Semper Fidelis

Chapter 65

They paused to stand halfway between the road and the line of horses flicking their tails against the midday flies. Anyone watching-and there were plenty of men with nothing much else to look at-would have seen Tilla hand over a small bottle to the tribune and give a small bow of respect. They might, if they thought about it, have seen several other things. They might have seen that neither man nor woman wanted to be thought of as holding a secret meeting with the other. They might also have seen that neither trusted the other-the woman had a companion and the tribune had three guards-and yet that they did not quite trust their own people, either, since the companion and the guards had been made to stand out of earshot.

They could not have heard Accius say, “Another anonymous informer?” and Tilla reply, “They are the best sort. These men have no reason to lie: They would rather not have seen or heard anything at all.”

“You expect me to believe that you can get information from these people when our questioners can’t?”

“They told what they knew. Your torturers needed to ask better questions. Nobody asked what they heard, and they were frightened of getting involved.”

“They’re involved now. They’re spreading dangerous rumors, and yet again only you know their names. The only evidence that our recruit was at home in bed comes from a wife who is bound to say that-and from you. I have been patient with you. The Praetorians won’t be.”

Tilla had not thought of that. It was not good. Why did this man always look at things backward? “Sir,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “you have a choice. You can hand me over to the Praetorians for questioning and I will give up the names before long, because I am not brave, and they can catch the witnesses and silence them. Or you can bring justice for your lost relative and defend your own men against false charges of murder.”

“Don’t presume to tell me what my choices are!”

“No, sir. I am sure you can see them for yourself.”

Was that a smile? It was gone before she could be sure.

“It’s very convenient,” he said, “that you should find anonymous informers who point away from your husband.”

“Any true witness would point away from my husband, sir.”

“It won’t free him, you know.”

“No, sir.”

“Who else knows about this?”

This was it: the tricky moment that she had known would come. Naming Pera might put him in danger. On the other hand, if she said nobody else knew, Accius could find a way to silence her and carry on as if nothing had changed.

“I have sent a sealed letter ahead to Deva with a merchant, sir. It is addressed to the legate.”

She might as well have punched him in the stomach. “You’ve done what?”

“Saying that if anything happens to you, he should know that you were investigating the murder of a centurion by the Praetorians.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, sir. I knew you would not want anyone here to be told, but this knowledge may put you in danger, and you know how easily a bad thing can happen to someone, and then it can be covered up.”

The smile was definitely gone now. “So some common scribe knows as well?”

“No, sir. I wrote it myself. My writing is not good but I think he will be able to read it.”

He stared at her for a moment, trying to decide whether this ridiculous invention was true, or perhaps whether a native woman really could write. She did not blink.

Finally he muttered, “You stupid, interfering … A letter like that should be in code!”

Yes! He believed it. Or at least he was not sure it was a lie. She lowered her gaze. “I do not know the codes, sir. I have only just learned to write, and I did not think. I am sorry.”

He gave a sigh of exasperation. “This trip has been nothing but trouble.”

There was no need to reply to that.

He peered through the glass of the bottle. “What is this muck?”

“A mixture to ease coughs, sir.”

He put a thumb over the stopper and shook it in a way that suggested he would rather be shaking her. Then he handed it back.

“Drink it,” he ordered.

“But it was only-”

“All of it.”

Conscious of everyone watching her, she twisted out the stopper. Then she raised the bottle to her lips, wondering what an overdose of cough mixture might do. It tasted disgusting. She was glad she had not brought the mandrake. That would definitely have killed her.

“If you’re still alive later this evening,” he said, “report to me. Alone. Then I’ll consider what you’ve said.”