“Well?” she asked. “You had plenty to say just now. I am listening.”
There was nervous laughter. Tilla felt her arm released as some sort of whispered argument erupted between her husband and Marcus. Then Marcus stepped forward. “Empress,” he said, and bowed to the figure above him.
Someone shouted, “Good start, mate!”
Marcus hesitated, clearly unnerved. “Madam Empress, three months ago there were fifty of us, recruits to the Twentieth Legion. Now three are dead, one is sick, and one is in chains.”
Sabina said, “Who are you?”
“Oh. Yes.” Marcus cleared his throat. “Marcus of the Regni. Tonight Centurion Dexter tried to get rid of the rest of us, but we came to report to Tribune Accius instead, because we want to serve the emperor.”
Sabina inclined her head.
“And you,” he added quickly.
She inclined her head once more.
Marcus said, “We wanted the tribune to know what really happened to the men who died. Dannicus and Tadius and Sulio. And now he does. And … ah … we’re sorry about spoiling your dinner.”
A cry of “No we’re not!” was followed by a scuffle somewhere in the darkness and hissings of “Shut up!”
“I see,” said Sabina. “And what is your petition?”
There was another pause. Tilla could hear whispers of “What’s he saying?” but Marcus seemed not to know how to explain what his men wanted.
Suddenly Accius stepped forward. “Madam, if I may …”
“Please do, Tribune.”
“Madam, these men are proud to be citizens of Rome, but they are also natives, and they are overwhelmed by the honor of speaking with the greatest lady in the known world. Even here in the wilds, everyone has heard of your great virtue and beauty and your many achievements …”
So that was how you were supposed to talk to an empress. No wonder she always looked bored. Finally he seemed to be getting to the point.
“They ask your full and absolute pardon for their behavior this evening, for safe conduct to Deva where they can present their case to the legate and receive justice-”
“Proper justice!” shouted someone. There was a chorus of support. A small chant of “No more lies!” broke out and died away again as Sabina raised one hand for silence.
“-and for the immediate release of their comrade Victor, whom they believe is innocent of the murder of Centurion Geminus.”
Tilla noticed that he did not say what he thought of Victor himself.
Sabina said, “That is it?”
“Yes, madam.”
She held out one hand. “I will receive their petition.”
Accius looked around wildly. “Madam, my men have not yet-”
“Here you are, Empress!” Virana stepped forward, tugging a little scrap of rolled-up parchment out of her cleavage. Sabina took it between finger and thumb as if she were holding a dead rat by the tail. She teased it partly open with one fingertip and frowned. Then she lifted her head and said in a voice that was clear, but without the strength of one used to making speeches, “Men of the Twentieth Legion, on condition that you leave immediately and peacefully and return to your camp, I, Vibia Sabina Augusta, am pleased to grant a full and absolute pardon for your conduct this evening and to grant your petition.”
As the cheers gathered into a fresh chant of
Chapter 81
Ruso watched the recruits march out of the stable entrance behind Accius, the odd drunken stumble the only hint of the chaos they had caused just now. They appeared to have taken to heart the tribune’s warning that the first man to step out of line again would be crucified, and so would his comrades on either side of him.
Just before they formed up he had murmured to Marcus, “You’re a different man from the one I met at Eboracum.”
“It was you who gave me the courage, sir.” Then he grinned as if Ruso would be pleased with the compliment, and as if everything would be all right from now on, and wisely pulled the shoulders of his tunic down over his tattoos before merging in amongst the other recruits.
Meanwhile, Clarus had rushed outside to ensure that the Praetorians who had been spoiling for a fight didn’t pick one, and then returned to resume his anxious guard over the empress.
A couple of slaves crept out from wherever they were hiding, barred the gates, and disappeared again. The clearing up would have to wait for daylight.
Ruso sat on the mounting block, folded his arms, and gazed up at the stars. A horse stamped over in the stables, no doubt relieved that the terrifying humans had all gone away. Tilla had whispered a hasty “Wait for me!” but she had gone inside with Sabina and was probably still trying to smooth ruffled feathers. He should probably go straight to the camp, but he doubted the men would dare cause any more trouble now. He would just enjoy a few more moments of peace, then get out before everyone here locked up and went to bed.
There above him was the Great Bear, and above it the North Star and the Little Bear, and around them all the constellations he should remember the names of but never could. Through all the madness of this evening they had been shining there, constant, hidden only by the confusion of light and smoke made by humankind. No doubt there was a lesson there that he ought to ponder on the road tomorrow. Tonight, he was merely relieved that the crisis was over.
Between them, Accius and Sabina had managed to convince the recruits that they should proceed peacefully to Deva. If they were lucky, the legate would uphold Sabina’s unauthorized pardon-it might be politically awkward not to-and withhold the charge of mutiny. Victor, now amply punished for his desertion, would be free from the unjust accusation of murder. And if Clarus chose not to prosecute the Praetorians who had apparently settled an old grudge by murdering their former comrade, that was his business. Even Accius would have to admit that it was a kind of justice.
A distant owl hooted. Something changed in his peripheral vision, and he realized the light in one of the windows above him had gone out. As he watched, another light died. He got to his feet, noticing for the first time that he was cold, and made his way across the yard to where the lamps were still glowing in the main entrance hall.
He was almost there when a figure stepped out of the shadows. He had sprung back and grabbed his knife before reason pointed out to instinct that the blond hair belonged to his wife.
“Husband!” she hissed, raising both hands. “It is me!”
It occurred to him that “It is me!” was unnecessary, since no one but Tilla was likely to call him “husband.” Next it occurred to him that only a very tired mind would notice that sort of thing when there were far more pressing matters to attend to. Like Tilla assuring him that nobody was dead.
He was pleased she was safe, and that no one had been killed, and he thanked her for the good news.
“It was Marcus.”
“What was?”
“The horrible screaming and the-” She broke off to give a muted demonstration of a ghastly choking gurgle.
“I see.” He had no idea what she was talking about, but Marcus had looked perfectly healthy just now and no doubt the explanation would be more complicated than it was worth.
“One of his friends told me. He learned it from a charcoal burner who used it to frighten off the soldiers when they came sneaking through the woods to steal his fuel.”
“Ah.”
“And I can tell you something else: The scorpions from Rome had orders from the emperor’s secretary to kill
