Semper Fidelis: A Novel of the Roman Empire

by Ruth Downie

  There was no sign of Valens. A Praetorian who had clambered up onto a cart waved them away. He was busy trying to organize drivers whose vehicles were crammed too close to move no matter how much they were yelled at. Someone told them that the procurator’s carriage was still inside the fort. The informant had no idea where—or who—the procurator’s doctor was.

  Eventually she heard someone calling her name. Before she could respond, several bored travelers took up the cry. There was a mocking chorus of “Tilla! Hey, Tilla! Come on Tilla, you’re late!” and a round of applause when she appeared.

  Valens too looked as if he had been awake all night. He paid off the boy and seized her bags.

  She said, “Is there any news?”

  “Not yet.” He lifted the bags into the air, maneuvering past a stall where a couple of foreign-looking slaves were haggling over the price of coats with hoods to keep the rain off. Finally he deposited them in the back of a worm-eaten two-wheeler that smelled of sheep. Its lone mule was being held by a boy not much older than the one who had just brought Tilla here. “This is Celer,” announced Valens. “He’s promised me he’s a safe driver. I’ll pop back and see you whenever I can.”

  “But where—”

  “Ruso’s fine,” said Valens. “I saw him last night. He sends his good wishes.” Drawing back from the cart, he murmured, “Sorry about this, but it’s all I could find. You should be all right: The mule doesn’t look capable of running off.”

  “But where is it going?”

  “We’re traveling with the emperor,” he said, as if he had just told her something good. “Well, a little behind him, actually.”

  “But where is—”

  “I promised Ruso I’d look after you.”

  “But—”

  He seized her by the elbow. “Jump in,” he urged. “Get yourself comfortable. The emperor should appear at any moment and then we’ll be off.”

  She stood her ground. “What about—”

  “He’s with the Twentieth. Give me your arm—”

  “We are following the emperor while my husband is going west to Deva?”

  “Please get in the cart, Tilla.”

  “The emperor is going north, to where his wall cuts my people’s land in two.”

  “You’ll be able to see your family. How long has it been?”

  “But I have to go where my husband goes.”

  “Dear girl, you don’t understand. He doesn’t want you there. He made me promise to take you with me.” Valens flashed her one of his charming smiles. “You don’t think I’d dare to argue with you otherwise, do you?”

  She almost smiled back. “You are very kind, but—”

  “Tilla, if you don’t get in this cart, what are you going to do?” His voice hardened. “They won’t let you near him. You’ll be alone with several hundred men. He’s got no authority anymore and you haven’t even got a maid to protect you. This isn’t the time to be stupidly brave. This is the time to think, Poor old Ruso has enough things to worry about, so I won’t give him another one.”

  Tilla leaned back against the worm-holed boarding. “There is just me in this cart?”

  “There wasn’t time to find a chaperone.” He gestured toward the melee of vehicles. “But as soon as that lot get moving, I’m sure you can find some local woman who needs a lift.”

  And you will come back and see me when you can?”

  “I promised I would look after you. I intend to take my duties very seriously.”

  “Then I thank you for keeping your promise.” She gathered up her skirts in one hand, seized the side of the cart, placed a foot on the wheel hub, and swung up without his help.

  When she was in, she crouched and looked over the side at him. “Valens, did you tell the tribune anything about the people in the house where I was staying?”

  He frowned. “Should I have?”

  “No,” she said. “But somebody did.”

  Chapter 59

  The hound guardian of the underworld barked “Breakfast!” and the gates of Hades crashed shut.

  Ruso opened his eyes, squinted at the new bowl of slop that had been placed inside the cell door, and realized with relief that he was not being crucified after all. He winced as he eased his stiff body into a new position, trying to angle his raised arms so that the cuffs bit into a different area of flesh. It provided some temporary relief.

  There are eight bones in the human wrist. And not enough padding around them.

  Very soon the skin would break down. There would be sores. He had tried lining the cuffs with corners of the blanket during the night, and woken up shivering.

  Since the only window faced north, he had no idea what the time was, and no way of finding out.

  The slop was paler than last night’s offering but smelled no better, although it was hard to tell over the stench of the bucket in the corner. He hoped he would be out of here before he was starved enough to eat it.

  He had tried asking the guards last night, but if they knew any more than Valens about the travel plans, they were not telling. He realized now what a privileged position he had held as an officer. Of course, he had never known the secrets that were whispered in the legate’s private rooms—unless a patient happened to let something slip—but at least he had been entitled to know the official version given out at morning briefings. Now he had no information, no responsibilities, and no right to decide anything. Not even what he would eat for breakfast. From now on, unless he could find a way out of these chains, his every action would be decided by other people.

  Tilla was safe: He had seen to that. He was almost certain that Valens would take his responsibility seriously, because he was a friend, and because Tilla was an attractive young woman, and because it would make Valens look like a hero, and that would please him enormously.

  There were people outside his window. He caught a snatch of a discussion about the state of the roads. And then a blast from a trumpet, and a voice that said, “See you later,” and he supposed Hadrian was about to set off for the border, and Tilla would be going too, and he was reminding himself to be glad about that when the guards opened up his cell and threw in a new prisoner.

  Ruso waited until they had gone before saying, “You’re Victor.” It sounded better than You’re the deserter or I see they’ve caught you at last, then.

  The young man shifted until he could reach up a fist to wipe the blood trickling from his left nostril. Then he looked down at the fist, spat on it, and tried wiping again. The streak across his upper lip became a messy smear in the ginger stubble.

  Ruso said, “We’ve met.”

  Victor slumped against the wall and glared at the army boots that had betrayed him at their last meeting.

  “By the river at Calcaria,” Ruso prompted. He was not sure why he felt responsible for lifting the youth’s low spirits. He was not an officer anymore. Still, a gloomy companion could lower a man’s own morale. “Have you any idea what they’re doing with us?”

  Victor glanced up from his feet. “Leave me alone.”

  Ruso closed his eyes and leaned back. If the youth wanted to sulk, he was not going to argue. Some people did not want to be cheerful. At the moment he was one of them himself.

  An hour passed, or half an hour, or two hours: It was hard to mark the space between the watches when they were punctuated only by the use of the bucket and the frequent need to change the position of his arms. With every passing moment, the absence of a parting message from Tilla became more apparent. So did his disappointment. It seemed Valens’s charm had been so persuasive that she had forgotten about him entirely.

  “It was your woman, wasn’t it?”

  Victor’s words startled him out of his thoughts. “What?”

  “I knew we were fools to trust her.”

  “What was my woman?”

  “Sneaky little cow. Sits by our hearth, eats our food, and this is the thanks we get.”

  “You think Tilla betrayed you?”
r />   “Who else?”

  “Almost anyone else,” said Ruso.

  “Well, it didn’t work. They haven’t let you out.”

  “Not Tilla,” insisted Ruso, but in the silence that followed he began to wonder if he was wrong. Perhaps there was hope. Tilla would never have betrayed the husband of a friend for desertion—but for murder? It was possible. If Victor had been hiding in Eboracum with his family, he could have seized the chance to take revenge on Geminus under the cover of darkness. Perhaps her message was already here, sitting in front of him, while she was negotiating his freedom.

  He felt the muscles in his shoulders relax until a stab of pain from his right wrist reminded him of where he was, and that there was still the business of the insubordination. He could, in theory, be executed for that as well. Perhaps that was why they were keeping him here even though Victor had been caught.

  “Up!” roared a voice outside the cell door. The lock rattled. The door burst open. Had they come to release him?

  “Shift your arses, the pair of you. We don’t want the bother of burning your stinking carcasses here. They can do it on the road.”

  Chapter 60

  There were cheers—perhaps of relief—from the waiting travelers when the soldiers finally cleared the road and the emperor rode out of the north gate of Eboracum. Valens, mounted on a gray horse behind a gleaming carriage, drew admiring glances from some of the local women as he passed through the crowd who had come back to take a second look at the emperor. He caught sight of Tilla seated in the cart and gave a nod of approval. She smiled, knowing the women were looking at her with envy. A woman from these islands who had a man in the imperial party!

  If only they knew.

  Once the official travelers had set off, the soldiers who were not escorting them marched back inside the fort. The locals scattered. The civilian vehicles made a brief surge forward … and stopped. Nobody seemed to know what was causing the holdup.

  Celer tied the reins, jumped down, and ran ahead. Moments later he returned with the news that two wagons had gone for the same gap and were now blocking the road with their wheels locked together. Tilla yawned and rolled up her blanket to make a pillow. This was going to be a long wait. She had grown used to the sheep smell, and there was nothing to do now but sleep.

  It seemed only moments later that she was jolted awake. Pulling herself up, she peered over the side. The walls of Eboracum were growing smaller behind them, and her husband was farther away with every bump in the road.

  He doesn’t want you there. He made me promise to take you with me.

  Was this how it ended? With him sending her away?

  She curled up again. The sun would bring out the freckles on her nose. It was hard to care. It was hard to sleep too. Finally she gave up and opened her eyes. A figure was sitting beside her in the cart. She blinked. The figure was still there. “Virana?”

  “You were asleep,” said Virana, as if that excused her inviting herself into someone else’s vehicle.

  “But what are you doing here?” The pink dress was looking cleaner than before, and as the cart lurched and Virana grabbed the side to steady herself, Tilla could see that the hole was bigger. “Does your mother know where you are?”

  Virana wrinkled her nose. “She told me to go away.”

  Tilla sat up straight. “She didn’t mean this far. Get down and go straight home.”

  “Is it true they’ve arrested the doctor and Victor and they might cut their heads off?”

  “Go home!”

  “Corinna wouldn’t talk to me. She’s upset about Victor.”

  “Yes.”

  “She said you were a treacherous bitch. I told her you weren’t.”

  “You are right and she is wrong. Now, go home.”

  Virana pouted. “I’ve got money. I can buy my own food.”

  “Get down!” This was worse than talking to a dog.

  Tilla was too busy arguing to notice the roan mare that had drawn up alongside them, and was startled when its rider wished her a good journey. It was another traveler she did not wish to see.

  Metellus indicated the road ahead. “North. I think you’ve made a very wise choice.”

  Tilla lifted her chin and tried to ignore Virana staring at Metellus with her mouth open. “Was it you who betrayed Victor?”

  “Was that his name?”

  “Have you been watching me?”

  Metellus shook his head sadly. “If only I had the time. I confess I had quite lost interest in you until I heard someone was claiming to have had secret meetings with the empress.”

  “The empress and I talked about nothing!”

  Metellus nodded. “So I hear. But occasionally a surveillance of one person happens to turn up someone else of interest. The informant who was keeping an eye on you started to wonder why the deserter’s wife was buying so much food if she was only feeding two women and a toddler.”

  So that was how it had been done. Corinna would be mortified. She said, “The men who took him came back specially to thank me for betraying him.”

  “Yes.” If a snake could smile, that was what it would look like. “That was a nice touch, I thought.” He dug his spurs into the roan’s flanks and it sprang forward, taking him away before she could think of a curse foul enough.

  “He is not a nice man,” observed Virana. She watched the roan ease through a gap. “He is quite good-looking, though.”

  “Get down, before you have a long walk back.”

  “You can’t throw me out on the road. I’m your patient: You have to look after me.”

  “We are barely out of Eboracum. And we aren’t going to Deva.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Tilla half rose, stabbing a forefinger at the ground. “Down! Right this moment, or I will throw you out.”

  Virana slumped into a corner and folded her arms. “I don’t mind not going to Deva. There will be plenty of soldiers at the border.”

  Tilla leaned forward. “Celer, pull off the road!”

  The lad turned. “Here, miss?”

  “Anywhere we won’t get stuck.”

  Stopping was no problem, but Celer had been hired to follow the emperor and needed to be offered several half-truths and more money before he agreed to turn the cart around. Finally the road cleared of riders and baggage wagons and the number of pedestrians thinned out. Celer was able to swing the mules out onto the hard surface and bring the cart around. Meanwhile Tilla had made two skinny little girls repeat her message in their mother’s hearing before handing them a small coin each and promising there would be more when the job was done. “We give him the scroll,” they chanted, “and we say, ‘Tilla thanks you, Doctor Valens. She says she is not traveling alone and may the gods give you good health and a safe journey,’ and we do not tell him until everyone stops for a rest at midday.”

  Talking was so much quicker than writing. The mother, who was carrying a toddler on her shoulders and now a scroll of Catullus’s poems in one hand, seemed grateful for the cash. She hurried the family away to catch up with their luggage.

  “You have a choice now,” Tilla hissed to Virana as Celer urged the mule back the way they had just come. “You learn to keep quiet and do as you are told, or I take you home again.”

  “I can keep quiet.”

  “And leave me alone when I tell you to. I will have things to do that are private, and I cannot always have you trailing around with me like a strand of goose grass.”

  “What things will you have to do?”

  Tilla rummaged in her bag for a spare tunic. “First, I will hold the blanket around you while you put something sensible on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Wherever my husband goes,” said Tilla.

  “Oh, yes!” agreed Virana as she disappeared inside the blanket. “That is exactly what I would do. And I can help you with all the private things!”

  Chapter 61

  The praetorians were streaming out of the fortre
ss in the sunlight like one huge shining creature with many legs. The barbs of spears rose above their glittering helmets like bristles.

  “So fierce!” gasped Virana, as if it were a good thing. “What do we do now?”

  “More waiting.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Leaving her husband to face trouble alone would be very wrong. Knowing what was right was more difficult.

  The carriage that must hold the empress was enormous, pulled by six black horses whose coats gleamed almost as brightly as the freshly washed paintwork. No doubt there would be soft beds inside so the wealthy passengers could rest while everyone else was out in all weathers, escorting them safely across lands where they had no business to be.

  “Here they come!” cried Virana. The sound of jingling and clanking pots and pans accompanied the march of the men from the Twentieth: The Praetorians must have commandeered the baggage wagons, while the Twentieth had all their personal kit slung on their backs or loaded onto mules. Tilla recognized Accius on a leggy bay stallion. The squat centurion riding alongside him was Dexter, friend of the murdered Geminus.

  Virana was enjoying herself. “There’s Marcus, and … Victor! Victor, it’s me! Cheer up!” She turned to Tilla. “They’ve chained him up like a slave! Do they think he’ll run away again?” Before Tilla could answer, she said, “I can’t see the Medicus, can you?”

  Tilla raised one hand and pointed to a covered wagon that had just emerged from the gates. Behind it was a figure whose bearing and boots said he was a soldier. The loop of chain between the back of the wagon and his wrists told another story. Tilla leapt down from the cart, waited until Dexter was shouting at a man who had dropped something, and then ran across the rough grass toward the wagon.

  “Husband!”