work as an investigator. For that, at least, he was grateful.
Thus it was with mixed feelings that he finally received a message ordering him to report to Firmus.
“Ruso!”
Was it his imagination or had the youth grown in the few days since they had last seen each other? His surroundings had certainly improved: no longer a dingy back room but a bright office with sun streaming through the window. Pyramus was perched on a stool just behind his master and a couple of scribes were hovering, waiting for instructions.
Verulamium, Firmus explained with obvious pride, had just delivered its tax along with a large consignment of forged coins for destruction.
Ruso offered congratulations and waited to find out why he was really here.
“And the procurator’s read your report and wants to see you. You weren’t entirely straight with us about Metellus, were you?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Ruso, wondering how much they knew.
“We’ve been in touch with the governor,” said Firmus. “My uncle will explain.”
On this ominous note Ruso was ushered out by one of the scribes and escorted to the procurator’s office.
The great man was sufficiently recovered to be seated at his desk in another crisp white linen tunic, but Ruso barely noticed him. What drew his attention was the very ordinary-looking man silhouetted in front of the window. It looked like… Surely it couldn’t be?
“Come in, Ruso,” said the procurator. “Metellus and I have some things to say to you.”
74
The governor and the procurator’s departments are cooperating,” explained Metellus, perhaps sensing Ruso’s bewilderment.
Was that a faint expression of distaste on the procurator’s face, or just the discomfort of breathing inside cracked ribs? He said, “The governor has kindly offered Metellus’s help with some of the tidying up after this Verulamium business.”
Ruso swallowed.
“Metellus and I have both read your report,” the procurator continued, “which leaves us reassured about relations between the Catuvellauni and the Iceni, but unfortunately since you let the presence of your wife compromise your inquiry, we’re now in a rather delicate position.”
Ruso said, “She happened to be working there as a midwife, sir,” but neither man seemed interested.
“The Catuvellauni are trusted allies,” said Metellus.
“They demonstrate to the other tribes the rewards of cooperation with Rome,” added the procurator.
As if they had rehearsed their parts, Metellus said, “The governor wouldn’t like to take any action that might upset them, or look as though we’re threatening the independence of Verulamium.”
“However,” continued the procurator, “since you’ve brought this forgery business to our attention, we can hardly ignore it.”
It seemed that Ruso’s uncovering of a capital crime had caused them a major inconvenience. He said, “The men called Dias and Rogatus have murdered four people between them, sir. And I’m willing to bet that the magistrate Gallonius knew all along. He was definitely providing the silver for the false coins.”
“As I said, we have read the report.”
“The murders aren’t anything to worry about,” said Metellus. “Just the natives quarreling among themselves. I know they tried to suffocate you with a brazier, Ruso, but there’s not enough credible evidence to make a case.”
“But if you interview the mansio staff-”
“We don’t want to be accused of interfering.” The procurator winced as he reached for the notes on his desk. “We might have executed the three of them for forgery, but according to your report, you’ve already informed the locals on my behalf that the forgers were”-he ran one finger down the notes-“two men called Asper and Nico, who are already dead.”
“I didn’t tell them that directly, sir, I only said-”
“It doesn’t matter what you said,” put in Metellus. “What matters is what they think they heard.”
“If we start arresting other people now,” said the procurator, “it’s going to look as though we don’t know what we’re doing.”
“And if you don’t deal with them, sir,” put in Ruso, “they’re going to think they can get away with anything they like.”
“Apparently they can,” said Metellus. “All they have to do is appear to threaten our investigator’s wife, and he’ll do whatever they want.”
Ruso felt his fists clench. He addressed the procurator. “I did my best under the circumstances, sir.”
The procurator sighed. “I’m disappointed in you, Ruso. When you had the sense to tell me you weren’t an investigator, I assumed you were an intelligent man.”
Metellus glanced up. “Why did you say you weren’t an investigator, Ruso?”
“Because I wasn’t!” snapped Ruso. “And I’m never doing it again, either. It’s nothing but lies and deceit and making people even more miserable than they are already. Now if you’ll excuse me, sirs, I have patients to attend to.”
It was rude and disrespectful and probably pompous as well, but he managed to get out of the door with his head held high. Somehow that was all that mattered.
He was through the building site that was supposed to be a garden and halfway across the courtyard before he heard someone calling his name. The chain-mailed form of Dias was looking at him across the back of a familiar- looking horse.
Ruso said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Escorting the tax money,” said Dias. “Like I usually do. Haven’t you heard? We’re the town that always pays up.”
“I could say a few other things about your town.”
“Ah,” said the guard, slackening the horse’s girth, “but who’d listen? Have you thought any more about that job offer?”
Ruso glanced around, then took hold of one side of the bridle. “Since nobody’s listening,” he said, “tell me something. I can see what Gallonius got out of it, with his town house and his country estate and all his jewelry. But you’re no fool, and you’re not all that rich, either. Where did your share go?”
Dias grinned. “You think I’m no fool, but you’re asking me to incriminate myself?”
“What can I do about it?” asked Ruso. “Asper and Nico are getting the blame for everything. The procurator won’t go after you now.”
Dias considered that for a moment, then lowered his voice. “You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
“Right now, I’d believe almost anything.”
“Gallonius paid the engraver. But I had to pay Rogatus for the metalwork and a bit of occasional help.”
“Like attacking my wife?”
“I’m not proud of that,” said Dias. “But it was for a good cause. Most of the money went toward the lads.”
“You did it for the guards?” Ruso was taken aback.
Dias sighed. “You’ve got no idea, have you?”
“No.”
“Decent uniforms. Good kit. Proper pay. A man doesn’t have to be a Roman citizen to appreciate things like that.”
“They could join the army.”
Dias snorted. “And be treated like dirt? My people have been allies of Rome for generations, and you know how much our lads get paid if we join up to fight for you?”
