Terra Incognita

61

Ruso’s previous experience of hunting was limited, but even he knew that late morning was not the time to start and that this was a bizarrely equipped expedition. The mounted company he intercepted on its way to the east gate consisted of Metellus, a dozen fully armed cavalrymen, and six hounds in the charge of a mounted servant. A couple of riders had rolled hunting nets strapped to the backs of their horses as if this had been an afterthought.

“Are you expecting the stag to put up a fight?”

Metellus smiled down from beneath the brim of his helmet. Already the drizzle had started to coalesce on the metal surface and trickle down to drip on his cloak. “You can never tell with these British beasts,” he said. “Hurry and get ready, Ruso. They’re waiting for you over at the stables.”

“I’ve told you several times-”

“You will want to join this hunt. Trust me.”

Ruso reflected that if he had to count off on the fingers of one hand the names of people he trusted least in the world, Metellus would be among them. But his curiosity had been piqued. Valens could cover his duties at the infirmary. Thessalus was asleep. He did not know what to do with Tilla-even if he could find her-and Aemilia was probably still barricaded inside her room.

He went back to the infirmary to get changed.

The party rode out in silence along the north road for about a mile, then branched off onto a narrower road leading up into the eastern hills. The fort was out of sight now. They were following the course of what seemed to be a tributary valley. To their right, the pasture sloped away gently into a wooded glen. To their left was a patch of high flat land with a few animals grazing around the dark clumps of marsh grass. Just past the marsh they passed some foundation trenches that had been abandoned halfway through digging. A dog began to bark as they approached a ramshackle round house. The man in charge of the hounds ordered them to heel. A woman shouted at the house dog to shut up.

Farther along they paused outside a smaller round house that was in better repair. Two men in rough tunics and armed with hunting knives emerged and saluted Metellus. He dismounted and there was a brief exchange before Metellus beckoned to the dog handler, who took his animals into the house. Metellus turned back to talk to the two guards. They led him around to the back of the house. The dogs and the handler emerged and headed for the gate.

Curious, Ruso dismounted and slipped in through the doorway.

The place was as gloomy as all native houses, since most of the British had a strange aversion to the insertion of windows. It stank of burning. Ruso stepped to one side so he was not blocking the light. Something crunched beneath his boot. The ground was strewn with the black skeletons of charred wicker, and above him the thatch was scorched. He moved forward, picking his way through a scatter of smashed baskets and an upside-down crib whose neatly woven base had collapsed into its walls as though someone had jumped on it. He coughed as he inhaled the ash that was still floating in the air from someone tipping over the fire irons into the hearth. He was beginning to realize whose house this was. On the far side, a wicker chest had been upended and a collection of clothes tipped out onto piles of dead bracken and blankets that must have once served as a bed.

Behind him, Metellus said, “This is where we found the pair of them.”

Ruso said, “Why would I want to see this?”

“Come outside.”

Obediently, he followed the aide out of the door and around past a meager woodpile to where a brown blanket lay over something on the rough grass. As soon as he saw the shape, Ruso knew what was underneath.

Metellus glanced around, then beckoned him across. They both crouched down. Each took a corner of the blanket. The first object to appear was an empty sack, besmirched with soot. Ruso steeled himself and lifted the blanket higher.

“You can finish your postmortem now,” said Metellus.