Semper Fidelis

Chapter 31

“I can’t stop to argue.” He swung his cloak around his shoulders. “I’m going back for a last check on that arm. And then there’s something we need to talk about.”

It was not something good: Tilla could tell from his voice. “There is no need to argue,” she told him, following him out onto the walkway, “because I am right. The other knot was the same. Be cross with someone at the hospital, not me.”

He called from the walkway, “Nobody over there has any right to go into my case!”

“Well, someone has, and they are not very good at it!” Too late, she added, “What is the thing we need to talk about?”

But all he said was “Don’t speak to anyone till I get back.”

Tilla closed the door and surveyed the room. Two bowls, one half full of cold stew. A scroll of stupid poems. And nobody to talk to.

It’s no good moping, girl. There’s work to be done.

She lit the spare lamp. Then she set out to reassure herself that nobody had meddled with the rest of the medicine bottles, the little linen bags, and the limewood boxes in the case, and to make sure that the salves were still in their right containers. It was one of those times when a person could see the use of being able to read.

The medicines were neatly stacked in their compartments and the extra lamp had fizzled out by the time she heard footsteps on the walkway. She snatched up the scroll, but the footsteps went past. She put the scroll down again. If her husband had to do an emergency amputation, he could be gone all night. She might as well go to bed.

She was on the way back from the latrine when a voice said, “Stop there, miss!” In the torchlight, one large figure separated itself from another. Before she could dodge, the second man had placed himself behind her. She told herself not to be afraid. This was the mansio: There were plenty of people around. Anyway, he had called her “miss.” But then, a man could hide bad intentions behind good manners.

She said loudly, “Who are you?”

“The tribune wants you.”

“What for?”

“Follow me.”

If they tried to take her out of the building, she would scream. Faintly consoled by the thought that she had a plan, she set off behind them.

The torchlight glinted on the scabbard of his sword. He was, at least, some sort of soldier.

“The Medicus’s wife, sir.”

Accius was scowling at a map on the desk in front of him while a secretary hovered at his elbow. Tilla was not greatly reassured to see Minna perched on a stool in the corner, where it was much too dark to see the sock she was supposed to be darning.

Finally Accius rolled up the map and sent the secretary away with instructions about messages to the forts on the route. Then he dismissed the guards. Tilla heard the door clamp shut behind them. She fought an urge to haul it open and run.

“Tilla,” he said, looking her up and down as if he were trying to decide whether he would allow her to keep the name or give her another one.

The black smudge of soot across his forehead made his dark features even crosser than usual. A man this rich would not light his own fires, so she supposed he must have been to a temple.

“Real name,” he continued, “Darlughdacha. From a small tribe amongst the Brigantes known as the Corionotatae.”

Tilla stared at him. How did he know all of that? He had even pronounced it correctly.

“My attention has been drawn to the security records at Headquarters. Your people were involved in the recent troubles on the border. Restoring order cost us a lot of men.”

“Some of my people are-” No, that was wrong. Latin was always harder when she was nervous. “Some of my people were involved, sir. Many just wanted to bring up their families and tend their sheep.” Why was he talking about this now? Why was he talking to her at all? Was that what her husband did not have time to say: that he had told Accius all about her? It was all very well saying “Don’t speak to anyone till I get back,” but what should she do now?

“Your concern for the Legion’s reputation is noted.”

What concern?

“I hear you’ve been collecting information from the locals for us.”

She was aware of Minna in the corner listening to every word. Did he know about Virana? Or maybe even that she had befriended Corinna, wife of a deserter? How could she know what to say without knowing what he had heard?

“I have spoken to your husband,” he told her. “Since you are not …” He paused, searching for a word. “Since you do not have the usual background for an officer’s wife, I have decided to make some things clear to you personally.”

By the time she realized she was supposed to thank him, it was too late. “As the wife of an officer of the Twentieth Legion,” he continued, “your duty is to support your husband in the home. You need not trouble yourself with military affairs. In any way.”

Tilla opened her mouth, but before anything could come out, he said, “Civilians have no idea of the facts. They have no appreciation of all that your husband’s legion does for them. Any hint of encouragement from someone connected with the Legion merely fuels unfounded rumors that we then have to go to the trouble of correcting.”

He paused to let her regret any encouragement she might have offered.

“You will confine your discussions with the natives to the necessary business of running your household.”

Minna’s needle had stopped moving.

“Your husband will be giving me a list of the names of the people who are behind this latest gossip, so we can visit them and correct the false statements they have been making.”

Tilla knew about visits from the army. They were not easily forgotten, even after the damage had been repaired and the bruises had healed.

Minna had put the sock down and was watching to see her response. Tilla suddenly remembered how stupid most Roman officers thought the natives were. She let her mouth fall open and gazed at Accius with an expression of wide-eyed, tongue-tied awe.

Was that a faint relaxation of the scowl? He said, “Meanwhile, madam, the Legion appreciates your wish to be helpful. If we ever need your assistance, I will let you know.”

Finally Tilla managed to speak. “Sir, what must I do next time people try to tell me things?”

The scowl returned. “Tell them that complaints should go through the proper channels.”

Tilla bowed her head demurely. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I will ask my husband to explain to me what the proper channels are.”