“Just in case.”
Valens said, “She won’t want to come.”
“Use your charm on her. It works on every other bloody woman.”
Valens delved into the folds of his tunic and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. “I brought you this.”
While Ruso gnawed the meat from a chicken leg and wished it had belonged to something bigger-a turkey, a swan, an ostrich, a horse-Valens explained the plans that he was no longer important enough to be told.
“Practically everyone’s clearing out in the morning. Hadrian’s taking his own people and every spare man he can find up to the wall site, but the empress says she’s had enough, so she’s going across to Deva to visit a friend and wait for him there.”
Ruso tried to muster an interest in the imperial travel plans, and failed. “What about me?”
“I’m coming to that. Clarus will have to send half his Praetorians off with Hadrian, so they want what’s left of the Twentieth to bolster the escort for Sabina. They’ve put some chap called Dexter in charge of the recruits. I’d imagine you’ll be going with them.”
At least he would be traveling with his own unit. Valens would be traveling north with the emperor’s party, taking Tilla toward her own people and safely out of Accius’s way. It was not good, but it was the best he could hope for. He said, “Geminus had it coming, you know. He and his pals were putting the recruits into danger and betting on the outcomes. Then they tried to silence the complainers.”
“I know.”
“Did Tilla say if she’d found out anything useful?”
“Not yet. Clarus’s men are pressing on with the questioning tonight, but they don’t seem to be getting anything sensible out of anyone, either. It was dark, and there was a riot.”
Ruso supposed he ought to be grateful that Clarus was bothering to investigate at all, although his witnesses would not be. People who knew nothing did not suddenly discover the truth just because they were frightened of pain. They became people who made things up, and the more desperate the witnesses, the more false signposts began to clutter the road to understanding.
“I’d imagine they all want it to be me,” Ruso observed. “None of the commanders will want his own men blamed, and the Sixth won’t want to start here by executing any of the locals.” He frowned. “In fact, if I weren’t myself, I’d be hoping it were me too.”
Valens did not contradict him.
“Thanks for coming back, anyway.”
“When you get out, you owe me four denarii. I had to give the guards one each.”
“You were robbed.”
“I know. And I can’t stay long. The procurator has a bad attack of gout and he’s exhausted after rushing down here. I need to be around if he calls me.”
Ruso swallowed. Valens had his own duties. It would be neither appropriate nor dignified to grab him and beg him not to leave. Instead he said, “So you won’t be a provincial much longer?”
Valens gave a modest shrug. “The wife didn’t want to bring the boys up in Britannia.”
“Understandable.”
“If Fortune’s kind to us, we’ll be in Rome by autumn.”
“Well done.”
Valens retrieved the chicken bones and the cloth. “You’re not a bad surgeon, you know. If things had gone differently …”
“I’m a better surgeon than you are,” Ruso pointed out, alarmed by his friend’s sudden generosity. “I always was.”
“Bollocks.”
Ruso smiled.
“I wish I could travel with you, old chap, really I do. I’m not happy leaving you like this. If there were something else I could do …”
“You know what it’s like. Always people waiting to push you aside. If I don’t go with the Procurator-”
“No, absolutely. You must go. It’s a good opportunity for you.”
“If it wasn’t for the family …”
“Of course.”
They had run out of words. Perhaps Valens too blamed the awkwardness of their parting embrace on the restriction of the chains.
Ruso remembered something. “I don’t think Metellus will bother Tilla now that he’s got me locked up, but watch out for him.”
“I promise.”
Valens was on his feet, and then he and the lamp were gone.
Ruso swallowed hard and began to count bones again in the dark. Then when he reached the right elbow he stopped counting bones and began to count the number of suspects in the murder of Centurion Geminus. Out of the two thousand or so soldiers and the untold number of civilians who had been in Eboracum last night, the only ones he could definitely eliminate were the recruits, Hadrian, Tilla, and himself.
And now that he thought about it, for most of the evening he had no idea where Tilla had been.
Chapter 57
Lucios saw no reason to linger in bed once he was awake, and it was barely dawn when his father carried him down the ladder and wandered about, bleary-eyed, in search of breakfast. Corinna was still asleep. Tilla, her own blanket already rolled and crammed into one of the bags, found them bread and honey. She wanted none herself. After a sleepless night her stomach felt as though someone had tied a string around it and hauled it up between her lungs. She forced herself to drink a cup of water. She was washing her face when she heard the rap at the door.
Victor leapt up, handed the entire honey jar to a surprised Lucios, and vanished into the loft. Tilla managed to trade the jar for the honey spoon before there was a sticky and costly mess, and waited. The knocking came again, followed by a child’s voice calling in Latin, “Message for the doctor’s woman!”
When she opened the door, the boy from the brothel held out a grubby hand.
Tilla reached for her purse. “Come in! What have you found?”
“The man says you got to come with me, quick.”
“Which man?”
“I got to help carry your things.”
“What has this to do with the centurion?”
The boy shrugged.
“Where did you get this message?”
“At the north gate.”
“Did the man give you his name?”
The boy closed his eyes. His lips moved as he recited the message, trying to remember. The eyes opened. The words “Doctor Val-” ended in a squeak as a rough forearm clamped around his throat.
They threw Tilla against the door frame. They pushed past her in a confusion of helmets and armor, yelling, “Out! Everybody out!”
Corinna was shouting for Lucios above the crash of furniture being overturned.
“Stop!” Tilla grabbed the nearest arm. “Stop it!”
He did not even turn. The arm shook free, swung back, and hit her on the nose. She staggered sideways, gasping with the pain, her eyes filling with tears. “Stop, please!” she cried again, groping blindly with one hand and shielding her face with the other. She could hear the child howling with fright. “Lucios, where are you?”
