Terra Incognita

64

Ruso collected a bowl of leftovers from the infirmary kitchen for himself and found Valens stretched out on an empty bed discussing horse breeding with the wounded men Ruso had met on his arrival.

“So,” said Valens, swinging his legs down from the bed and following Ruso to the treatment room. “Will it be venison tomorrow?”

“We didn’t kill anything,” said Ruso, settling into his chair before Valens got there. “Anyway, you and I will be at the guild of caterers dinner celebrating the imperceptible start of the British summer.”

“Ah yes. I forgot. Hosted by the fine Susanna who I’m told serves the best food in town. Although the menu will be a bit restricted because Susanna has some odd ideas about diet.”

Despite not wanting to take up his own invitation, Ruso felt an irrational pang of jealousy that Valens should have been similarly honored without being a putative family member.

“Apparently Catavignus has designs on Susanna,” said Valens, hitching himself up to perch on the treatment table. “Or maybe on her snack bar.”

Ruso poked unenthusiastically at the leftovers with his spoon. “How is it you’ve hardly gotten here and you’ve found all this out?”

“Albanus and I have been chatting,” said Valens. “His favorite waitress doesn’t want to work for Catavignus. Oh, by the way, I went across with Thessalus’s dinner and gave him the poppy tears he asked for. Nice chap. Why can’t we tell anybody that he’s ill?”

“It’s a long story.”

“And speaking of dinner, what have you done with the lovely Tilla?”

Ruso explained that she was staying with her uncle.

“You don’t seem very cheerful, Ruso. Have you two fallen out?”

“I’m busy. And it’s military personnel only inside the gates.”

“Oh dear. That must be frustrating for you.”

Ruso sighed. “There’s a native,” he explained. “A close friend of hers. Everyone except Tilla thinks he’s a loudmouth murdering bastard.”

“You have fallen out.”

“Meanwhile, Catavignus wants to know whether I’m going to marry her.” He scowled. “It’s not funny.”

“Sorry. Tell you what. Why don’t you leave it all behind for a while? I’ll relieve you here, and you go on up the road to join the rest of our men.”

“I can’t, I’ve got to report back to the prefect. Why don’t you go yourself?”

Valens frowned. “Because they’ll all know who I am, Ruso, and somebody will tell the Second Spear. Have some sense.”

Ruso busied himself scooping up the leftovers, which seemed to consist of cabbage doused in brown juice, and mused upon the shattered skull of the unlucky Felix the trumpeter. He would have liked to think of it as conclusive evidence, but there was something wrong about its opportune appearance inside a sack on the grass behind Rianorix’s house. The native must have known he was under surveillance, or he would not have run away. And knowing that, why would he leave behind the one thing that could prove his guilt?

Ruso had grown increasingly uneasy about it on the ride back to the fort. When he had raised the matter Metellus had simply suggested that Rianorix had not wanted to be caught carrying the grisly burden and as a final act of defiance, he had left it for them to find. Perhaps he had hoped it would distract his pursuers and buy him some time to make his escape. Whatever the reason, its recovery was good news. The Stag Man would not get his hands on it. There would be no native spell casting around it at secret gatherings, and the good folk of Coria would never know.

When Ruso had asked, “Why didn’t you find it up there before?” Metellus had replied, “Obviously, we didn’t look hard enough last time. He certainly hasn’t brought it home since. Even those dimwits on surveillance duty would have noticed that.”

“It all seems very convenient.”

“We need to be seen to be keeping order. Ruso. The native won’t be much of a loss.”

“But what if-”

Metellus raised a hand to silence him. “Don’t worry. If we find out later that it was put there by somebody else, we can arrange their quiet disappearance.”

“And that’s justice?”

“Rianorix got himself into this mess. He was issuing threats against a Roman soldier in a public place. There are people who would say that’s disrespect for the emperor. This isn’t just an isolated quarrel in a bar, you know. You need to take a wider view.”

Ruso had frowned. “I’ve always thought,” he said, “That the wider view is an excuse not to look too closely at the details you don’t want to see.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, Doctor, that you think too much?”

“Frequently,” said Ruso, wondering how he was going to break the news of the day’s events to Thessalus. “And I think you’re on very uncertain ground with this.”

“Fortunately for the security of the border, Ruso,” Metellus had replied, “what you think doesn’t matter.”

Valens was still talking. “… And if I told her I wasn’t thinking anything,” he said, “which I wasn’t, usually, she just kept on asking until I made something up.”

All Thessalus’s plans had been thwarted. He had brought disgrace upon himself for nothing. Valens appeared to be waiting for some sort of an answer.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said,” repeated Valens, “did you have trouble with Claudia asking what you were thinking all the time?”

“What? Oh. Not for long.”

“How did you stop her?”

Ruso frowned. “I seem to remember sitting on a garden bench,” he said, “and she started chattering about the sunset, or something. She seemed quite happy so I let her get on with it. Then she got hold of my hand and asked me what I was thinking about. So I said, ‘The treatment of anal fistulae.’”

Valens grinned. “That was particularly imaginative.”

“No it wasn’t. I was answering the question. After that she never asked me again. Now that I think about it, she didn’t speak to me for the rest of the evening. Valens, where was Gambax last night?”

“Gambax? I’ve no idea. In the barracks, I suppose. He wasn’t here. It was just me and a bandager. Why, should he have been on duty?”

“I need to talk to Albanus.”

“I told him to clear off after the evening meal. I expect he’s gone to try his luck with Susanna’s girl. He’ll be back soon; it must be nearly curfew.”

“Albanus didn’t say anything about the work he was doing for me?”

Valens frowned. “Oh, he was worried about something as usual. Something to do with the administration. He didn’t seem to want to talk to me about it.”

Ruso got to his feet. He needed to talk to Aemilia about that business with the ring, but it was too late to go visiting her at this hour. He would go across to see how Thessalus was and find a way to tell him what had happened.

He had barely sat down in Thessalus’s chair when there was a hammering on the door and the guard informed him that he was wanted back at the infirmary for an emergency. When he got there, an orderly was hurrying down the corridor with extra lamps. To his surprise the squat figure of Audax emerged from the treatment room.

“It’s your lad,” he said.

“My-?”

“Your clerk. Found him down the same alley.”

Albanus lay pale and unconscious on the table, his face and clothes covered in blood. Valens was crouched beside him, holding the lamp dangerously close and gently probing the matted hair on the back of his skull.

“What is it?” demanded Ruso, picking up the scent of Albanus’s hair oil and dreading what he was about to see.

“Depressed fracture, I think. Hurry up with those lights, will you?”

Ruso said, “Was he conscious when you found him?”

“He was muttering something,” said Audax. “Dunno what.” He drew Ruso aside and murmured in his ear, “At least he’s all in one piece. I’m off down there now. Got to clean another bloody stag picture off the wall. This is getting out of hand.”