Tabula Rasa

Chapter 66

Tilla lengthened her stride to stay between the two soldiers, who were keeping up a smart military pace along the moonlit road. The breeze snatched at her clothes and sent cold fingers down her neck. There must be Samain bonfires all around, but they were hidden on the left by the whispering black woods, and on the right by the rise of the land and the half-built wall that ran in silhouette along its crest.

She had guessed well: She had been able to persuade a bitter Daminius to help her, and to her relief he still had enough influence to bring Mallius with him, which was the whole point of asking. So here she was, a healer with two legionaries kindly guarding her as she answered a nighttime call to a patient who did not exist. At the time it had seemed like a clever plan. But now wandering spirits sighed in the trees with every gust of wind. All of Albanus’s objections made sense, and she wished she was back by the fire at Ria’s.

Seeing her glance at the woods, Daminius said, “All right, miss?”

“I thought I heard something.”

“A fox or a badger, miss,” he said, loud enough for Mallius to hear. He chuckled. “Or one of your ghosts.”

“You should not show disrespect. You do not know who is listening.”

“Sorry, miss.”

She was slightly breathless with the effort of keeping up, but her escort did not offer to slow the pace. She guessed they too would be glad when this was over. “We should be safe,” she said. “I made an offering before I came out.”

“We’ll look after you, miss,” Mallius assured her, adjusting his grip on his shield. She frowned. She did not want this man to think about helping her. She wanted him to be more nervous than she was herself, otherwise this trip would be a waste of time.

Where was Albanus? Scanning ahead, she said, “My husband says I am foolish to be afraid of the man in the wall.”

“Don’t you worry, miss,” Daminius told her. “All the officers say it’s nonsense.”

There he was! Albanus. Crossing the road about fifty paces in front of them. He was wearing Candidus’s helmet, just as they had agreed. The big rectangular shield covered most of his body. That and the dark cloak he had borrowed hid the absence of armor, a sword, and a proper military belt. “Your patient is a lucky woman, miss,” Daminius continued, pretending he had seen nothing. “A lot of healers wouldn’t go out tonight.”

Daminius was a good actor. She had guessed that he would be: How else had he managed to deceive his centurion about the kitchen maid?

The figure of Albanus dipped as it stepped down to cross the ditch. By the time they were level with it, it was walking away from them over the grass.

“What do you think, Mallius?” Tilla asked, forcing herself not to watch as Albanus approached the woods. “Is there a man in the wall?”

No reply.

“Answer the lady, soldier!” ordered Daminius. “Well? Is there a dead man inside the wall?”

Mallius, who had turned to stare at the departing Albanus, returned his gaze to the front and mumbled that he didn’t know.

“Of course you know!” snapped Daminius. “There’s nothing up there. It’s official. The lady’s husband is quite right.”

Mallius said, “Yes, sir,” and glanced behind him again.

“People are still saying things,” Tilla observed as the road climbed the slope. “Only today I spoke to someone who swears he saw the body being hidden. He even says he saw who did it.”

“He’s lying,” Daminius said.

“Perhaps,” said Tilla. “But I think in the morning I will take this person to the tribune. Then they can go and open the wall in the place he shows them, and everybody will see if there is anything there.”

“I’d pay to join that work party,” said Daminius.

“It will be good to know the truth,” Tilla continued. “People are afraid. They are saying the man’s spirit walks at night, searching for someone to give him the proper burial rites.”

She risked a glance and caught Mallius staring at her. She hoped she had not said too much. It had been a long day, and she was not at her best. “Anyway,” she said briskly, “it is good news about the boy. My husband will bring him back safe tomorrow and we will find out who stole him. Then perhaps this curfew will be-”

She stopped. They all saw it at the same time: something moving on the road far ahead. The sound of hoofbeats came toward them on the wind. For once Tilla was relieved to catch the glint of moonlight on armor. Moments later they were surrounded by four riders on stamping horses, and Daminius was explaining who his small party were and what they were doing out here. She dared not look to see where Albanus was, but she saw that Mallius was glancing round as if he were wondering the same thing. That was good.

Satisfied, the cavalry patrol cantered off into the night. Mallius propped his spear against his shield and loosened his chinstrap with one finger, gazing after the riders as if wishing he could join them.

Fifty paces farther on he glanced back again. Tilla turned. The sight of the soldier striding along behind them made her jump even though she was half expecting it. Albanus was too far away for his features to be visible in the poor light, but close enough for his slight frame to recall that of his nephew.

Mallius said, “We’re being followed.”

They stopped. Gazing at Albanus, who now stood like a statue in the road, Daminius said, “Where?”

“Did you see someone?” asked Tilla. She watched Mallius narrow his eyes to squint at Albanus in the stark pallor of the moon.

“Description?” Daminius prompted.

“I thought . . . one of our men.”

“Moonlight,” said Daminius, as if that explained everything. “But I wouldn’t put it past the natives to creep around in the dark. Keep your eyes open.”

Mallius hissed, “Look again, sir.” He had his spear raised now. Tilla hoped he was not going to fling it to see if the ghost was solid.

Daminius turned to Tilla. “Can you see anything, miss?”

“I see the road,” she said. “And the trees, and the moon.”

Mallius looked from one to other of them, then back at the statuelike figure on the road. His voice had an oddly strangled quality, as if all the muscles in his throat had tightened up. “There’s nothing there, is there?”

“I can see there’s nothing there,” Daminius retorted. “You’re worse than a bloody native. Sorry, miss. No offense. How far now?”

“The next turn on the left.” Tilla tried to signal Go away behind her back. The ghost had done his job. She wanted to get back to the warmth and safety of Ria’s.

“Isn’t this where the missing boy lives?” Now Daminius was sounding nervous too.

“We are going to their neighbors,” said Tilla. Branan’s household was the last one she would want to disturb tonight. “It is about a hundred paces,” she said, taking the left fork onto the track and stepping into an empty blackness where the overhanging trees blocked out the moonlight and it was impossible to see their footing. She remembered to add, for the sake of the pretense, “I thought they would send someone to meet us at the corner.”

“Should have brought a torch and a flint,” Daminius muttered. “I’ll go in front. Miss, you walk behind me. Watch the rear, mate. Don’t talk to any ghosts.”

The trees bent and shuffled above them. Tilla stumbled forward, keen not to lose touch with her escort in the dark. She had chosen somewhere she would be recognized: They were on the way to the house of Inam, the boy who had last seen Branan, but she had never been down this track at night. She flinched as something snatched at her skirts and was glad to feel the scrape of a bramble as she brushed it away. “I am glad I have you with me,” she said truthfully.

There was an orange glow ahead. As they drew closer she could make out a gate silhouetted against a small bonfire in the paddock by the house. The flames had died to embers, and nobody seemed to be around to tend it. Tilla pursed her lips. This was going to be awkward. She had not expected the family to be in bed.

Behind her, Daminius muttered, “I thought this was party night?”

“They are showing respect for their neighbors and the missing boy,” Tilla guessed. She was going to have to disturb them now; she could hardly to admit to her escort that she had invented this call to lure one of them out at night. “Hello!” she cried in British, realizing she would have to go through the whole pretense in case Mallius understood. “It is the Daughter of Lugh, the healer!”

When there was no other response, Daminius said, “Is this the right house, miss?”

Since she was not expected anywhere, it was as right as any other. “Hello?” she cried again. “It is the healer!”

A voice she recognized as Inam’s father shouted, “The fire is raked and there is no water in the house! There is nothing for you here! Go away!”

Daminius said, “What’s he saying?”

She could have translated the words, but he would never have understood about the creatures who came out of the burial mounds searching for homes where there was warmth and something to drink.

“It is not a spirit!” she cried, not wanting to leave the family in a state of fear. “It is me, Daughter of Lugh, friend of your neighbors. You son Inam helped me to look for Branan. I will come to the house so you can see it is me!”

She left the soldiers at the gate and carried on the rest of the conversation through the closed door, sheltering under the dark of the porch and explaining that she had been sent an urgent plea to call here. She could hear a whispered argument going on inside the house, but still there was no welcome. Finally she suggested that somebody must have played a joke on her, and they sounded relieved when she said she was sorry to disturb them and would go away.

She picked her way back across the yard to the gate, wondering if she would have a chance to explain in daylight, or whether this time next year people would be telling a fresh story of a family who had barred the door against a ghost that was trying to trick its way into the house using a false voice. Perhaps she would keep quiet. Otherwise the family would have to admit that they had sent away a lone woman in the dark after she had come to help them.

Her escort had moved away from the gate, perhaps suspecting the sight of them would frighten the family even more. Unable to see them in the inky blackness under the trees, she said softly in Latin, “I am very sorry. This was a wasted journey. Somebody got the message wrong.”

Nobody answered. A fresh gust of wind sent the trees dancing and whispering. Tilla felt her stomach muscles tighten. She pushed her hood back and something brushed against her face. Only a falling leaf, surely. She drew her knife. “Daminius?” she called. “Mallius? Where are you?”

Was that a muffled cry? Then movement in the woods that was not the wind: another cry and the sound of clumsy creatures crashing through undergrowth. She tried to go toward it, but the brambles clawed her back and the sounds were getting fainter. “Daminius!”

She dragged herself out of the thorns and retreated to the gate. Clutching her bag with one hand and the knife with the other, straining to see around her in the dark, she shouted, “Daminius, where are you? It is time to leave! Come back!”

But nobody came.