Ruso was not enjoying being him, either, but at least his misdemeanors had brought about some good. Geminus had bullied his last recruit. He would retire with a tarnished reputation. His handsome discharge bonus might be in doubt too.
Ruso emptied the bucket into the drain and rinsed the brush. He was not fool enough to expect a release, nor a reinstatement. Accius could still make plenty of trouble for him, both within the Legion and beyond. But he had known that when he took the risk of speaking to the emperor. He would just have to console himself with the thought that, somehow, justice had been done.
He was about to put the bucket back in the corner when he was startled by the sound of shouting and running feet. Still clutching the bucket, he opened the door and slipped outside to watch.
Pera and three men he recognized as hospital orderlies were hurrying toward the east gate with a stretcher. Two members of the Sixth were running in the opposite direction, one of them shouting, “Where’s the emperor?”
A passing Praetorian asked who wanted to know.
“Primus, optio in the century of Proculus. Important visitor for the emperor.”
A skeptical voice from back in the latrines said, “Another one come to lick the emperor’s arse.”
The Praetorian directed the man toward the legate’s house, adding in a superior drawl, “Try not to make too much fuss. They aren’t always as important as they think they are.”
Ruso glanced around. Nobody was paying him any attention. He weighed the bucket in his hand for a moment, then set it down, swiftly washed his hands, and sprinted down the street after Pera.
Pera’s men were hampered by the stretcher and a box of supplies, and Ruso caught up with them just before they reached the gate. “Want some help?”
Pera looked alarmed but then grasped the situation and gestured to one of the orderlies to hand over the box. Ruso hoisted it onto his shoulder. The men of the Sixth, who had taken over guard duties-Accius must have made his handover speech-were standing strictly to attention at the gates. They paid no heed to the unknown medical team and their shabbily clad slave.
Pera murmured, “You’ve heard, then, sir?”
As they emerged from the archway of the gatehouse he saw a carriage approaching, pulled by a team of four matching bays. There were dark patches of sweat on the horses and the red paint was dull with dust. The man had been right: This was somebody important. “Who is it?”
“He’s dead, sir.”
Ruso said, “Who’s dead?” but his voice was lost beneath the rush of the carriage and its guards sweeping past them into the fort.
Pera led his men for about thirty paces along the outside of the perimeter ditch to where a burly squad from the Sixth Legion stood, apparently guarding the weeds that the maintenance crews had failed to clear in time for the emperor’s arrival.
Pera beckoned Ruso to follow. Then he stepped forward and peered into the ditch. “It’s true, then,” he said.
Below them, protruding from a battered patch of nettles, was a muscular and blood-smeared arm. Centurion Geminus had been found.
Chapter 48
“What do we do?”
Ruso stood beside Pera at the bottom of the ditch, running one hand through his hair. He could not believe what he was seeing. Geminus’s throat had been cut open and his head pulled back with an efficiency that suggested the practiced butchering of an animal. A bloodstained dagger lay beside him.
He crouched beside the body, feeling the tingle of nettles against his skin. The dagger slid neatly into the empty sheath at the centurion’s side.
Pera said, “He couldn’t have done that to himself, could he, sir?”
“No.”
“What do we do?”
Ruso closed his eyes for a moment and tried to detach his mind from the shock. “‘Time of death, cause of death, any other matters of note,’” he recited. “You can do the rest of the details up at the mortuary. Did you bring anything to write with?”
“Sorry, sir.”
Pera extended a hand, put it on the centurion’s arm, and then quickly withdrew it. “He’s cold, sir.”
“Sometime last night. Cause of death, severing of right and left carotid arteries. Anything else of note …” He stood, slapping at the nettle stings. “Did you slide down here or jump?”
“Jump, sir.”
“So did I.” Ruso peered at the side of the ditch, where he could now make out smears of blood. Several clumps of grass were hanging by pale roots. “Looks as though they did it up there,” he said, “and then tipped him in.”
“‘They’?”
Ruso said, “You think one man could take Geminus?”
There were two thuds as a couple of the orderlies landed in the ditch behind them. They complained vigorously about the nettles as they lifted the body onto the stretcher and maneuvered it up to their comrade waiting at ground level. The men from the Sixth finally produced a ladder from the gatehouse and Ruso was halfway up it when he heard a growing sound of tramping boots and jingling belt straps. It was followed by a cry of “Make way for His Honour the Praetorian Prefect and Tribune Accius!”
Pera emerged from the ditch and crouched to wipe his hands on the grass before saluting. Ruso recognized the lanky man who had been riding behind Hadrian in the procession: Praetorian Prefect Clarus, the only man authorized to carry a sword in the private company of the emperor. Accius was beside him, looking like a man who had not slept well, and behind them Dexter was craning to see what was on the stretcher. Prefect Clarus approached and gestured for the orderly to draw back the top of the sheet. Both he and Accius blanched and turned away from the sight. Dexter stared down at the mutilated body of his comrade, betraying no emotion. The man replaced the sheet.
Clarus said, “Is that him?”
Accius swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Who found him?”
“The perimeter patrol, sir,” said one of the Sixth.
Accius shook his head. “Terrible. Terrible. He was just about to retire. What a tragedy.” Suddenly he noticed Ruso. “You!” His voice was hoarse. “Get away from him!”
“Sir, if I can help-”
“Arrest this man!”
“But, sir-”
“Have him chained up in the guardhouse.”
“Sir, I didn’t-”
The blow to his head sent him staggering sideways.
“Speak when you’re spoken to!” snarled Dexter. “And show some respect to the centurion. Like a flock of vultures, you lot.”
Dazed, he was aware of Accius somewhere in the distance saying, “He can speak at his trial. Until then, get him out of my sight or I’ll have him killed on the spot.”
Chapter 49
