“Not at all. You were most entertaining. And are you still finding useful things to do?”
Accius burst in: “Madam, this woman should not be in the mansio!” Sabina said, “The tribune thinks you should be busy serving your husband’s dinner.”
The Briton looked confused, as if this were some sort of trick.
“But before that, perhaps you could tell us about all the things we have to look forward to in Deva.”
“Deva?”
“You have been there?”
“I live there.” The woman thought for a moment and then said, “The cheese is salty, but very good.”
Sabina nodded to Clarus. “We must try the cheese. Which reminds me …” She beckoned the serving staff with one finger. When nobody approached, she turned to see two of the mansio slaves staring vacantly across the room. She sighed. She should have insisted on bringing more staff too.
“You there. Have they forgotten us down in the kitchens? Go and see where the next course is.” To the Briton she said, “Go on.”
“The best bakery is the one opposite Merula’s bar, and the baths are open to women in the morning.” She paused again, then added, “But I think the legate has his own baths.”
“I do hope so.”
Clarus was poking at an olive with his knife as if he were trying to goad it into life. Accius was having his wine refilled. The woman seemed to have run out of things to say about Deva.
“There must be something else.”
The woman met her gaze. “Madam, I go to market and talk to my friends and deliver babies and keep house for my husband and try not to anger the gods. I do not know what would interest a lady like you in Deva. You must ask the legate’s wife.”
“You were more helpful in answering my questions last time we met.”
“You asked better questions.”
Sabina chuckled. At last! This was more like it. “So, what else should we travelers know about the Britons? Is it true you that you believe chickens are gods and nobody should eat them?”
“A chicken is a not a god, madam. It is a bird that lays eggs.”
“And your warriors-” Sabina stopped. “What is that?”
Everyone looked up as it came again: an irregular cracking and scraping somewhere above them, almost as if someone were walking about on the tiles.
The woman said, “Perhaps there are rats in the loft, madam.”
Sabina shuddered, imagining the size of a British rat. She would have to make sure every hole was stuffed with rags tonight, and one of the girls would have to lie across the gap under the door. The others could take turns to keep watch. “Is it true,” she said, making an effort to regain her composure, “that your warriors fight naked and live in bogs?”
“I cannot speak of warriors, madam. The tribune has ordered me to speak only of matters concerning civilians and women.”
Sabina exchanged a glance with Accius. “That is very good advice,” she said, wondering exactly what had gone on between them. “I believe I told you something similar.”
“But I can tell you about a woman and child from the Dumnonii people who are traveling with your escort, who will soon be left widowed and fatherless because-”
“The empress does not want to hear idle gossip!” Accius interrupted.
“But you are the one who ordered her not to speak of anything else,” Sabina pointed out.
Now the scowl was positively sulky.
She turned to the Briton. “Why will this woman be left widowed?”
The Briton lifted her chin. “I cannot tell you, madam.” She pointed to the other two dinner guests. “But your friends can.”
There was no shortage of conversation now. The awkwardness was forgotten, as were the rats. Clarus and Accius both hastened to explain that the Dumnonii woman’s husband was a murderer, that this Briton did not know what she was talking about, that a full investigation had taken place, and that Britons always made trouble. Meanwhile, the source of all the upset was glancing from one to the other of them with a small smile of triumph on her face. Nobody seemed to have noticed the legionary standing in the doorway.
“Stop!” Sabina cried. “Both of you!” She nodded toward the legionary.
“Speak.”
“Message for the tribune, mistress.”
Whatever the message was, it sobered Accius immediately. He excused himself and left in the man’s company.
Sabina addressed the Briton. “You and your husband seem to enjoy stirring up trouble.”
The woman bowed her head. “I am sorry to have disturbed your dinner, madam.”
“On the contrary, you have helped to pass the time in a most entertaining manner-which is just as well, since it seems the wretched staff have forgotten us entirely.” She frowned at the one remaining inn slave. “Go and fetch your master, girl. This is ridiculous!” To Tilla she said, “Unfortunately, I am not in a position to do anything about your friend from the-who are they?”
“The Dumnonii.”
“The Dumnonii. I can do nothing about anything, because I live perpetually surrounded by spies.” She gestured toward her own slaves, lined up against the wall. Nobody flinched. They were used to it. “Rest assured that one of them will be reporting this evening’s conversation. For all I know, all of them will. So I never interfere in military or political matters. I leave all that to the emperor’s men. Clarus, I’m sure you can deal with whatever it is?”
Clarus stood and began to make his way-none too hastily-around the outside of the couches. “With your permission, madam, I will hear what this young woman has to say.”
“Please do.”
He seized the Briton by the arm and led her out of the dining room.
Sabina, alone with her staff, held out her glass for more respectably watered wine. “The emperor’s health,” she said wearily, raising her glass. As she did so, she glanced at the badly painted ceiling and wondered if even Julia would have found it possible to laugh about rats.
Chapter 74
Marcus’s words might have been intended to reassure, but they had the opposite effect. As he strode toward the lanterns that marked a feeble welcome to the inn, Ruso asked himself what the recruit might know about Tilla. Why would she not be harmed? Why might any harm have come to her in the first place? Why might harm come to anyone?
He should have stayed in the camp. He had done his duty: Dexter had leapt to his feet and said he would check on the absent guards straightaway, but the more he thought about Marcus’s words, the more uneasy he felt. He would just make sure Tilla was safe, then go back to the men.
Finding Tilla was not as easy as he had thought. The innkeeper denied all knowledge of her, and refused to summon the tribune’s housekeeper so she could be asked.
“But she must be here. She’s traveling with the tribune’s party. Blond, in her twenties, probably with a local girl with-” He extended his arms, fingers splayed, in an exaggeration of the girl’s assets.
“I’d have noticed, sir.”
“Let me in and I’ll find them myself.”
But the innkeeper was not inclined to let him in, and the doorkeeper was very inclined to throw him out, so he made a tactical retreat with “When you find her, say her husband’s looking for her.”
With the brisk stride of a man caught between anxiety and irritation, he headed down the road to where the civilians had set up a makeshift campsite.
Tilla had gone missing.
