Tabula Rasa

Chapter 13

Tilla left her patient’s house feeling at peace with her world. Last night’s meeting had not been as bad as she had feared. Conn had been rude and Enica cold, but old Senecio had made them welcome and her husband had agreed to his blessing. Perhaps it would do some good: Who knew? Besides, it would be a change to have something cheerful at Samain. It was a time when she missed her family. Every year she slipped away to gaze out into the night in the hope of seeing her own dead walking toward her, but they never came.

Meanwhile the sun was shining, the trees were turning golden, the hedge was dotted with red rose hips and pale green globes of ivy shy;blossom, and the mother and week-old baby she had just visited were doing well. When she got back to Ria’s she would have some privacy to practice her reading: Virana would be busy serving downstairs, continuing her last-ditch attempt to snare the man of her dreams before she had to carry a fatherless baby home to face the disapproval of her family.

Tilla pursed her lips. She was not going to feel guilty about saying good-bye to Virana. That had always been the arrangement. You can stay until you have the baby. Then you must go home. Her husband would have sent the girl back straightaway, but Tilla had won him over, as she knew she would. So he confined his complaining to insisting that this must not happen again. We are not taking in any others. After this we’ll buy a slave and live like a normal family. She had been tempted to say, A normal family plants in spring and is still there to harvest in summer. A normal family has children. But she had chosen a soldier, and neither of them had chosen the emptiness where children should have been, so there was nothing to gain by pouring vinegar into the wound.

A robin flew up from the side of the track as she approached, and sat watching her from the safety of a hawthorn. She stopped, then moved slowly forward, obliged to skirt round a puddle to keep her distance. It crossed her mind that a Roman would probably try to throw a net over it and roast it for supper. She was almost level with it now. Perhaps she could pass without frightening it.

Too late. It fluttered up, over the hedge and-

Tilla stopped again and felt her heart quicken. Felt the dread tightening her stomach. How long had that been there? How could she have failed to notice it? Over toward the fort, the perfect sky was marred by soaring billows of thick black smoke.

She ran down to the road, her skirts gathered up in her fists and her bag clamped under one elbow to stop it swinging about. By the time she was halfway back she could see it was not the fort, nor the camp. It was too far away to be Senecio’s house, but it was definitely someone’s farm dying below the writhing smoke, and the separate columns said it must be deliberate.

She barely heard the mule cart over the rasp of her own breath, but the local voice shouting, “Want a lift, missus?” caught her attention. Soon she was seated behind a weaver and his wife, listening to them arguing about which of their neighbors’ houses was on fire. They did nothing to calm her rising fear that it was the home of one of her patients.

She jumped down from the cart at the turn to Senecio’s house and started running again. She was almost at the gate when she saw the soldier standing guard.

For a moment they stared at each other in surprise, then he lifted the loop of rope and held the gate open for her, stretching out his other arm to guide her as if she were a sheep being ushered into a pen. She said in Latin, “What is happening?”

“Go on in, miss. Just routine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Why are you here? Where is the family?”

“Just go on in, miss.”

She heard voices. Stepping forward, she could see past the oak tree to where some of the family seemed to be lined up in the yard, facing a couple more soldiers.

Behind her the guard shouted, “Adult female coming in!”

Senecio’s chair had been brought out, but he was standing, supported on one side by Enica and on the other by the small form of Branan. Conn was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the one-eyed man or the tall, skinny one. A couple of the children were crying.

One of the soldiers facing the family motioned her to join them. She heard men’s voices inside the house as she crossed the yard.

The woman with the lisp moved to make space. As she passed in front of her, Tilla murmured, “Where are the men?”

“Safe,” came the soft reply. Tilla took her place in the line next to Branan. The soldier in charge pointed at her and looked as though he were waiting for something.

She had seen that face beneath the helmet before. He sometimes ate in Ria’s bar. He was a junior officer of some kind. For once, she wished Virana were here. Virana knew what all the soldiers were called.

“Tell them your name,” Branan whispered.

She told him her local name. The other one made some attempt to write it down.

“We here,” the officer announced in very bad British, “to look for man. Soldier man. Him lost. You tell.”

The family showed not a trace of understanding or amusement. She knew most of them would have understood him if he had spoken his own tongue, but it was a small form of revenge to make him struggle like that: perhaps the only one they could exact without getting themselves into trouble. We do not speak Latin in this house. Perhaps they would share the joke later. Him one ugly man. Him think we as stupid as he is. Meanwhile she spoke up in the forbidden but very useful language of Rome: “If you describe him, sir, perhaps we can help.”

His relief showed on his face. “We don’t want trouble,” he told her. “We want a missing soldier. Name of Candidus. Five feet three inches tall, thin, dark hair. Been gone three days. You tell me if you’ve seen him or know anything about him.” He jerked his thumb toward the smoke. “That’s what happens if I think you’re lying.”

Tilla had begun to translate when there was a metallic crash inside the house and someone swore. It sounded as if the fire irons had been tipped over. “Careful, mate,” called a voice. “Yeah,” put in someone else. “That could have landed on your toe.”

She said, “If there is damage, I will speak to my husband and we will make a complaint.”

The soldier squinted at her. “Don’t I know you?”

“I am the wife of Medical Officer Ruso of your own legion.”

The face brightened for a moment. “Ah! I thought so.” He broke off to yell, “Steady on, lads! Officer’s wife present!” then returned his attention to Tilla. “You can tell your husband all about it when you get home, miss. He’s the one who ordered the search.”