Semper Fidelis: A Novel of the Roman Empire

by Ruth Downie

  She wrapped her hands around the cup to stop them trembling. “There was no problem with his mind last time I saw him.”

  Valens gave her the look he would have given a patient who had disagreed with his diagnosis. “He looked me in the eye and asked if I was dead, Tilla.”

  “Oh.” Gripped by a sudden worry she said, “Is he thirsty? He was bitten by a dog.”

  “It didn’t look like hydrophobia, no.”

  She said, “I was the one who wanted him to appeal to the emperor. I thought it would help.”

  Valens looked blank. “Help what?”

  It occurred to Tilla later that if the local gossips had enjoyed seeing the wife of the murderous doctor breaking bread with a handsome stranger, they must be even more excited now that stranger and doctor’s wife had taken a long and unchaperoned walk together beside the river. The fact that stranger and wife kept a respectable distance would not, of course, be reported. Nor—and this was why they had gone there—would anything that they said to each other on that walk.

  “So,” said Valens as they passed beneath the trailing willow on their return, “if it wasn’t Ruso who cut this chap’s throat—which I must say I found very hard to believe when they told me—who was it?”

  “Plenty of people had a reason. But it was dark, and there was a lot of fighting going on. How can anyone know which of them did it?”

  Valens sighed. “He really should have left all this alone until you got back to Deva. The recruits would have backed him up once the centurion wasn’t in a position to frighten them anymore.”

  “He saw the boy jump from the roof,” she said. “And he was angry about the boy who might lose his arm. He could not stand by and watch a patient being treated that way. His student had the courage to write a report, and he did not want to let him down.”

  Valens’s smile was brief but as handsome as ever. “He just can’t resist taking on other people’s problems, can he?”

  “No,” said Tilla. “That is why I like him.”

  Chapter 55

  He had tried shouting for Valens, but nobody took any notice apart from the guard, who yelled back that if he didn’t shut his face, they would come and do it for him. So he sat listening to the distant bellow of orders, the scrape of boots on stone, low voices outside, and the occasional sneeze. They should have sounded the change of watch by now. Perhaps he had missed it while he was asleep. Perhaps he had been too busy shouting.

  He tried not to think about Tilla, waiting for a message that would never come. There was nothing he could do for her except try to keep her out of this. He should have stayed out of it himself.

  Valens was going to tell everyone he was out of his mind.

  Perhaps he was.

  He squinted up at the window. Was the light fading, or was he imagining it? He squirmed, careful not to knock over the bucket as he tried to arrange the blanket around his shoulders. He supposed he could lie down if he slid the chain through the ring so one hand was in the air. Maybe they would take the cuffs off at night.

  Maybe they wouldn’t.

  Maybe they would feed him.

  Maybe the water was all he would get. He should have saved some.

  He tried the diversion of reciting all the bones in the body, working down the left side to the toes and then back up. Each toe and finger separately, just to waste time. He lost his place somewhere in the right hand.

  Footsteps outside. Someone sneezed as the lock scraped open.

  Ruso’s hopes of explaining everything to Valens were dashed by the sight of a nondescript figure in a plain tunic who could have passed almost anywhere unnoticed. Unfortunately there was no avoiding him here, and he was the only person Ruso could think of at the moment whom he did not want to see.

  Metellus waited until he heard the lock fall into place. “Ruso.”

  This did not seem to require an answer.

  “Your friend is doing his best to convince them you’re insane.”

  “No doubt hampered by my history of violence to fellow officers.”

  Metellus was either smiling or baring his teeth: It was hard to tell in the gloom. “I felt the events of our last meeting were relevant to the case.”

  “I’d do it again.”

  “You aren’t helping yourself, Ruso.”

  “Get me out of here. You know I didn’t do it.”

  Metellus shook his head. “Sadly, I know nothing at all. I wasn’t there. And as I’m sure I must have explained to you in the past, it doesn’t matter what really happens. What matters is what people believe. Can you imagine what it would do for discipline if the common soldiers believe a man can murder a centurion under the nose of his emperor and escape punishment by pretending to be mad?”

  “If they find out that a man who’s trying to help them is punished for a murder he didn’t commit, that won’t do much for discipline, either.”

  “Oh, Ruso.” Metellus sighed. “Sometimes you don’t seem to grasp how the world works. Those men out there won’t care who gets the blame, as long as it isn’t them. Believe me, if I thought it would do any good, I would vouch for you. But the Praetorian prefect needs someone to punish. And you’ve made yourself very unpopular here. I imagine he’s keeping you stored away in case he can’t find a better candidate.”

  “You imagine?” said Ruso. “Have you spoken to him?”

  “If he wants you to know his plans, no doubt he’ll tell you.”

  “Answer the question, you slippery bastard.”

  “There’s no need to resort to insults. The question you should be asking is about the welfare of the lovely Tilla.”

  “Keep away from her.”

  Metellus opened both hands as if to demonstrate that he bore neither malice nor weaponry. “She has no need of my help. She has the handsome tribune to protect her now.”

  “Out!” The chains pulled him up short. “Get out!”

  The guard must have been listening outside the door. Metellus’s teeth appeared for a moment, then he was gone. He had, Ruso knew, achieved exactly what he wanted. And knowing that was even more infuriating.

  The substance in the bowl (he would have to slurp it or dig it out with his fingers, since he had no spoon) reminded him of the slop they had been feeding to Austalis. The surface had the texture of goatskin with wet cow pie underneath.

  He put it to one side. Stretched out and with his pelvis twisted to one side, he managed to kick the door. “Hey! You with the sneeze?”

  No reply, but was that the scrape of a footstep outside the door? “When you get off duty, go over to the hospital and ask them to give you some bay leaves to sniff. Keep your eyes shut when you do it.”

  No reply.

  “And while you’re over there, tell them to get the procurator’s doctor to look at Austalis.”

  Still no reply.

  He had done his best. He sat back and contemplated the contents of the bowl, wondering how long it would be before he was hungry enough to eat it.

  Chapter 56

  The cell was dark and the slop still untouched when a more welcome visitor than Metellus arrived. Blinking in the lamplight, Ruso said, “I’m quite sane, you know.”

  “I know,” said Valens, lowering the lamp to inspect the floor before committing himself. “Tilla explained. But I’m sticking to the diagnosis. It’s your best chance.”

  “How is she?”

  “Worried about you.” Valens tugged across enough of the rough gray blanket to sit on.

  Ruso felt the warmth of his friend’s shoulder as they both leaned back against the wall in the cramped space. “I want you to take her with you when you go.”

  “It won’t come to that.”

  “Just in case.”

  Valens said, “She won’t want to come.”

  “Use your charm on her. It works on every other bloody woman.”

  Valens delved into the folds of his tunic and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. “I brought you this.”

  While Ruso
gnawed the meat from a chicken leg and wished it had belonged to something bigger—a turkey, a swan, an ostrich, a horse—Valens explained the plans that he was no longer important enough to be told.

  “Practically everyone’s clearing out in the morning. Hadrian’s taking his own people and every spare man he can find up to the wall site, but the empress says she’s had enough, so she’s going across to Deva to visit a friend and wait for him there.”

  Ruso tried to muster an interest in the imperial travel plans, and failed. “What about me?”

  “I’m coming to that. Clarus will have to send half his Praetorians off with Hadrian, so they want what’s left of the Twentieth to bolster the escort for Sabina. They’ve put some chap called Dexter in charge of the recruits. I’d imagine you’ll be going with them.”

  At least he would be traveling with his own unit. Valens would be traveling north with the emperor’s party, taking Tilla toward her own people and safely out of Accius’s way. It was not good, but it was the best he could hope for. He said, “Geminus had it coming, you know. He and his pals were putting the recruits into danger and betting on the outcomes. Then they tried to silence the complainers.”

  “I know.”

  “Did Tilla say if she’d found out anything useful?”

  “Not yet. Clarus’s men are pressing on with the questioning tonight, but they don’t seem to be getting anything sensible out of anyone, either. It was dark, and there was a riot.”

  Ruso supposed he ought to be grateful that Clarus was bothering to investigate at all, although his witnesses would not be. People who knew nothing did not suddenly discover the truth just because they were frightened of pain. They became people who made things up, and the more desperate the witnesses, the more false signposts began to clutter the road to understanding.

  “I’d imagine they all want it to be me,” Ruso observed. “None of the commanders will want his own men blamed, and the Sixth won’t want to start here by executing any of the locals.” He frowned. “In fact, if I weren’t myself, I’d be hoping it were me too.”

  Valens did not contradict him.

  “Thanks for coming back, anyway.”

  “When you get out, you owe me four denarii. I had to give the guards one each.”

  “You were robbed.”

  “I know. And I can’t stay long. The procurator has a bad attack of gout and he’s exhausted after rushing down here. I need to be around if he calls me.”

  Ruso swallowed. Valens had his own duties. It would be neither appropriate nor dignified to grab him and beg him not to leave. Instead he said, “So you won’t be a provincial much longer?”

  Valens gave a modest shrug. “The wife didn’t want to bring the boys up in Britannia.”

  “Understandable.”

  “If Fortune’s kind to us, we’ll be in Rome by autumn.”

  “Well done.”

  Valens retrieved the chicken bones and the cloth. “You’re not a bad surgeon, you know. If things had gone differently …”

  “I’m a better surgeon than you are,” Ruso pointed out, alarmed by his friend’s sudden generosity. “I always was.”

  “Bollocks.”

  Ruso smiled.

  “I wish I could travel with you, old chap, really I do. I’m not happy leaving you like this. If there were something else I could do …”

  You could shout louder. Tell the truth to everyone you meet. Scrawl all over the walls of Headquarters, RUSO IS INNOCENT. Harass people until they listen. Tell everyone what an evil bastard Metellus is. And tell Accius if he goes near my wife, I’ll kill him. “No,” Ruso said. “You’ve done all you can.”

  “You know what it’s like. Always people waiting to push you aside. If I don’t go with the Procurator—”

  “No, absolutely. You must go. It’s a good opportunity for you.”

  “If it wasn’t for the family …”

  “Of course.”

  They had run out of words. Perhaps Valens too blamed the awkwardness of their parting embrace on the restriction of the chains.

  Ruso remembered something. “I don’t think Metellus will bother Tilla now that he’s got me locked up, but watch out for him.”

  “I promise.”

  Valens was on his feet, and then he and the lamp were gone.

  Ruso swallowed hard and began to count bones again in the dark. Then when he reached the right elbow he stopped counting bones and began to count the number of suspects in the murder of Centurion Geminus. Out of the two thousand or so soldiers and the untold number of civilians who had been in Eboracum last night, the only ones he could definitely eliminate were the recruits, Hadrian, Tilla, and himself.

  And now that he thought about it, for most of the evening he had no idea where Tilla had been.

  Chapter 57

  Lucios saw no reason to linger in bed once he was awake, and it was barely dawn when his father carried him down the ladder and wandered about, bleary-eyed, in search of breakfast. Corinna was still asleep. Tilla, her own blanket already rolled and crammed into one of the bags, found them bread and honey. She wanted none herself. After a sleepless night her stomach felt as though someone had tied a string around it and hauled it up between her lungs. She forced herself to drink a cup of water. She was washing her face when she heard the rap at the door.

  Victor leapt up, handed the entire honey jar to a surprised Lucios, and vanished into the loft. Tilla managed to trade the jar for the honey spoon before there was a sticky and costly mess, and waited. The knocking came again, followed by a child’s voice calling in Latin, “Message for the doctor’s woman!”

  When she opened the door, the boy from the brothel held out a grubby hand.

  Tilla reached for her purse. “Come in! What have you found?”

  “The man says you got to come with me, quick.”

  “Which man?”

  “I got to help carry your things.”

  “What has this to do with the centurion?”

  The boy shrugged.

  “Where did you get this message?”

  “At the north gate.”

  “Did the man give you his name?”

  The boy closed his eyes. His lips moved as he recited the message, trying to remember. The eyes opened. The words “Doctor Val—” ended in a squeak as a rough forearm clamped around his throat.

  They threw Tilla against the door frame. They pushed past her in a confusion of helmets and armor, yelling, “Out! Everybody out!”

  Corinna was shouting for Lucios above the crash of furniture being overturned.

  “Stop!” Tilla grabbed the nearest arm. “Stop it!”

  He did not even turn. The arm shook free, swung back, and hit her on the nose. She staggered sideways, gasping with the pain, her eyes filling with tears. “Stop, please!” she cried again, groping blindly with one hand and shielding her face with the other. She could hear the child howling with fright. “Lucios, where are you?”

  Footsteps above her. Corinna screaming. A confusion of angry voices. Thuds, cries of pain—Victor with “Don’t touch my family!” and Corinna with “Let him go!”— and then they were gone, leaving Corinna shouting into the street, “Be brave, husband!” and then “Rot and die in pain, you filthy cowards!”

  She gave a squeal of terror as the footsteps came back. There was a dreadful moment with a soldier standing in the doorway and no sound but Lucios whimpering and the slow drip of liquid from a broken container. At last Corinna said, “Whatever you want. Don’t hurt the boy,” but Tilla could see well enough now to know that it was not Corinna the man wanted: It was herself.

  She straightened up. He was wearing the tunic of the Twentieth Legion, but he was not someone she recognized.

  “Are you the doctor’s woman?”

  A few days ago she might have expected her husband’s unit to protect her. Now she was just another native. She should have said something brave like Where have you taken that man? but all that came out was a little squeak of “Yes.”


  He nodded. “Sorry about that, miss, but the tribune thought if we warned you, the prisoner might run off. He said to thank you for your help.”

  Tilla stared after him, still stunned by the blow in the face, unable to understand what he meant.

  “It was you?” cried Corinna.

  Tilla turned just in time. The slap only half caught her. Corinna made another lunge and missed. Tilla was out of the door before she could try again. Moments later, one of her bags flew out into the street, accompanied by “Get out and stay out, treacherous bitch!”

  Tilla stepped backward, dazed. Even at this hour there were more than a dozen people in the street, staring at her. “It wasn’t me!” she said, looking around at them. “I didn’t betray him!”

  The second bag landed at her feet. Corinna shrieked, “Get away from my son!” and kicked the medicine box, which was too heavy to throw.

  One of the onlookers took a step forward. Tilla recognized the scalded-like-a-pig woman, who said, “It was all right here till you and your man started interfering.”

  “That’s right,” agreed another voice. “Clear off.”

  The others were advancing toward her now.

  Sensing a movement, she spun round, grabbing for her knife.

  It was the boy. He heaved up one of the bags and balanced it across his thin shoulders. “Shall we go now, miss?”

  Chapter 58

  The sun was up by the time they reached the north gate. The bags seemed much heavier than when they had set out. Tilla and the boy struggled through the chaos of vehicles and pack animals. Everyone from armorers and ambassadors to jugglers and souvenir sellers seemed to be planning to set off for the border in the wake of the great man. She recognized the two junior officers who had been Geminus’s shadows. They looked somehow less frightening now that Geminus was not there to give them orders. She guessed they were heading north, safely away from the recruits who might want revenge.