Tabula Rasa (17 page)
He was concentrating on examining the wound, making the usual checks for inflammation and hemorrhage, when he became aware that Pertinax’s complaints had turned to “. . . this half-baked nonsense about a body in the wall. I suppose you’ve heard?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The centurions need to work them harder,” said Pertinax. ”If they want something to be frightened of, they can be frightened of us.”
Ruso said, “Can I ask who told you, sir?” Whoever it was, the man clearly needed a good fright himself. Ruso was looking forward to administering it until Pertinax said, “That tribune with the bad smell under his nose. What do they call him?”
“Accius,” supplied Ruso. It was not like Pertinax to forget a name.
“Him,” Pertinax agreed. “Came in here this morning. I told him you need a better clerk straightaway.”
Ruso felt his mouth fall open and closed it again. After repeating the words to himself to check that he had understood correctly, he said, “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me,” growled Pertinax, swiftly closing the chink of generosity as if he were embarrassed by it. “The place is a shambles. I can tell that even from here. How many times have I got to ask before I get a pair of crutches?”
Ruso placed the lamp on the table in the doctor-on-duty room and flipped open the writing tablet he had chosen from the vast selection of used items in the office. Someone had already tried to obliterate what appeared to be a shopping list from the surface of the wax, so he had decided to wipe it clean and put it to better use.
If Albanus did not manage to call in here on the way over to Arbeia, he would arrive at his new job completely unaware that the nephew was missing.
To—Albanus, Tutor at the House of the Prefect, Arbeia
In the absence of the prefect’s name or unit, he would have to entrust this to somebody with some common sense and hope for the best.
From—G Petreius Ruso, Medical Officer, XXVV, Parva.
Ruso to Albanus.
I hope you have arrived safely in Arbeia.
He tapped the stylus on the casing of the tablet for a moment, then began:
I am writing to you about your nephew Candidus. He worked here at the hospital for three days but I am sorry to say that we have not seen him since the ninth day before the kalends of November. He left no message and we have been unable to trace him. I am hoping you may have heard from him.
As soon as he turns up I will write again. Meanwhile if you have any idea where he might be please put my mind at rest.
Tilla and I are well and she sends her good wishes.
She didn’t, but it would do no harm to pretend. Not knowing what to say about Grata, he ended with:
Go well, old friend.
Then he slapped the tablet shut, put the stylus down, and pinched out the lamp. His eyes felt gritty even when he closed them. He felt better for having written the letter, even though he was not going to send it yet. There was always the chance that when the pharmacist returned from leave—which must be soon—he would know exactly where Candidus was, and they could all stop worrying. If he didn’t, the letter would be sent, and the worrying would carry on.
“Where is Branan?
”
This seemed an odd thing for Enica to be asking her. Tilla waited outside the gate, still unsure of her welcome, and said, “I have come to speak with him.”
“Did you leave him with Conn?”
Tilla was even more puzzled. “I have not seen either of them.”
The color drained from the woman’s face. Then she ran back toward the house shouting, “Husband! He is not with her! She is here and the boy is not with her!”
Tilla let herself in and dropped the frayed rope back over the gatepost. When she turned, Senecio was limping toward her. Despite the early-morning frost on the ground, he had not bothered with a cloak. His first words were “Did you not send for my boy yesterday?”
Tilla felt her stomach tighten. “I did not. I have not seen Branan since I was here when the soldiers came.”
Enica grabbed her by the shoulders. “Do not lie to me! Where is my son? What have you done with him?”
“I have done nothing!” Tilla cried, trying to raise her hands to defend her face. Enica was powerfully built, and Tilla did not want to fight.
The old man was shouting, “Stop! Stop, wife!”
“Where is my son?”
“I do not know!”
“Stop, wife!”
Enica loosened her grip as she was dragged away by her husband.
“Wife, leave her. She may be speaking the truth.”
Safely out of reach, Tilla massaged her shoulders. Enica was breathing heavily, rubbing her own arm and glaring at her husband.
“I have not seen Branan,” Tilla repeated. “People are saying he spread a bad story. I came to warn you that there may be trouble.”
Senecio frowned. “What story?”
She told them.
Enica said, “We know nothing of this. Where is my son?”
“I don’t know.”
“The army are blaming him for something so they can take him!”
Tilla said, “Someone told Virana it was him spreading the story. I do not know who.”
“It is a lie!”
Senecio rested both hands on his stick and bowed his head.
Tilla said, “When did you last see him?”
Slowly, as if the words did not want to be spoken, the man said, “He was out with the neighbor’s boy yesterday. Inam. He did not come back. We thought he must be with the neighbors. When the light was dying, his mother went to fetch him, but Inam had gone home alone. He told her . . .” His voice cracked. He tried again. “He told her you had sent a soldier to fetch Branan.”
“But I would have come to the house!”
“We thought perhaps . . .” He paused.
“We thought you were too embarrassed,” said Enica, clutching at a fistful of her shawl. “I knew we should have gone straight to the fort!”
The other adults were beginning to gather around them now. The skinny man, the man with one eye, and his wife. Cata and her mother and sister were there too. As each one arrived the bad news was passed on: “He is not with her.” “She has not seen him.” “She says she did not send for him.”
“Conn went out last night to fetch him back,” Senecio continued. “The patrol would not let him pass on the road because of the curfew.”
“He should have gone by the field paths!” Enica said. “I told him.”
“Then he would have been arrested when he got there.” Senecio looked at Tilla as if hoping for reassurance. “The patrol said they would look out for a lost boy.”
“That was a lie too,” put in Enica. “I asked a patrol this morning and they had been told nothing of him.”
Senecio was looking frail. “Conn has gone to find you. We thought perhaps Branan had stayed with you because of the curfew.”
Enica said, “I have been awake all night worrying.”
“We must talk to the neighbor’s boy again,” said Tilla.
Enica glanced at her husband. “How do we know she is speaking the truth? Her man is the cause of all this. Ever since they came here—”
“She would not lie to us,” he said. “She is Mara’s child.”
“Hah! And was not Mara the best liar of them all?”
He raised his stick. “You never met her!”
Enica stepped back. “I am just saying—”
“Daughter of Lugh knows the soldiers,” he said. “She can help us.”
Enica gave Tilla a look that said she had better not take advantage of the old man’s desperation.
When they found Inam, it was obvious he could not describe the soldier who had taken Branan. Between his father urging him to make more of an effort and his mother begging the father not to shout, he began to tremble and then burst into tears in the middle of the yard. “I don’t know!” he sniffed. “I thought—I thought he must be your medicus!”
“No, the Medicus was with me.”
“They do all look alike under those helmets,” said his mother.
Inam’s round eyes and stuck-out ears reminded Tilla of a weasel. His bare feet reminded her that not everyone could afford boots. She said, “Did Branan know the soldier?”
Inam shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”
“Of course you know something!” thundered his father, smacking one of the weasel ears as if that would shake a memory loose. As he shouted, “Stop sniveling and think!” Inam’s mother stepped in between them. “Frightening him will not help!”
Tilla reached for the boy’s grimy hand. “Why don’t we go for a walk?” she suggested. “Just you and me.” Dumb, Inam nodded and followed her without resistance.
As she pushed open the gate she heard Enica say, “Will you let her steal your son too?”
Senecio’s reply was short and impossible to make out. When she turned, the men were in earnest conversation. Both mothers were watching her departure, and she had a feeling that wherever she took the boy, they would not be far behind.
Inam shambled along beside her, rubbing his reddened ear. Tilla said, “Can you show me the place where you met the soldier?”
To her surprise he shook his head.
“Why not?”
He said nothing.
“Were you somewhere you were not supposed to be?” she guessed.
He shrugged and carried on gazing at his feet in the mud, which was still crisp with frost.
“I won’t tell them,” she said. “But we need to find Branan, and you are the only one who can help.”
Silently, the boy led her up the track that joined with the one leading to Senecio’s farm. On the way Tilla turned to see if anyone was following them, but the women had the sense to keep their distance. She said, “Did Branan tell you about something he’d seen at the wall lately? Something surprising?”
The boy seemed puzzled.
“Something that might be a secret?”
Inam was saying he didn’t think so when an approaching figure began to run toward them. It was Conn, and instead of a greeting he was shouting, “What are you doing with that boy?” More time was wasted while he took Inam away to confirm that she was not lying. He did not ask her pardon for the insult, and there was only bad news to exchange. Nobody had seen Branan.
Virana had confirmed to Conn that Branan had not been to the bar. The gate guards at the fort and the camp had been told about a missing boy but nobody had seen him. They said they would give a message to the centurion. Conn had arranged to have the horn sounded to call for help, and the family would organize a search.
He looked down at Inam. “You said it was that medicus who took him.”
The boy stammered something.
“He is not sure now,” Tilla explained. “And I know it wasn’t the Medicus, because he was with me.”
Conn eyed Tilla for a moment, then turned aside and spat. “Swear to me you don’t know where my brother is.”
“I swear,” Tilla told him. “I swear by the sky and the earth and the bones of my ancestors that I do not know where Branan is.”
“That man of yours owes it to us—”
“I will tell him,” she promised. “He will do all he can.”
At that moment they all heard the unearthly wail of the horn calling the people together. Inam’s eyes widened and his gaze darted around as if he were expecting warriors to come crashing out from between the trees at any moment.
Tilla could remember the excitement of hearing the horn as a child. Men and boys would be running across the fields toward the sound now, clutching whatever tools could be used as weapons. Women free of small children would be setting aside their work and snatching up coats and shawls and knives and fire irons.
The horn sounded again. Conn pointed at Tilla. “You,” he said. “Finish with this boy, quickly. I’ll be watching.”
“If you want to find your brother,” Tilla warned him, “you will watch from a long way away and not frighten him.”
Conn looked at her as if he were not going to be told what to do, then shrugged and stepped back.
Gathering up her skirts, she crouched down beside the boy. “You are a very important person today, Inam.”
He sniffed, not looking very pleased about being important.
“You are not in trouble. None of this is your fault.”
“Will Branan be all right?”
“We are doing everything we can to make sure of that,” she promised. “Why don’t you take me to where you saw him last, and then I can start to think about where he might be?”
When they reached
the main road, Inam turned left and led Tilla along the rough grass verge before stopping a couple of paces back from the roadway. The sun was fully up now, and the frost was retreating into the shadows. She heard the muffled hoofbeats of a couple of local riders cantering toward them, perhaps in response to the horn. Conn hailed them from some distance away, and they stopped to speak to him.