had handed him over to pay off a debt.”

“Did he ask the boy if that was true?”

“The families don’t usually tell them. Otherwise they run away before we collect.”