Terra Incognita

19

The log walls surrounding the fort were more silvered with age now. The steep grassy ramparts that rose up beneath them were spattered with spring flowers. Little had changed since the last time Tilla had seen this place. But everything was different.

When she left, the soldiers’ fort had been impressive. Now that she had lived in Deva, it looked almost puny. She wondered if the men who were busy clearing out the rampart ditch knew that their fort was nothing to be proud of. Probably not. What would they say if somebody told them?

She walked on. Ahead of her, beneath two wooden towers, was a dark rectangle surrounding a splash of late afternoon sunlight. The gates were open. In a moment she would be able to see inside.

Her parents and grandparents had watched from the top of the ridge as soldiers stacked turf into ramparts and hammered in posts around a patch of land that their people had walked over freely for generations. Once the walls were up none of them had ever set foot on that land again apart from her uncle, who usually had more wisdom than to boast of it when her father was around. Like most sensible people, the rest of them had done their best to avoid Rome’s intrusions into what-according to the very old-had once been a peaceful valley. Although you could never trust old people not to exaggerate. Any peace must have always been fragile with the Votadini tribe as neighbors. Perhaps this was why some people had imagined that the arrival of the Romans might be a good thing.

The truth, of course, was quite different. The truth was that when foreigners desecrated your land, cut down your trees, fouled your water supply, and made impressive speeches about bringing peace in return for taxes, nothing good could possibly come of it. She could imagine what her family would be saying now if they were watching her walking toward the gates, knowing there was a soldier waiting for her inside.

“It was all I could do, Mam,” she whispered. “He is a good man. He helps people.”

She was almost at the gatehouse now. It was nowhere near as grand as the smallest of the gatehouses at Deva. The irrepressible grass had crept up around the feet of the supporting timbers, reminding any soldiers who took the trouble to read the signs that the spirit of the land could not be destroyed. Beyond it, through the open gates, she could see two men slapping clean white lime wash onto the end of a building as a squad marched past them and-

“Halt!”

The crossed spears in her path had appeared so quickly from the shadows that the soldiers holding them must have been watching her approach.

“Password?” demanded the shorter of the two.

“I do not know it. My master is only just arrived.”

“Password,” he repeated, perhaps thinking she had not heard the order, although she was close enough to see the yellow teeth and the black hairs sprouting from his nostrils.

She backed away to a more comfortable distance. “I do not know the password,” she explained again. “My master is a doctor with the Twentieth Legion. He comes today with an injured man.”

“Gate pass?”

“I am just arrived too.”

“No entry without a pass.”

“I cannot get a pass without going in.”

“Not our problem.”

“But I am his housekeeper!”

The two men exchanged glances. They seemed to find this amusing. The symmetry of the crossed spears wavered as they relaxed.

“Come to cook his dinner, have you?” inquired the taller one.

She lifted the bag that contained damp clothes needing to be hung out to dry, and now two apples and the pastries she had brought from Susanna’s snack bar for supper. “Yes.”

“Tuck him into bed?” suggested hairy nose.

Tilla pointed past them to the white buildings. “I will live in there.”

“Then you’ll have to get a job with the prefect’s family.”

“Or marry him,” suggested the taller one.

“We don’t know what you’ve been getting up to with the legion,” said hairy nose, “But ’round here, women and children live out there.” He shifted his spear to indicate the road outside. “Run off and find yourself a bed, and the doctor will come and give you the treatment later.”

Tilla had met enough ignorant guards to know that showing annoyance would make matters worse. The only things that would impress them were fear of their superiors, and cash. “My master,” she said, trying the cheaper option, “is Senior Medical Officer Gaius Petreius Ruso. My name is Tilla. I ask you to send a message-”

“We’re the Tenth Batavians,” the taller one interrupted. “We don’t run messages for the legions.”

“Why don’t you put your request in writing, Tilla?” suggested his companion: a remark they both seemed to think was extremely witty.

Tilla, who could no more write than fly-and they knew it-placed her hands behind her back, gripped them tightly, and counted to five. Then she reached into her purse and brought out the last coin she possessed. As hairy nose hid it somewhere on his person, she said, “Tell my master-”

“Sorry, love,” he said. “We’re not allowed to run messages for girlfriends.”

“But I have paid you!”

“Have you?” He held his hands wide and looked down his chest as if he was searching for it. “Are you sure?”

“Take the message, or give me my money back.”

“I didn’t see any money.” He jerked a thumb toward his friend. “He didn’t see any either.”

“I will report you to my master and you will be in trouble!”

“Tell you what,” he suggested. “I’ll try doing a trick. Give me a kiss and I’ll see if I can make it reappear.”

Tilla looked them both up and down. “You are not worth it,” she said, turned on her heel, and strode away down the gravel road.

As she was passing the men who were clearing the ditch, the taller guard called after her, “Hey, whatsyourname!”

“Tilla,” prompted hairy nose.

“Tilla! Do you want to leave a message or not?”

“Go on, Tilla!” urged some interferer from the depths of the ditch.

“You can give me a message any day, Tilla!” added one of his comrades.

Tilla was tired. She was hungry. She was at the end of a long journey. The thought that her family was in the next world was no consolation for the fact that they were not here to greet her in this one. Now she had been humiliated by the men her master thought of as comrades. She stopped. She turned to face the men in the ditch. In her own dialect, speaking fast so they would not understand, she said, “I have a message for you.”

There was a chorus of cheers.

“You are very stupid and ugly men,” she informed them, smiling sweetly, “and the gods of this land will curse you for the disrespect you show when you hack holes in it.”

This time the cheers were more uncertain. Someone said, “What did she say?”

“She says she loves me!” roared one of the men, scrambling up the side of the ditch toward her. “Come here, Tilla-”

“Back to work!” bellowed a voice from farther along the ditch. “And you, girl, clear off before I feed you to them.”