Ruso and the River of Darkness

by R. S. Downie

  When the ceiling proved no inspiration at all, he tried closing his eyes. The facts writhed around in his brain like a nest of snakes. Finally he got up and opened one of the writing-tablets. He was supposed to be keeping the Procurator informed, but they had not arranged a code. Perhaps it was just as well. If the forgers had suspected that Asper was on to them, the fact that he was sending mysterious coded letters to Londinium might have been his death sentence. Accordingly, Ruso scrawled the bland, ‘Further information discovered, Council feel they can investigate from here. Back shortly.’ He contemplated sending a note saying, ‘Bastard! You might have warned me!’ to Valens, but decided the satisfaction was not worth the money.

  He was sealing the first tablet when two slaves arrived bearing trays. They proceeded to unload far too much food for one person on to the tables by the brazier. As more and more dishes were placed in front of him Ruso wondered if he had misunderstood the arrangements. Perhaps he had been supposed to select some dishes from the list and refuse others. Were they cursing him over in the kitchen? Complaining about the waste of taxpayers’ money? Or were they laughing at his naivety? Perhaps this was how officials on tour normally ate. He thought of Tilla and the women over in the house with the mended door. He should have invited all of them. Perhaps he could save them some of this.

  To his alarm there were more footsteps in the corridor. Another slave backed in through the doorway. He was only mildly relieved when the tray turned out to hold several jugs of drink. Once these were in place two of the men disappeared, but not before assuring him that they had no idea who might have put an unsigned note under his door, and that the manager had asked them the same question. The third stayed to pour his wine. Ruso tried a jovial ‘Is this all for me?’

  The slave offered a polite smile and said, ‘Enjoy your dinner, sir!’ before retreating to stand in the corner.

  Ruso considered asking him if he was hungry, then decided he would be insulted. He took a deep breath and reached for a spoon. Holding it in mid-air, he turned to the slave. ‘You don’t have to stand there,’ he said. ‘Don’t you have something more important to do?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then go and do something unimportant, will you? I really can’t eat with you watching me.’

  ‘If you’re sure you don’t need any help, sir.’

  ‘It’s just eating,’ Ruso told him. ‘I’ll manage.’

  ‘I’ll be just outside, sir.’

  He supposed that would have to do. Alone at last, he was just reaching for the honeyed wine when there was a tap on the door and the slave reappeared clutching a thin sliver of wood tied with twine.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘This has arrived for you, sir. It was in the corridor, slipped under your street door.’

  Ruso took the tablet and read ‘To the Procurator’s Man’ as the slave glided out of the room again. Slicing the twine with his knife, he flipped the note open and took a gulp of wine before he read:

  Get away now. They will do to you what they did to Asper and Bericus.

  From your well-wisher

  The wine went the wrong way. Coughing and struggling not to inhale, he flailed at the air with the letter as he tried to cough up the liquid blocking his windpipe. When he regained his composure the slave was back in the room.

  ‘Is everything all right, sir?’

  ‘Fine!’ he gasped. The one word brought on another fit of coughing.

  The slave was crouched in front of him, holding out a cup of water. He sipped gratefully, feeling it run cool and soothing down his throat. ‘Went the wrong way,’ he explained, pointing at the jug. The note was open face down on the floor. He retrieved it, just in case the man could read, and hurried out past him.

  The only thing moving in the alley was a cat slinking away along the foot of the stable wall. From somewhere near by he could hear the evening warble of a blackbird. Whoever had delivered that letter was long gone.

  Get away now. Tonight? He could hardly go to the stables and demand horses at this hour. By the time he and Tilla were halfway to Londinium it would be dark.

  Ruso hung the key back on the hook and returned to try and settle in front of his dinner.

  They will do to you what they did to Asper and Bericus.

  There was no mention of Tilla, thank the gods. That might mean something. It might not. He didn’t know. Dealing with this business was like punching fog.

  The slave said, ‘Is there something wrong, sir?’

  ‘You didn’t see who delivered that note?’

  ‘No, sir.’ The man hesitated by the door. ‘Would you like me to stay, sir?’

  ‘Perhaps you’d better.’ Ruso took a spoonful of cabbage and paused with it halfway to his mouth.

  They will do to you …

  He lifted the spoon and held the contents up towards the lamp. It looked like normal cabbage. He licked the spoon. It tasted like normal cabbage. Besides, Asper and Bericus had been bludgeoned, not poisoned.

  Still … He glanced up at the slave, who was doubtless wondering whether this oddly behaved guest was about to complain.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help, sir?’

  Get away now …

  Ruso eyed the challenge contained in the dishes laid out around him and considered asking the slave to taste them all first. The best that could happen was that the man would tell the kitchen staff and everyone would be insulted. The worst was that he would drop dead. That would be very bad for both of them. Although worse for the slave, obviously.

  If only the well-wisher had been bold enough to put his name to the note. Ruso put down the spoon and held the tablet up so the slave could see the writing on the outside. ‘Do you have any idea at all who this might have come from? Someone who might want to help me?’

  The man looked nonplussed. ‘No, sir.’

  Ruso reread the message. His instinctive reaction had been alarm. Now he must think logically. If the unknown correspondent had intended to poison his dinner, he would not have bothered writing to him first.

  He swallowed the cabbage, tried a spoonful of the sauce around the chicken and savoured it before glancing up at the slave. ‘This is very good,’ he said. And then, because he did not want to be alone after all, ‘Want some?’

  Later, after the staff had cleared away the dishes and removed the brazier, he checked the locks on doors and shutters twice, then rammed a chair under each door-latch. He reread the note, trying and failing to pick up some hint of who might be warning him and what that person might know that he didn’t. Then he snuffed out all but one of the lamps and settled down to an uneasy sleep.

  54

  The breakfast was not poisoned either. Ruso had finished eating and plunged his head into a bowl of cold water when he was conscious of a tapping noise. He lifted his head, towelled his ears and listened again. Someone was rapping on the shutters. An apologetic slave announced that there was a visitor waiting in reception.

  ‘I’ll be there in a minute. I’m in the middle of washing.’

  ‘He says to tell you he’s called Albanus, sir.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Ruso assured his guest, who was perched uneasily on the edge of the spare chair in the reception room of Suite Three. ‘You don’t have to be frightened of the furniture.’

  Albanus sat back. His gaze kept shifting between Ruso, still towelling his hair, and their surroundings, as if he was waiting for the rightful occupant to come and throw them both out.

  ‘They were very keen for me to find their money,’ Ruso explained. ‘And they want to keep on the right side of the Procurator.’

  ‘And is your wife here too, sir?’

  ‘No, I’ve got this all to myself. Ridiculous, isn’t it? There’s a whole dining room across the passage that I’ve never even used.’ He waved the towel towards the table. ‘Help yourself. The cheese is quite good. I’m not sure about that pastry thing with the raisins.’

  ‘Can I ask how the inquiry’s going, sir?’

>   ‘It’s finished,’ Ruso said. ‘They’re going to accuse the Chief Magistrate.’ He put his finger to his lips and added very quietly, ‘It’s not finished, but I don’t trust the guards. What the hell are you doing here?’

  Albanus glanced around the room again before murmuring, ‘I’ve come to warn you about something, sir. I don’t think you’re going to like it very much.’

  Albanus was right. He did not like it very much. Albanus had done some more ferreting around in Londinium and worked out for himself that Julius Asper was in the pay of Metellus. ‘I thought you’d want to know straight away, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And that’s not all, sir.’

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘No, sir. I made some inquiries about what Caratius was up to while he was in town. According to his friend’s cook, he arrived at the friend’s house and stayed there all night.’

  ‘I see,’ said Ruso, who had never thought Caratius was the mysterious hooded burglar anyway.

  ‘You might like to know that his friend is a man, sir.’

  Ruso frowned. ‘Well of course he’s a man. He’s a priest of Jupiter.’

  Albanus shook his head. ‘I don’t think you quite grasped my meaning, sir. His friend, where he stays all night whenever he goes to Londinium, is –’

  ‘Ah!’ So Caratius had a male lover. He wondered if Camma had known.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Albanus, ‘the point is, he definitely didn’t go anywhere all night. But his guard went out.’ Albanus paused to scratch his head. ‘I’m not sure this helps us much, sir. I don’t think the guard could have done any burgling in the small hours. Not unless he was acting earlier in the evening. The cook said he was back on the doorstep before long, so drunk he could hardly stand up.’

  Ruso reached for his knife without thinking and cut a slice of cheese he didn’t want to eat. The only part of Albanus’ information that was new was the business of Caratius’ lover. It was unlikely to be relevant, but the man had travelled a long way to bring it, and the sight of a friendly face was more of a relief than he cared to admit. He thanked him. Then he began the difficult talk of persuading him to go away.

  ‘It’s good of you to take the day off to come and see me,’ he said, leaning back in his chair and speaking normally again. ‘I’ll see if I can get the Procurator to cover your expenses.’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t just taken the day,’ explained Albanus brightly. ‘I’ve given the boys a week’s holiday.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘And the expenses are already dealt with, sir.’ On any other face, that expression would be called ‘smug’. On Albanus it still retained vestiges of innocent delight as he announced, ‘I’ve never been on the fast coach before. It’s rather exciting, isn’t it? A bit bumpy, though.’

  Ruso felt deep sense of foreboding. ‘Your expenses are dealt with?’

  ‘Oh yes. Young Firmus gave me a travel warrant.’

  Ruso glanced at the window before mouthing, Why?

  Albanus whispered, ‘The Procurator thought you ought to be warned about Metellus, sir.’

  The Procurator knew about Metellus too?

  The Procurator knew about Metellus. Ruso closed his eyes and wished he believed in Tilla’s Christos, the god who answered prayers anywhere and did not demand cash in return. How long would it be before Metellus found out and assumed Ruso had betrayed him?

  When he opened his eyes again Albanus was looking uncertain.

  ‘I asked young Firmus to tell the Procurator what I’d found out, sir. I hope I haven’t done the wrong thing?’

  ‘No,’ Ruso assured him, feeling something curl up inside his stomach. ‘No, you’ve behaved absolutely correctly. Although I do recall telling you both not to get further involved.’

  ‘I know, sir,’ Albanus confessed. ‘But frankly I wasn’t sure that you’d followed every possible line of inquiry before you left. And you’ve been very good to me in the past, so I thought I’d give you a bit of help.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘The Procurator didn’t seem very happy, sir. I think his ribs are rather painful.’

  ‘You’ve actually spoken to him?’

  ‘Yes, sir. And he said to tell you to wrap up the investigation and get straight back to Londinium.’

  First the well-wisher, then the Council, and now the Procurator. It seemed everybody wanted him out of this place. ‘It may take me a while to finish here.’

  ‘I’m happy to help in any way I can, sir.’

  ‘I’d like you to escort Tilla back to Londinium this afternoon.’

  The disappointment showed on Albanus’ face, but his voice remained neutral. ‘There are a couple of other things, sir. They might be a bit embarrassing.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Ruso assured him. He was beyond embarrassment now.

  ‘Well, I think I might have upset the local doctor. I stopped at the gates and asked for Doctor Ruso and somebody fetched him instead, and he was rather cross when I wasn’t ill.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Ruso. ‘I’m not his favourite person anyway. What’s the other thing?’

  Albanus cleared his throat. ‘Sir, is there something going on that I don’t know about?’

  ‘Yes.’ At least he could reveal that much. ‘But it’s complicated.’

  ‘I know it’s none of my business, sir, but it would help if I just know what to say to whom.’

  Ruso said, ‘I don’t want you getting involved in it.’

  ‘No sir,’ said Albanus in a tone that signified disapproval, ‘And frankly it’s all very awkward, but I need to know what to say to Doctor Valens.’

  Ruso frowned. ‘Valens? What’s he got to do with it?’

  ‘Well, sir, how much does he know? Have you told him your own wife is somewhere else but his wife is staying here with you? Or am I supposed to pretend I didn’t just see her in reception?’

  55

  Ruso had just finished installing Albanus in Julius Asper’s office with an abacus and instructions to check what pay was owed to the guards – a task that should keep him out of trouble until it was time to leave – when he opened the door to see three women hurrying towards him across the noisy expanse of the Great Hall.

  Tilla was wearing a blue plaid overtunic he had never seen before, hitched up over a belt because it was too long. Camma was carrying the baby, Grata clutching the wooden box that had contained Asper’s money and the coin mould.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Your wife has been attacked!’ declared Grata.

  With three of them trying to explain at once it was a while before he grasped that the attack had taken place last night. He had not been told earlier because Tilla had insisted she was not hurt and she did not want a fuss.

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ He put a protective arm around her, thankful for once that this morning’s guard included Dias. ‘My wife’s been attacked in the street!’ he declared, formally inviting Dias to intervene, as if he might not have overheard while standing three feet away.

  The guard captain asked for details. Tilla repeated that she was not hurt, she did not want a fuss, nothing was stolen and no, she had no idea who had done it. Meanwhile Grata was insisting that the man had tried to strangle her, and Camma was tugging at the elbow of Tilla’s undertunic to show where it had been freshly darned in wool that did not match. ‘He threw her on the ground, look! Her other dress is covered in mud and ruined!’

  Ruso felt his wife shrinking against him, as if all the well-intentioned outrage were a further assault. ‘Come with me,’ he insisted, drawing her back towards Asper’s office. ‘We’ll clear Albanus out and you can tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘Albanus?’

  ‘He’s going to take you back to Londinium this afternoon,’ said Ruso, letting Albanus tactfully scuttle out before closing the door and holding her close. Finally he settled her into Julius Asper’s chair. ‘You’re very pale. Are you really all right? What did he do to you?’

>   He examined the movement of her neck, checked the bruised knees and the grazed elbow and conceded that the damage could have been worse. ‘Did he try to –’

  ‘No,’ she said, guessing the question. ‘He said it was a message.’

  As she explained, he felt himself begin to tremble with rage. He wanted to throttle the unknown bully who had terrified his wife. He was angry with himself, too. He should have warned her about that first anonymous letter. He should have arranged for someone to walk her home from the mansio.

  ‘And you really didn’t see anything?’ he persisted. ‘What about his voice? Was he a local?’

  ‘Please stop walking up and down.’

  ‘Could you guess his height? What was he wearing?’

  ‘I don’t know! Stop. You are giving me a headache.’

  ‘I should never have let you come here. I’ll get you back to Valens. I don’t care how it looks; at least you’ll be safe there.’

  Tilla looked up. ‘I forgot. There is something to tell you. When we went to the mansio to find you this morning we saw Serena. She said there was a man who asked the boys’ nursemaid which room the investigator was using.’

  ‘What?’ He stopped pacing. ‘When? Why didn’t she say so before? Can she describe him?’

  ‘Two days ago. They asked all the mansio staff, but nobody thought to ask Serena’s people.’ When she had finished passing on the description she said, ‘I think I have seen this man before.’

  He frowned. ‘So have I, but I don’t believe it. I can’t imagine him attacking you in the street.’

  She managed a smile. ‘Perhaps he has a big strong friend.’

  ‘He’ll be needing one when I get hold of him.’ He bent to kiss her on the forehead. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay with the other women and don’t –’

  His warning was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. He was about to turn the visitor away when Tilla said, ‘It is all right.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I am feeling better now.’

  The caller was an out-of-breath Gallonius, red in the face and full of apologies for the dreadful outrage that had taken place last night. He had only just heard the news. He had come straight across to offer condolences to the lady and the services of the local doctor. He did not know what was happening. The whole town was appalled. Verulamium was usually such a law-abiding place, priding itself on welcoming its visitors … he could not believe it. Really, he could not. It had brought shame on them all. He could not apologize enough. When they caught the man he would be made to pay for this appalling attack on an innocent and respectable married woman.