“I know. He says he didn’t do it.”
“He is telling the truth. He was hiding in the loft at Corinna’s house and I was downstairs. I was awake, listening for rats: I would have heard if he had crept out. They said I betrayed him, but it was Metellus.”
“Metellus?”
“He is a slimy liar. If Victor is accused, why have they not released you?”
“I don’t know. Probably because Accius-”
“Get away from the prisoner!”
Something hard smacked into Tilla’s upper arm. She ducked and ran, leaping across the ditch beside the road. When she turned, a centurion was striding away from her husband, who seemed a little less steady on his feet.
“Do not despair!” she called to him, half running to keep parallel with him, and stumbling in the long grass. “I will do something!”
The wagon moved on, taking him away with it.
What?
What could one woman do to change the mind of the army? Their only friend here-unless you counted Virana-was going north with Hadrian. Meanwhile, now that the Legion no longer recognized her marriage, she would be lucky if she was allowed to speak to anyone with influence. Even if she could, they would all support each other. Look how they had all refused to believe their own medical officer when he spoke ill of Geminus. How could a British woman get a soldier released when he was chained up not for a crime but for speaking the truth about the mistreatment of Britons?
She stood alone by the side of the road, rubbing her bruised arm and watching the lines of mules and pack ponies plodding past. She supposed they would make him walk all the way back to Deva. A hard week on the road, and then someone-Accius, she supposed-would accuse him of murder and the legate of the Twentieth Legion would decide his fate.
While the rest of the baggage train rumbled and squeaked past, she whispered a quiet prayer to Christos. The
She would find a place this evening to make an offering to the Goddess, but it had to be said that the Goddess had not done much to save her people from the Romans, either. Perhaps, if they stopped at Calcaria, she could make a promise at a shrine to one of the army’s gods.
By the time she had decided this, the orderly baggage train had given way to a straggle of hired vehicles and farm carts: slaves following their masters, and families eager not to be left behind. She stepped forward so that Celer could see her in good time to pull in. No sooner had she done so than a familiar voice cried, “That’s her!”
It was the scalded-like-a-pig woman.
“Traitor!” cried a voice from another cart.
Someone spat.
“Whore!” yelled somebody else.
Tilla flinched as something more solid than spittle flew past her ear. “Go back to your fancy man!”
Tilla felt her pulse rise. There was no sign of Corinna. The scalded-like-a-pig woman was seated on the back of a cart, legs dangling. At least, she was until Tilla grabbed both feet and pulled and the woman landed on the gravel, screaming that she was being attacked, and all her friends rushed in to defend her.
In the end, nobody was badly hurt, although clothes were ripped and dirtied and hair was torn out and somebody complained afterward that That Girl had stamped on her toe and ruined her shoe and was Tilla going to pay for it?
No, said Tilla, trying not to sound out of breath: She was not going to pay, because That Girl had only come to defend her when she had been called bad names by women who should have known better. Had she herself not helped when Corinna’s son was scalded? Had she not helped Victor to escape when he was caught the first time? They did not know about that, did they? Well, perhaps they should stop name-calling until they knew what they were talking about. Perhaps, if they wanted to know who had betrayed Victor, they should start by asking the shopkeepers.
“Did you hear that, Corinna?” cried the scalded-like-a-pig woman, bold now that she was back in the safety of her own vehicle. “She’s blaming the neighbors now!”
“Leave her!” Corinna, with Lucios on one hip, stepped forward from the crowd of spectators. “I will talk to the doctor’s woman myself. And if anybody calls her names, it will be me.”
“I was not the one who betrayed you,” Tilla insisted, pulling her skirts straight and checking that her purse was still tied to her belt. “We are caught in the same storm, you and I. We should not be fighting.”
“I wasn’t,” said Corinna. She turned to the scalded-like-a-pig woman and the others who had come to her defense.
They did not deserve to be thanked, but at least it made them go away-which was a good thing, because if they decided to have another try, Tilla was not sure how long she could hold them off. Not even with Virana’s help.
With the excitement over, the crowd melted away. The vehicles set off again. The chatter and the cries of children mingled with the sound of wheels on the road and the calls of drivers urging their animals forward to catch up with the baggage train.
In the safety of their hired cart, Tilla cleaned the gravel out of a graze on Virana’s elbow and put some salve on it from the medicine box. “I was glad you were there, sister,” she said. “Thank you.”
The girl’s features were transformed. It was the smile of a child who had just been given an unexpected present. Tilla wondered if anyone had ever thanked her before. “You are a good fighter.”
“I have brothers.”
“I can tell,” said Tilla, replacing the lid on the ointment pot. “And we must let them know where you are.”
Virana’s face darkened. “Must we?”
“Yes. It is not far to the turn, and we can catch up afterward.” Tilla paused. “Or have you lied to me again about them sending you away?”
Chapter 62
Flat-nose moved toward the gate with a limp he did not have before and glanced across to where Virana was waiting in the cart. “You’re wasting your time with that one, miss.”
The rude one said, “We’ve had enough of Romans, all right?”
“It’s not her fault!” Flat-nose turned to Tilla. “We told them everything we could, miss.”
“That didn’t stop ’em,” put in the rude one. “Sick bastards.”
Tilla said, “You were questioned about the murder?”
“We saw him come out the gate,” said Flat-nose, “but we never saw no doctor. Not that I know of. Unless he were one of them fellers with the scorpions.”
“A Praetorian?”
“That’s them.”
“You saw some Praetorian Guards that night?”
He snorted. “Couldn’t miss ’em. All over the place like a plague of rats. Them and the new lot with the funny-speaking women.”
He must mean the Sixth, some of whose families had followed them from their last posting in Germania.
“Where were you when you saw Geminus?”
The brothers glanced at each other, evidently embarrassed. Finally Flat-nose said, “In the ditch.”
“Where Geminus was found?”
“No,” said the rude one, “the other side of the gates. It was getting a bit lively out there. We didn’t want to get stabbed, so we hid. Me and him and our mate. He’s the blacksmith.”
