No reply.
He lifted up one of the wilted stalks. 'What is the use of wood sorrel?'
No reply. Her good hand was picking at a frayed strand of linen at the end of the bandage.
He put the first plant down and picked up the second. 'I'm told this is dog's mercury. What would you use that for?'
No reply.
'You were in the kitchen when Claudius Innocens was taken ill. You put a curse on him.'
'Yes, my Lord.'
'Had you also made medicine for him?'
'No!'
'So if I ask the other people who were there, they'll confirm that you didn't go near Innocens or his food?'
Tilla pursed her lips as if she were about to spit, then cast a sideways glance at the floorboards and thought better of it. She said, 'I do not wish to go near Claudius Innocens.'
'No,' said Ruso, 'that's quite understandable.' He ran a forefinger through the stubble he still hadn't found time to have shaved. Perhaps he should give up and hope beards would come into fashion when Hadrian's famously hairy chin began to appear on the coinage. He said, 'Who were you making medicine for yesterday?'
No reply. The hand went back to the bandage.
Ruso sighed. 'This blessing and cursing business, Tilla. Cooking up potions. Chanting. Wandering off into the woods. It's got to stop. People will think I'm harboring a Druid.'
No reply.
'Am I?'
'The Druids are all gone.'
'Am I, Tilla?'
'The army kill them all.'
Ruso was quite well aware of the official line. The Druids, chased out of Gaul generations ago, had taken refuge in Britannia and made their last stand on a far western island in the territory now covered by the Twentieth. It was rumored that some had escaped, but Rome had taken comfort in the fact that Druid knowledge was not only secret and murderous, but complicated and coupled with a widespread refusal to write anything down. It took, they said, twenty years to train a Druid. So instead of hunting down hidden copies of documents, all the army had to do was keep culling the Druids on a regular basis and they would finish them off, like chopping down weeds before they had a chance to seed.
'Those songs,' he said. 'What are they about?'
'They tell stories.'
'About Druids?'
'About my people. We sing of our ancestors. If we do not sing, our story is lost.'
Ruso pondered that for a moment. It was plausible. The locals seemed to have no proper statues or tombstones. A people without that tradition would have to keep the memories alive in another way.
'Somebody should write it down,' he suggested.
She looked at him as if he had just said something very naive. 'My Lord, the people could not read it.'
'They could learn.'
'But why would they want to when they can sing?'
'Refusing to learn to read and write,' said Ruso, determined to win at least one point, 'is a very shortsighted view.'
'Saufeia could read and write.'
'Indeed,' said Ruso. 'Even women can learn.'
'Saufeia is dead.'
He scratched his ear. This was the sort of illogical leap that made women so difficult to deal with. 'Saufeia wasn't murdered because she could read and write.'
'If you say, my Lord.'
'She was murdered because she met a bad man.'
'She was stupid. I am not stupid like Saufeia.'
'Wandering off into the woods by yourself is hardly clever, Tilla.
Especially at the moment. Did anyone suggest you go there?'
'No, my Lord.'
'You found the place by yourself? Nobody helpfully told you where to find a nice stream?'
'No, my Lord.'
'Even so. If I could follow you, so could someone else. Now explain to me about the medicine.'
No reply.
'I have to know. I can't leave a servant I can't trust in charge of my house.'
The loose thread on the bandage began to unravel. She wound it around her forefinger.
'The medicine, Tilla.'
Finally she said, 'Is for someone else.'
'Who?'
The end of her forefinger was turning pink.
Ruso sighed. 'I don't want to have to punish you, Tilla,' he said, wondering what sort of doctor contemplated beating his patients. Besides, he was not sure where to hit her. On the back? On the legs? Across her one usable hand? 'I also assume,' he said, buying time, 'that you stole my firewood.'
'No, my Lord. I took from a pile by the hospital.'
'Oh, marvelous. You stole the hospital's firewood.' Priscus had probably counted the logs and was in the process of billing him for them.
'Now. Tell me about the medicine.'
The finger tugged more thread loose and then jerked to a stop as the unraveling reached the knot where the bandage was tied. 'Is the goddess!' she said suddenly 'The goddess tell me to do it!'
'Who did the goddess tell you to give it to?'
'I cannot say.'
Slowly, Ruso pushed back his chair and stood up. He put both hands on the buckle of his belt. 'I don't want to do this, Tilla,' he said.
'Tell me.'
She shook her head. 'I cannot.'
He sighed again and unfastened the belt. He had spoken the truth: He did not want to do this. Discipline was like surgery: unpleasant but necessary. He wrapped the heavy buckle end around his right hand, making sure the studded straps were safely clutched in his palm and would not flail about. He did not want to injure her. But neither could he allow any suspicion that his servant might be poisoning people at the whim of some mad native god.
He grasped the loose end of the belt in his left hand and stretched it out so she could see it. The belt was supple with age. He knew, from years of polishing, every scar in the deep brown of the leather; every scratch on the silver of the trim. He had never before considered using it to inflict pain. Now he snapped it taut and stepped out from behind the desk. 'Tell me,' he said, seeing the color fade from her cheeks. 'Now.'
She bowed her head.
Someone was knocking at the door.
Ruso felt his voice rise to a shout. 'Not now, Albanus!'
'Sir, a message from Officer Priscus!'
'In a minute!'
'Right-oh, sir! Sorry, sir!'
Ruso closed his eyes for a moment and attempted to compose himself. He heard the whisper'of fabric. When he opened his eyes she was kneeling at his feet with her head still bowed, as if pleading for mercy.
He was beginning to feel exasperated. He had put up with far more than most owners would tolerate. Now, because he had tried to treat her fairly, this wretched girl had assumed she could get away with whatever she liked and he found himself having to fill a role he found deeply distasteful.
