Semper Fidelis

Chapter 67

The tribune was a guest in the commanding officer’s house at Calcaria, as presumably was the empress. Ruso, whose request to wash had been refused, was led into a dining room whose decor made him think of the insides of a raw chicken: yellow fat, cream skin, pink flesh, red blood. In the midst of this lay Accius, propped on one elbow on a yellow couch. He was surrounded by the debris of a formal dinner. Standing in front of one of the tables was Tilla, looking alarmingly pale. He glanced from her to Accius, slightly reassured by the fact that she was fully clothed and her hair was no more ruffled than usual.

Her eyes widened when she saw him. The quick pout and lift of the eyebrows told him only that he should have learned to interpret her facial expressions by now.

“Ah,” said Accius with the languor of a man who had eaten too much and did not want to shake it up with an animated conversation. “Ruso.”

“Sir.”

“I have decided,” declared Accius, “that it is a waste of skill to have a doctor marching in chains.”

Ruso let out a secret sigh of relief and offered the obligatory “Thank you, sir” as if it were not Accius’s fault he had been chained in the first place. This was probably the nearest he would get to an apology.

“I find myself,” said Accius, “in something of a quandary.”

Ruso glanced at the scattered remains of the meal. He could smell wine and fish and spice and lavender. He looked at Accius’s soft leather house shoes dangling from the end of the couch, and thought of Victor crouched in a malodorous cell not two hundred paces away. It was hard to sympathize with the tribune’s quandary.

“I have been informed by this annoyingly persistent young woman”-here Ruso exchanged another uncommunicative glance with his wife-“that there may be further information about the murder of Centurion Geminus. If I tell you that none of this information is to leave this room, do I have the faintest chance of you obeying me this time?”

“Absolutely, sir. Whatever it is, it’s confidential.” Since Ruso already knew what it was likely to be, this was not a difficult promise to make.

Accius turned to Tilla. “Tell him what you told me.”

Tilla looked at them both, opened her mouth, swayed, and grabbed at a table for support. Ruso seized her and lowered her onto one of the couches. “Head between your knees,” he ordered, feeling her forehead for fever and scanning the tables for a water jug.

“It is nothing,” Tilla insisted in a muffled voice.

“Of course it’s something!” Ruso glared at Accius. “What did you do to her?”

“I haven’t touched her.”

From between her knees Tilla said, “I drank too much cough medicine.”

Ruso decided he must have misheard. “You drank too much? Has he been giving you wine?”

“Cough medicine,” she repeated, making no more sense than before. “It made me vomit. Can I come up now?”

When she did, he gave her a look that was intended to mean he wanted to continue this conversation later and that they would be discussing more than medicine, but it was too complicated a message for a simple look to convey.

Restored, Tilla perched on the edge of the dining couch and relayed the account of her anonymous witnesses from Eboracum. Three or four Praetorians, recognizable by the scorpions on their shields, and Geminus talking to them about going into action together again. Then the sound of a struggle and someone landing in the ditch.

When she had finished, Accius said, “Some of us believe in knowing all the facts before we draw our final conclusions.”

Ruso bit back Then why did you send me down the sewers? and said, “I thought the Praetorian prefect was in charge?”

“Prefect Clarus is in overall charge, yes.”

A misdemeanor in the Legion would normally be dealt with by a tribune. Possibly Accius had not taken kindly to having the investigation snatched away from him.

“It has come to my notice, Ruso, that you seem to have the knack of persuading men to confide in you.”

“It’s my job, sir.”

“Yes. It has also occurred to me that a doctor can move about freely amongst all classes of men. And since you are the senior medical officer on this march, you need not confine your attentions to your own unit.”

“Yes, sir.” Or should that be No, sir? Was he being released? What the hell was Accius playing at?

“Do you think you could perhaps attempt the art of being discreet?”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Good. I shall deal with your insubordination when we get to Deva. Meanwhile, just carry out your medical duties as usual.”

Tilla’s face brightened. Ruso looked from one to the other of them. “Thank you, sir.”

“I don’t want our men-or any of the men-more agitated than they already are. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Should you happen to discover anything interesting in the course of your duties, I expect you to report it to me-and only me-immediately.”

So that was it. Accius didn’t trust Clarus, and Ruso the Insubordinate had become Ruso the Useful.

“If you get into trouble, you will deal with it yourself.”

And also Ruso the Expendable. He stifled What do you actually want, sir? There was no point: Accius would not-could not-tell him to make inquiries about the unknown Praetorians. If indeed that was what Accius wanted. It was certainly what Ruso wanted, so the vagueness of the instructions suited him nicely.

“Is that clear?”

No. You’re being deliberately evasive, you pompous, self-serving … “Absolutely, sir.”

“Good.”

“Just one thing, sir?”

Accius waited.

Ruso gestured toward a dish still half full of small cakes. “If you aren’t going to eat all of those, can I have them?”

“Haven’t they fed you?”

“They’re not for me, sir.”

Accius sighed. “Very well.”

As Ruso lifted the dish, something else occurred to him. “Sir, one more thing.”

“You’re not having the wine.”

“Am I right in thinking Centurion Geminus joined the Praetorian Guard straight after the return from Dacia, sir?”

“Yes.”

“So that would be … how long ago?”

“I was eight,” said Accius. “Sixteen years ago.”

“Thank you, sir. And when did he leave them?”

Accius frowned. “I can’t remember. He served in Judaea and then transferred to the Twentieth. Does it matter?”

“Probably not, sir.”

“Good. You can go.”

Ruso glanced at his wife.

“Not her,” said Accius. “She will be traveling with my household.”

Ruso tensed. “Sir-”

“You can’t expect me to release a prisoner and not retain a sign of good faith.” Accius turned to Tilla. “My guards will arrange for your vehicle to travel with mine. You will lodge with my housekeeper, and you will be treated with respect unless you make trouble, in which case my guards will restrain you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are not to speak to me again, do you understand? You have embarrassed me enough. Now, get out, both of you.” Accius reached back to slide his shoes on. “The staff need to clear up.”

In the lamplit corridor outside, at last able to rub his sore wrists, Ruso whispered, “Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“You were right about the betting. Geminus got what he deserved.” Before she could reply, a gang of slaves who had been waiting somewhere discreet bore down upon them carrying trays and cleaning cloths. He said, “Cough medicine?”

“A mistake.”

“What if it had been the mandrake?” he demanded. “You must read the labels, Tilla!”