Terra Incognita

by Ruth Downie

  “This is justice.”

  He took a step closer.

  She reached for the knife.

  Ruso moved to one side and saw the table wedged against the door. “This is murder.”

  “He betrayed my family,” she said simply. “He cannot deny it.”

  “I deny every word of it!” roared Catavignus. “Get me—” The sentence ended with a scream. “The roof’s on fire!”

  Ruso seized one leg of the table and hauled it clear. As he moved toward the door two firebrands were thrust in front of his face and he felt the jab of Tilla’s knife over his right kidney. “This is our business,” hissed Tilla in his ear. “He is one of our people.”

  “Bring him to the governor for trial,” insisted Ruso, straining away from the heat of the brands scorching his face. He could hear Catavignus coughing and beating on the door of the malt house.

  “The law—”

  “This is our law,” insisted Tilla. “You think we will get justice from you? He is a friend of the army. You will find an excuse—”

  “Have him tried by the governor, Tilla. Otherwise you’ll all be in terrible trouble for this.”

  “Why? What is one more dead native to the army?”

  “Don’t be naïve. He’s their friend. Their beer supplier.”

  “Hah!” she said. “This is what I tell you, they will not kill him!”

  Flames were rising from the thatch in several places. Catavignus seemed to be flinging himself against the door in a last desperate attempt to escape, and Ruso realized he had just argued himself into a circle.

  He twisted around, trying to look her in the eye. “Tilla, I’m ordering you to hand over that key!”

  She leaned over his shoulder. Her smile was almost pitying. He could not order her to do anything at all, and they both knew it. What he did not know was whether she was prepared to use that knife.

  “Confess, man!” he yelled, tensing himself ready to flail and kick his way free. Even if she stabbed him, he might still be able to get over the wall and shout for help before they caught up with him. “Confess and—”

  “Stand aside!” roared a voice he was not expecting. A squad of soldiers vaulted over the walls of the yard and surrounded the women with the points of their spears. Audax stepped forward, jammed a crowbar under the door lock, and prized it open. A filthy figure stumbled out in a billow of smoke, choking and gasping for air.

  Audax was giving orders for the fire to be put out and Ruso was extricating himself from among the women when Metellus appeared at the back entrance of the brewery. He saw Tilla and shook his head sadly. “What did I say to you earlier?”

  “He is a murderer,” said Tilla. “He betrayed my family. You heard Trenus say it!”

  Metellus frowned. “Did I?”

  “Stop playing games with her, Metellus,” put in Ruso. “He killed Felix as well.”

  Metellus sighed. “I might have known I’d find you here in the middle of it.”

  Ruso seized the spluttering Catavignus by the shoulder. “Susanna says you were there delivering the beer when Rianorix came and threatened Felix,” he said. “But when I first met you, you told the barber you didn’t know anything about it.”

  “I can’t remember.”

  Ruso hauled him to his feet and dragged him across to the water trough. When the latest soldier had filled his firefighting bucket, he plunged Catavignus headfirst into the cold water. The man’s arms flailed wildly while his long hair floated on the surface like waterweed. Ruso pulled him out again. “That should help clear the smoke from your eyes,” he said. “Felix had his debts list with him when he saw Dari. It wasn’t on his body. You destroyed it so you wouldn’t have to pay the builder.”

  “The builder was useless!”

  Whatever else Catavignus had to say about the builder rose as bubbles. When he emerged, gasping, Ruso pushed his nose toward the malt grains bobbing on the surface. “Tell the truth!”

  “Help me!” shouted Catavignus. “Metellus! Tell him to stop!”

  Metellus folded his arms and leaned back against the wall of the brewery.

  Strands of wet gray hair were plastered down Catavignus’s face as Ruso yanked him upward. “Gambax saw you with Felix that night.” said Ruso.

  “Nonsense! I was never—”

  Ruso put him under the water again, trying to think what he could say that would compel Catavignus to confess. Pulling him out, he said, “Gambax has been arrested for attacking my clerk. He’s singing like the wind in the trees, trying to do a deal. So it doesn’t matter. We don’t need your confession, we’ve got a witness.”

  “I need protection!” Catavignus spluttered, squirming in Ruso’s grip. “I demand protection! Metellus, tell him who I am!”

  Ruso glanced across. “He’s a native brewer,” said Metellus. “He’s a man who did a deal with a neighboring chieftain to get rid of his own brother’s family.”

  “But I helped you!” shrieked Catavignus. “You said there would be protection!”

  “He’s lying,” said Metellus.

  “This is the army, Catavignus,” said Ruso, pushing the wet head downward again. “There is no protection for natives. Sorry.”

  While he was under, Ruso turned to Metellus. “It is Catavignus that Gambax is accusing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Phew,” said Ruso.

  Metellus frowned. “But I still don’t see why Gambax didn’t come forward and say what he’d seen right away.”

  “Because he was blackmailing you, wasn’t he?” demanded Ruso of the struggling Catavignus as he hauled him out of the water. “That’s what Gambax does.”

  89

  THIS IS JUST like old times!” exclaimed Valens, leaning back against the wall of the isolation room and handing Ruso the smaller of the wine cakes he had just liberated from the prefect’s kitchen.

  “Not really.”

  “No, of course not,” said Valens. “Sorry, I forgot. I must say it’s a bit rich, her taking up with a native after all we’ve done for her. Still, it hasn’t been an entirely wasted trip, has it? You’ve rescued the reputation of a colleague and you’ve pinned down a very nasty murderer.”

  “That doesn’t give me much pleasure,” said Ruso, remembering the faces of the women Catavignus had wronged as they circled the malt house.

  “That’s because you like to be miserable,” said Valens. “Did I tell you our friendly brewer of fine beer is claiming he did everything at the request of the army? He says Metellus asked him to help clear up undesirables.”

  “How do you know?”

  Valens grinned. “You should have joined the governor’s hunting party today, Ruso. Fresh air, good exercise, and a chance to meet influential people and help them kill things. And it gave most of the Tenth an afternoon out, making sure we weren’t ambushed by ungrateful natives.”

  “So are your influential friends going to reward Catavignus for clearing up the undesirables?”

  Of course not. Nobody wants it to look as if we can’t keep order without the help of the guild of caterers.”

  “They make a shambles and call it peace,” said Ruso, misquoting a famous historian.

  “Desolation, sir,” came a voice from the bed. “They make desolation. It’s from Tacitus.”

  “Pleased to see you’re feeling better, Albanus,” said Ruso.

  “No thanks to you lot,” observed Audax from the doorway. “If I hadn’t gone and got that tonic, he’d be dead by now.”

  “Must be good stuff,” said Ruso, wondering if Valens had administered it or poured it down the latrine.

  “Hmph,” said Audax. “Tell that to the young whippersnapper who was in here this afternoon. How many bloody doctors have we got hanging around here now? Four? World’s gone mad.”

  “We’re not officially supposed to be here,” explained Ruso. “The whippersnapper’s taken over. He’s brought in his own clerk, and he’s going to tell the prefect that the survival of the infirmary
without Thessalus must be thanks to Gambax, who may have been a violent criminal and a thief, but was obviously a marvelous deputy medic.”

  “We’re surplus to requirements,” agreed Valens. “That’s why we’re hiding in here with our favorite patient.”

  “Well, one of you do something useful and fetch me a beer.”

  Valens shook his head. “Sorry. The whippersnapper doesn’t approve of beer.”

  “He doesn’t approve of a lot of things,” agreed Ruso, recalling the new man’s outrage at his treatment of Thessalus.

  “Why’s he in this miserable hole?” the new man had demanded, assuring Thessalus, “Don’t worry, you won’t be stuck here much longer. We’ll get you out somewhere with a bit of light and fresh air and better company.” He had turned to Ruso. “He needs a properly controlled diet, pleasant surroundings, and full-time nursing. Why isn’t he in the infirmary?’

  “I’m sorry, Thessalus,” said Ruso, not intending to explain to the new man about the abandoned murder charge. “I suppose I should have thought about putting you out in a convalescent billet in the town.”

  “Of course you should,” said the whippersnapper, glaring at him.

  This, decided Ruso, was the ideal posting for such a man. He could spend the long empty evenings composing diatribes against the stupidity of his colleagues. “There’s a local woman who supplies medicines for the clinic,” he said thoughtfully. “Veldicca. She might take him in.”

  “I’d like that,” agreed Thessalus.

  “But she’s not cheap,” added Ruso.

  “That’s hardly the point, is it?” said the new man. “We should be doing the correct thing, not the cheapest thing. Especially for a colleague.”

  “You’re right,” agreed Ruso.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” said Thessalus. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you. I’ve been getting a bit downhearted, shut up in here.”

  “It’s nothing,” the new medic had said with a smirk, as if the sick man’s thanks were intended for him. Behind his back, Thessalus caught Ruso’s eye and smiled.

  Valens’s eyes widened as the sound of the trumpet penetrated the peace of the isolation room. “Heavens, is that the time? I must get going. Did I tell you I’m dining at the prefect’s house tonight?”

  “With the governor?”

  “You really should have come hunting this afternoon, Ruso. You never know when good contacts might come in useful. Tell you what, some of the great man’s underlings will be down at the public baths about now. I’ll introduce you.”

  “No thanks,” said Ruso. “But I’ll walk across with you. I’ve just remembered some unfinished business.”

  The two surplus medics made their way out through the gates where, a couple of hours earlier, Ruso had stood and watched the weary native prisoners shuffling past. Decianus had kept his word to Tilla, but not before names had been recorded, evidence taken, and backs flogged. All had taken place well out of earshot of the governor—who could not be expected to have to put up with the noise that men and women insisted on making when in pain—but within sight of their children, who needed to be shown that threatening to butcher a Roman officer was a very bad idea.

  “Still here?” Metellus had inquired, having appeared from nowhere as usual.

  “I’m leaving in the morning,” said Ruso. “I thought you were going hunting?”

  “I would have,” explained Metellus. “But unfortunately I was delayed by having to prepare a murder case and deal with this lot. Look pretty harmless now, don’t they? But they would have torn you to pieces last night.”

  “I know,” said Ruso, watching Rianorix wince as he forced himself to march out of the fort with his head held high.

  “Incidentally, how did you know about Gambax being a blackmailer?”

  Ruso shrugged. “Just a lucky guess. Tell me something. Was it you who gave the order for Tilla’s family to be got rid of?”

  “Me? Of course not.”

  “And the water being supplied to the brewery had nothing to do with paying for services rendered?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Good.”

  Metellus shook his head. “As I told you before, you have a vivid imagination.”

  “No you didn’t,” said Ruso. “You told me I think too much.”

  There was no sign of the released natives now. They must have scattered into the countryside to nurse their wounds and their indignation.

  “Does he really sell everything?” inquired Valens as they passed the shop.

  “I doubt it,” said Ruso. “I’ve never been in there.”

  “Really?” said Valens. “He’s grinning at you as if you’re his best customer.”

  “We’ve developed a silent acquaintance,” explained Ruso. “I keep seeing him, but I can’t think of anything to say to him.”

  “I’d keep it that way,” suggested Valens. “You’ll only be a disappointment to him when he finds out how boring—what’s the matter?” He peered down the street, following Ruso’s gaze. “Oh, holy gods! Is that who I think it is?”

  Ruso eyed the mounted figure being escorted by four legionary cavalrymen past the shrine to the god whose name he never had gotten around to finding out. “I believe so,” he said, noting the handsome face, the square jaw, and the broad shoulders that recalled the Second Spear. “She’s very like her father, isn’t she?”

  90

  RUSO ENTERED THE bathhouse alone. At the sight of him, Claudius Innocens stood up so fast that he almost knocked over his table and smashed his bottles of potions on the hall floor. “Doctor, sir!” he exclaimed, hastily steadying the table and shifting a couple of pots to the back of the display before rearranging the strands of his hair across his bald patch. “What a pleasure to see you again!”

  “If only it were mutual,” said Ruso, observing that Innocens seemed greasier than ever. “What are you selling?”

  The man’s smile was probably supposed to be encouraging. “Tonics for every condition, sir. All guaranteed recipes from the great healers and using only the purest ingredients. Special prices for you, sir, of course. What would you like to try?”

  “Have you got any Doctor Ruso’s Special Love Potion?”

  Innocens’s smile froze. His gaze dropped to the pots and bottles. “I’m not sure we’ve got anything like that, sir. But if you give me the recipe I’d be pleased to get it made up and we’ll come to an arrangement about the profits.”

  Ruso reached for one of the pots Innocens had moved to the back. Clumsily chalked on the side was a phallus. “Is this it?”

  “That’s, ah, that’s—”

  Ruso turned the pot around to find his own name chalked on the opposite side.

  “Somebody gave them to me, sir,” Innocens protested. “But they haven’t gone very well. I won’t be selling any more of them. Once I’ve got rid of these last few—”

  “No more.”

  “No more, sir. Of course.” Innocens picked up a similar pot, spat on it, and began to rub at the chalk inscription. “Perhaps a new name would be the thing.”

  “If you must do it, at least pick the name of somebody long dead,” suggested Ruso. “Like you did with Scribonius.”

  “Ah, yes, sir! Now that is a good seller. As used by centurions—I’ll be able to say, ‘As used by legionary doctors,’ as well now, sir, won’t I?”

  “Not if you want to live,” said Ruso. “And that reminds me. You remember the slave girl you sold me?”

  “The blond girl? You got a bargain there, sir. I hope you’re still happy with her?”

  Ruso was not going to answer that. “There’s a native in town who used to think he owned her,” he said. “A very violent man from the north who got home one day and found out his wives had been persuaded to sell his favorite serving girl to a dodgy trader. That native’s probably talking to the governor’s men right now.”

  Innocens’s eyes widened. “Really, sir?”

  “Really,” said Ruso.
/>   Innocens bent down past his belly and pulled out a wooden box full of straw from beneath the table. “As ever, sir,” he said, swiftly stacking his bottles in the straw, “it’s been a pleasure to do business with you.”

  91

  RUSO LEANED OUT over the rough logs of the palisade. A last trace of morning mist still hung over the river. He could hear the faint clatter of hooves as a messenger cantered south across the bridge. To the east, a road patrol was riding out toward the hill country. He did not turn to look north. Tilla had made her choice.

  He had arrived early at the house next to the brewery, only to find it locked and deserted. The brewery foreman had told him the women had gone away somewhere. Probably for a long time.

  He had tried to tell himself that Tilla’s farewell message had been lost, but since the men here all knew him by now, that was unlikely. The truth was, she had not sent one. The last time they had spoken, she had pulled a knife on him.

  Ruso surveyed the shabby little town that had sprung up to service the fort.

  He’s claiming he did everything at the request of the army. He says Metellus asked him to help clear up undesirables.

  Metellus would continue to deny all knowledge of Catavignus’s treachery to his own people, of course. Quite possibly Decianus, by taking the wider view, had managed to avoid knowing the details anyway. It was apparent from their conversation this morning that Decianus was only told what Metellus wanted him to hear.

  “Ruso!” he had said, drawing him to one side after morning briefing. “Leaving us, I hear?”

  “It’s been an interesting week, sir.”

  “You weren’t much help in the end,” Decianus observed. “The governor never went near the infirmary. Metellus had to excuse your performance at the parade by telling him you were a mad medic called Thessalus who’d gotten loose by mistake. And then he tracked down the murder evidence by himself.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Ruso, with what he hoped was the correct amount of enthusiasm, gratitude, and sincerity. Sometimes, it was just easier to say what people wanted to hear.