“I’m appealing to Hadrian.”
“Can you do that? You’re supposed to go before the legate.”
“Hadrian knows me. We were stationed together in Antioch. We worked together on the earthquake rescue.”
“Really? You never said.”
“My stepmother says I only have to ask him for a favor and he’ll grant it.” Valens said, “Your stepmother? Does she know him too?”
“Mm,” said Ruso. “Apparently.”
Chapter 85
A traveler approaching a small staging post on the Eboracum Road at about the sixth hour that day might have noticed two soldiers strolling westward along the road toward him. As they grew closer, he might have been mildly surprised to see that while one was a well-built bearded officer whose outfit was respectable if rather dusty, his companion was chiefly notable for the heavy chains linking both wrists to his left ankle. Should he have happened to overhear any of the conversation between this odd couple as they passed by-which was unlikely, since their voices were low-he might have been further surprised to note that in this westernmost province of the empire, they were speaking Greek.
He might or might not have associated the dusty officer with the four cavalrymen riding slowly along a hundred paces behind, but by then his attention would have been diverted by the unusual spectacle of soldiers still striking camp at such a late hour. Whereupon all other thoughts would have been pushed aside by the pressing question of whether the Falcon’s Rest would still have anything decent left for lunch, or whether the soldiers had scoffed the lot.
“Your tribune tells me,” said Hadrian, “that he refuses to accuse you of murdering his relative because you didn’t do it. Meanwhile, my prefect seems to think he has plenty of grounds for an accusation, and you tell me you’re willing to confess.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Explain.”
“I’ll confess if it keeps the peace, sir. But I didn’t do it.”
“Do you know who did?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
“I’ve ridden most of the night to get here, Ruso. I’ve got gritty eyes, stiff shoulders, and a bruised arse. Don’t annoy me.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Who did it?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t tell you.”
“You’ll tell me soon enough if I hand you over to the questioners.”
“Probably, sir. But I don’t think it would do either of us much good.”
Hadrian sighed. “And you imagine I won’t accept your confession?”
Ruso swallowed. “I’d very much rather you didn’t, sir.”
“But it would be very convenient, wouldn’t it? The native suspect will remain free, his mutinous comrades- whom your tribune tactfully describes as “boisterous,” by the way-will stop getting themselves into more trouble by accusing my Praetorians of murder; and it will be clear to everyone that the Twentieth Legion answers to its officers, not to some uppity medic and his native girlfriend.”
“On the other hand, sir, you know you would be punishing an innocent man for somebody else’s crime.”
“Given the scale of the convenience, and your apparent willingness to be an unsung hero, that may be a price worth paying.”
“Perhaps, sir.” Ruso swallowed. This was not the way he had imagined the conversation going. Maybe he really had been influenced by his stepmother’s ludicrous presumption of-well, not of friendship, of course; perhaps
Hadrian untied the stopper of his water bottle and took a swig like any common soldier. “I should have Clarus arrest that woman of yours. I hear she’s behind all this.”
“Absolutely not, sir!”
They stepped aside as a rumble of wheels announced the approach of a post carriage. Ruso hopped awkwardly over the ditch and Hadrian busied himself tying the thong back around the stopper. The carriage thundered past, driver and courier oblivious to the fact that they could have halted and delivered many of their messages in person.
“Sir,” put in Ruso as soon as he could be heard, “my wife has nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. I won’t confess anything if you arrest her.” Not willingly, anyway. The gods alone knew what he would say once the questioners got to work.
“Hm.” Hadrian stepped back across the ditch. “Let me propose a hypothetical situation. Let us suppose that there are two wives. Neither wife trusts her husband to get on with his own business without her help. I take it you can imagine this situation?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The first man’s wife goes bleating to the second man’s wife about some difficulty her husband is having. The second man’s wife, who has a tendency to exaggerate her husband’s shortcomings, expresses some surprise that he has done nothing to help the first man in this situation-a situation about which, of course, both of the wives have only the barest understanding. Are you with me so far?”
“I think so, sir.”
“This is, of course, purely hypothetical.”
“Yes, sir.” If only this whole mess were hypothetical. If only Tilla had held a hypothetical meeting with the empress. If only she had threatened the prefect of the Praetorians with a hypothetical scalpel.
“Now let us say that the friends of the second man’s wife, some of whom are rather more eager to impress her than they should be, listen to this complaint and take it to be an expression of her wishes. So, in a misguided act of loyal service, they arrange for the problem to be dealt with.”
Gods above, the emperor knew the whole story! Everything he and Tilla had risked their necks to find out. Was there anything this man’s spies did not tell him? “If that were to happen, sir, it would be very unfortunate.”
“Especially since, if this came to light, people might mistakenly assume that the wishes were not only those of the wife but of her husband.”
Of course. That was what interested Hadrian. If word got out, people would assume that the murderer of inconvenient senators had now become the murderer of inconvenient centurions. The emperor, whose power traditionally rested on the tripod of the Senate, the army, and the people, would appear to have kicked away a second prop. If his enemies managed to exploit this apparent weakness, he could be in real trouble.
Unfortunately, it was hard to imagine Hadrian confiding any of this to a man he didn’t intend to have safely executed by lunchtime.
Ruso took a deep breath. “Personally, sir, I think if the second husband were going to deal with the problem himself, he would have found a better way.”
Hadrian grunted. “I suppose that’s a compliment.”
“To the hypothetical husband, sir.”
“Yes. Anyway, were someone to come along who was willing to assume the blame for the whole fiasco, I’d imagine that-for the sake of peace and quiet-any sensible man would let him get on with it.”
Put like that, his impulsive offer to confess-which had started out as a way of silencing a few recruits and
