Semper Fidelis

Chapter 48

“What do we do?”

Ruso stood beside Pera at the bottom of the ditch, running one hand through his hair. He could not believe what he was seeing. Geminus’s throat had been cut open and his head pulled back with an efficiency that suggested the practiced butchering of an animal. A bloodstained dagger lay beside him.

He crouched beside the body, feeling the tingle of nettles against his skin. The dagger slid neatly into the empty sheath at the centurion’s side.

Pera said, “He couldn’t have done that to himself, could he, sir?”

“No.”

“What do we do?”

Ruso closed his eyes for a moment and tried to detach his mind from the shock. “‘Time of death, cause of death, any other matters of note,’” he recited. “You can do the rest of the details up at the mortuary. Did you bring anything to write with?”

“Sorry, sir.”

Pera extended a hand, put it on the centurion’s arm, and then quickly withdrew it. “He’s cold, sir.”

“Sometime last night. Cause of death, severing of right and left carotid arteries. Anything else of note …” He stood, slapping at the nettle stings. “Did you slide down here or jump?”

“Jump, sir.”

“So did I.” Ruso peered at the side of the ditch, where he could now make out smears of blood. Several clumps of grass were hanging by pale roots. “Looks as though they did it up there,” he said, “and then tipped him in.”

“‘They’?”

Ruso said, “You think one man could take Geminus?”

There were two thuds as a couple of the orderlies landed in the ditch behind them. They complained vigorously about the nettles as they lifted the body onto the stretcher and maneuvered it up to their comrade waiting at ground level. The men from the Sixth finally produced a ladder from the gatehouse and Ruso was halfway up it when he heard a growing sound of tramping boots and jingling belt straps. It was followed by a cry of “Make way for His Honour the Praetorian Prefect and Tribune Accius!”

Pera emerged from the ditch and crouched to wipe his hands on the grass before saluting. Ruso recognized the lanky man who had been riding behind Hadrian in the procession: Praetorian Prefect Clarus, the only man authorized to carry a sword in the private company of the emperor. Accius was beside him, looking like a man who had not slept well, and behind them Dexter was craning to see what was on the stretcher. Prefect Clarus approached and gestured for the orderly to draw back the top of the sheet. Both he and Accius blanched and turned away from the sight. Dexter stared down at the mutilated body of his comrade, betraying no emotion. The man replaced the sheet.

Clarus said, “Is that him?”

Accius swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Who found him?”

“The perimeter patrol, sir,” said one of the Sixth.

Accius shook his head. “Terrible. Terrible. He was just about to retire. What a tragedy.” Suddenly he noticed Ruso. “You!” His voice was hoarse. “Get away from him!”

“Sir, if I can help-”

“Arrest this man!”

“But, sir-”

“Have him chained up in the guardhouse.”

“Sir, I didn’t-”

The blow to his head sent him staggering sideways.

“Speak when you’re spoken to!” snarled Dexter. “And show some respect to the centurion. Like a flock of vultures, you lot.”

Dazed, he was aware of Accius somewhere in the distance saying, “He can speak at his trial. Until then, get him out of my sight or I’ll have him killed on the spot.”