Semper Fidelis

“Why did you not tell the questioners this?”

He frowned. “I did.”

Flat-nose said, “So did I.”

Tilla spoke slowly, just to make sure her meaning was precise. “Did you see anyone near Geminus?”

“I just told you!” The rude one was getting impatient now. “Like I told old Skinny-legs with the fancy sword. I saw the centurions come out the gate banging on their shields. I thought, Somebody’s in trouble now. Then Geminus come out with some of them Praetorians. I don’t know why that’s so hard to understand.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. Three or four.”

“You’re sure they were Praetorians? It was dark.”

“They had torches.”

“And that’s how you recognized Geminus?”

“Nah. They all look alike with them helmets on. I heard his voice.”

Tilla looked at Flat-nose for confirmation. He nodded. “It was him all right.”

“What was he saying?”

“It was in Latin. Something about going into action together again.”

“And then what happened?”

“We hid.”

“So you didn’t see what happened next?”

“No.”

“What did you hear after that?”

“Hear?” said the rude one. This was clearly something they had not been asked before.

“You knew Geminus from his voice. You must have good hearing.”

The brother sighed. “Are you going to call in a man with a whip too?”

“Shouting,” suggested Flat-nose. “Grunting. Like a fight.”

The rude one said, “Did you hear someone breathing funny?” They looked at each other for confirmation.

“We had a good laugh after,” said Flat-nose. “Somebody had the same idea as us, see. We heard him go into the ditch the other side, only that side’s all nettles.”

“Did you hear him complaining?”

They looked at each other, but neither could remember any complaints. “Well, he wouldn’t shout about it if he was hiding, would he?”

Or if he was dead. “And then?”

“We followed the ditch away from the gates, got out where nobody could see, and went back to our mate’s workshop to sleep it off.” Flatnose rubbed his leg and winced. “Then next day we all got woke up and marched in to the fort to see a man who didn’t believe a word we told him.”

“Romans do not believe that ordinary people will tell the truth unless they are in pain,” explained Tilla. “Did you see Geminus again after that?”

“No. Well, he were dead, weren’t he? Lucky they didn’t throw him in our side.”

“From what I hear,” said the rude one. “Good riddance.”

Tilla allowed herself a smile. “Yes,” she said, “I think we are all better without him. Now, about your sister …”

“How much are you offering?”

“I am not offering to buy your sister!” Tilla was shocked. “I am come to ask your mother’s blessing for her to travel with me to Deva. Then I will see to it that she gets safely home again.”

Back at the cart, Tilla merely told Virana that she had the family’s permission to go to Deva. She left out the brother’s demand for money, and the fact that the mother had said she need not bother coming back.

Chapter 63

One of the chief-one of the few-pleasures of long-distance marching was that it left a man alone with his thoughts. Today, however, Ruso’s thoughts were not good company. It was difficult to ignore the fact that every step was taking him nearer to … He was not sure what, but it would not be good. Once they got to Deva, Clarus and Accius would report on events at Eboracum to the legate. Ruso had not had the heart, or indeed the time, to explain to Tilla that it barely mattered whether or not he was accused of murdering Geminus. Insubordination was a capital offense in itself, and there was no shortage of witnesses.

There were also mitigating circumstances, but who would listen? Accius would undermine anything he might say by forewarning the legate that the accused was a known complainer with a history of violence against fellow officers. The legate, with whom Ruso was no better acquainted than he was with the moon, would support his tribune, because that was what officers did. It was called loyalty. Ruso could think of better words.

A painful tug on his wrists brought him stumbling back to the present. He quickened his pace to keep up with the wagon and felt something shift around his left ankle. Trying to adjust his pace to get a better view, he prayed that the knot in the leather thong was just slipping and not working itself undone. If the ends came apart, the lacing would gradually loosen all the way along the boot. He would be left shuffling and hopping and trying not to leave it behind until the order came to halt for water.

He must think about something else.

At least it wasn’t raining.

Inside the wagon, Austalis had his eyes closed. The patients seated along the bench had all adopted different poses, trying to brace themselves against the wheels jolting over the uneven road. Their faces spoke of boredom, although there was at least one man up there who should have been looking pleased with himself: If Ruso had been in charge instead of Pera, the slackers would have been walking. The patient at the back, a man with a torn knee cartilage, was gazing out blankly as if he had not noticed there was a doctor attached to the back of the hospital wagon.

Could a soldier appeal to the emperor? And if he could, would the emperor listen-especially when listening would be an admission that he had been wrong not to believe the soldier in the first place? Come to that, how exactly would the soldier go about getting any appeal past his commanding officers?

The boot felt no looser than before. He glanced back over his shoulder. The driver of the hospital supply wagon was keeping his mules at a safe distance, which Ruso supposed was the only kindness he could offer. Tilla would be farther back with the camp followers. He hoped she was not alone. He was in no position to protect her. He had managed to exchange a few surreptitious words with Pera, who had promised to look out for her, but Pera had other duties.

Do not despair. I will do something. The gods alone knew what bizarre plan Tilla had in mind, but whatever it was, he was glad of it. Even if it did not work-and he could not see how it could-at least she was here with him. She had been given the chance to go with Valens, and she had done what he had not dared to ask of her: She had chosen him instead.

He was still warming himself beside this small glow of comfort when the trumpet sounded the order to halt. Somewhere ahead of him, the empress would be treated to the sight of a couple of hundred men guzzling from their waterskins and lining up to pee in the ditch. Here the not-quite-walking wounded rose stiffly to their feet and were helped out of the wagon by a couple of orderlies. One or two of them murmured, “Thank you, sir,” perhaps because he had had the sense to step out of their way. Or perhaps because they could not think of anything else to say to him. Whatever the reason, it was good to have his existence acknowledged.

Since nobody else seemed to be paying him any attention, he clambered awkwardly into the vehicle and shook the grit out of his boots before turning to find his former patient reaching a hand toward him.

“Sir …”

“Austalis. How are you?”