Ruso and the Root of All Evils

5

Ruso stretched out his legs, leaned his back against the rail of the ship and gazed up at a seagull perched on the mast. He felt queasy. The roll of the vessel did not combine well with the smell of the fleece Tilla had insisted on bringing with her, and which she was now contentedly spinning beside him in the afternoon sunshine.

How, he wondered, did seagulls keep themselves so clean? Compared with the bird, the white bandage that encased his leg from hip to toe was disgustingly grimy. It was also much bigger than necessary, and Ruso had wondered as it went on whether Valens was going too far. What he wanted was convalescent leave, not an irrevocable medical discharge from the Army. Valens, however, had been confident.

‘Three months to recuperate, two months’ winter leave, that takes you to … some time in December. And don’t worry about leaving us in the lurch: I’ve said I’ll do extra nights if they need the cover.’

Ruso blinked. ‘Really?’ He could only remember one occasion on which Valens had offered to do extra night duty, and that was because he was trying to hide from a fierce centurion with a grudge. ‘Can’t they get one of the new men in?’

Valens tied the end of the bandage and tucked it in. ‘I’m a married man these days. You must remember what it was like.’

‘I try not to.’

‘It wasn’t too bad when it was just her,’ said Valens. ‘But now she’s got the twins.’

‘Well, that’s your fault.’

‘Indeed,’ Valens agreed. ‘But a chap has to sleep sometime, doesn’t he? And it’s not as if she’s on her own with them. That nursemaid cost me a fortune. I’m not the sort of husband who shirks his responsibilities, you know.’

‘So you come to work for a rest?’

‘Just as well, now you’ve gone and let everybody down by dancing about in the river. Did you know your rescuers have all been put on latrine duty for a month? Drunk and disorderly.’

Ruso was about to remark that they had got off lightly when there was a knock at the door.

‘Ah, here’s the chap who’s going to sign for you.’ Valens retrieved a writing-tablet from the desk and handed it to a fresh-faced young doctor who must have arrived with the latest batch of reinforcements. ‘Here you are. Sign in the space at the bottom.’

The man glanced at the impressive bandaging, ran one finger over what had been written on the document and signed without making any attempt to verify it. ‘Sorry I can’t stop to chat,’ he said to Ruso. ‘I have to go and take a leg off. Oh, and thanks for the chair.’

‘Chair?’ inquired Ruso after he had gone.

‘Well, you won’t be taking it with you, will you?’ said Valens. ‘So I assumed you’d be offering it to me, but as you’re in need of a favour I’ve told him he can have it.’

‘My chair? The one I’ve had since Antioch?’

Valens’ handsome face looked pained. ‘I could hardly ask him to sign without offering him something, could I? Don’t worry, I’ve told him you’ll need it when you get back.’

‘I’m not sure I’ll be coming back. It depends what’s going on at home. My contract with the Legion runs out in January.’

For once Valens looked genuinely shocked. ‘You mean you’ve got me arranging all this just so you can desert me?’

‘I might decide to sign on again.’

‘You will,’ Valens had assured him. ‘You’ll miss all this fun when you’re down on the farm, you know.’

At the time Ruso had insisted he would be glad to get back to a civilized country. It was something he had been saying ever since he arrived in Britannia. But now, sprawled on the deck of a troop ship that had brought over reinforcements and was now carrying back wounded, he realized he would miss Britain’s misty green hills and the chilly streams that never ran dry. There had been many times during the horrors of the rebellion when he had wished himself almost anywhere else, but he knew now that he would be sorry to leave the Army too.

He shook his head. At this rate he would soon be imagining he missed Valens.

The seagull launched itself off the mast, gave one lazy flap and was soon left behind by the speed of the ship. Beside him, Tilla’s left arm rose to draw out the brown fibres while her right thumb and forefinger set the spindle twirling.

Ruso allowed himself a brief moment of self-congratulation. He had removed Tilla from the control of an ignorant oaf back in Deva in the full expectation that, even if she survived, the injury the man had inflicted on her arm was so serious that he would have to amputate. Instead, she had surprised everyone, not only by surviving but by dragging Ruso into an investigation of the mysterious deaths of the local bar girls.

As he watched the hand that he had saved twist the woollen fibres into a neat thread, it occurred to Ruso that Tilla was about to become a surprise once again. He really should have found a way to mention her to his family while he was serving in Britannia. It was too late now. A last-minute letter could travel no faster than they were travelling themselves. He would have to make some hurried explanations when he arrived.

Perhaps the one good thing about this mysterious family crisis was that nobody would have time to worry about the arrival of an unexpected Briton.

Seeing him watching, she said, ‘The wool will be a gift for your stepmother. Does she like to weave?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Ruso, imagining Arria’s horror at the prospect of making her own clothes. ‘But I’m sure one of the staff will be able to make it up for her.’

‘What does she like to do?’

Ruso shifted to get a better view of the horizon. ‘She’s very keen on home improvements.’

‘Ah.’

‘It’s a big house,’ he added, not feeling well enough to explain that, to a woman like Arria, Home Improvements involved far more than a pot of wild flowers on the table and a patched scarlet curtain between the bed and the cooking space.

Tilla said, ‘It is good she has your sisters to help her.’

Ruso grunted something noncommittal. It was hard to imagine his sisters helping anyone, but perhaps they had improved in his absence. He tried to take his mind off the way his stomach was moving independently of the ship by telling Tilla about brilliant blue summer skies and air filled with the song of cicadas. About the olive groves and the vineyards. About his brother’s precious winery, and about his sister-in-law, the one who sent presents from home and produced all the nephews and nieces.

Tilla said, ‘I think I will like your home.’

Ruso felt another pang of guilt about his failure to mention her to his family. ‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what we’ll find after that letter. Something must have gone badly wrong.’

‘How wrong can it be? There is sunshine, and trees that grow oil, and no soldiers.’

‘Soldiers are one problem we don’t have at home,’ he agreed. ‘Narbonensis has been practically part of Italy for generations.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘You’ve never really seen what peace is like, have you?’

When they docked on the west coast of Gaul, the last of the genuinely maimed veterans who had travelled with them left for their own destinations. Ruso removed the extra dressings. He gave one of the crutches to a surprised beggar and then regretted it when he realized how feeble his leg muscles had become during their enforced rest. Still, it was a relief to feel the fresh summer breeze on his chafed thigh and to see the limb that had been the colour and shape of a giant maggot return to a normal-sized leg. He now wore only a long sock of bandage and, provided he was careful, could put his heel down to the ground without instant regret.

He clambered without assistance on to the river barge that would take them on the next stage of their journey. The joy of independence was only slightly diminished by Tilla’s observation that he now had one brown leg and one that looked as though he had just got it out of winter storage.

Following the river as it wound its leisurely way across the flat lands of south-west Gaul, their lives settled into a pleasant rhythm. He taught her to play board games and discovered she was a shameless cheat who laughed when she was caught. At last he made a serious effort to learn to speak British, and she discovered that there was a language that resembled it called Gaulish, which he tried to teach her in return. They squabbled over space in the tiny bunk, tried sleeping top to toe and quickly decided that was worse. He bought her a straw hat to keep the sun off, and she adorned it with the wild flowers she picked on the riverbank.

As they left the barge behind in Tolosa and climbed into the carriage to make the last stage of the journey through the mountains by road, it occurred to Ruso that there were whole days now when he hardly thought of the dreadful events they had left behind in Britannia. He abandoned the last crutch for a stick as his body began to heal along with his mind. He could not remember a time when he had been happier.

It was a pity he knew it wasn’t going to last.