Tabula Rasa (25 page)
“And now some twisted fool’s gone and stirred them up again,” said Pertinax. He lay back on his pillows and gave a graphic description of what he would do to the twisted fool when he was caught. “Very slowly,” he added. “In front of the natives.”
“I think that would be a popular move, sir,” said Ruso, wondering how many of the audience would faint.
“Hmph. But they’re not going to ask me what I think, are they?” He gestured toward the end of the bed. “No foot, no sense. Why haven’t we caught him yet?”
“We’re looking at several men, sir.”
“Who?”
At the sound of the first name Pertinax gestured toward his missing foot. “Anybody tell you why I was over at the quarry?”
“No, sir.” Ruso suspected he was not the only person who had wondered.
“Good. You’re not supposed to know.”
There seemed to be no answer to that.
“Don’t pass it on. I wanted to watch Daminius at work without that idiot Fabius getting in the way. He’s up for centurion. Or was.”
“Do you think he could have taken the boy?”
Pertinax grunted. “If he did, my judgment must be going. Who else?”
Pertinax did not recognize the other names whose movements were being checked. “Whoever it is, he’ll make a mistake before long,” he said. “He’s scared. Must be. Have they checked the rolls to see who’s missing?”
“It’s being done, sir. There are search parties and roadblocks, and local forts and slave traders have been notified. Nothing’s come up so far.”
The eyes closed, and Pertinax let out a long sigh. “And I’m lying in bed.”
Ruso watched him for a moment, then picked up his case and tiptoed toward the door. His hand was on the latch when he heard a voice behind him. “I’m not asleep,” it said. “Tell them to find that boy. They must find that boy, alive and well, or everything our lads fought and died for will be thrown away.”
The sacrifice was done, perhaps with the right words and perhaps not, but the smell of roasting lamb drifted off into the woods and the neighbor’s dog was hanging around, looking hopeful. Most of the visitors were long gone, promising to search and offer prayers for Branan and to visit their neighbors and try to track down the real source of the body-in-the-wall rumor. They had seemed quietly relieved to go home. There were cows and goats to be milked, hens to be shut away before the fox came, and husbands and children to be fed. They had been given a good excuse to go and do all those things without looking as though they were abandoning Enica with neither husband nor son.
Enica had gathered names of rumor-mongers, promising everyone that whatever came to light would be kept secret from the soldiers:
Nobody will be punished.
Tilla had kept silent. The soldiers had been accused of child stealing. They would do their best to find out everything, and when they did, there was no telling what they would do. You couldn’t blame them. They had put a lot of work into that wall only to find themselves with enemies on both sides of it.
Tomorrow they would chase the rumor. Tonight, the day was coming to a close with Branan still not found. The remaining women stood around the fire: Enica with the dried blood of the slaughtered lamb dark on her forehead. Cata with her bruised face and bandaged fingers. Even the woman with the lisp had nothing to say. There was no sound around the fire but the crackling of the wood and the odd hiss as the lamb’s fat dripped into the flames. Somewhere beyond the gate, a blackbird was singing his close-of-day song. Tilla felt as though she could reach out and touch the absence of people who should have been there. Branan, of course. Senecio. The dead brother she had never met. Conn and the other men who were out searching.
She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and repinned it. She felt guilty about leaving Enica but she too had something to do. “I will speak to Virana,” she promised. “She will know if there are any fresh stories about the body in the wall. If there is any news—” She broke off. Everyone was looking toward the road. The blackbird had sounded the
chack-chack
of a warning cry, and almost straightaway the soldiers appeared.
It seemed Tribune Accius had ridden his gray stallion down the long track to the farm with only four guards in attendance. Beside him, on a bay horse whose coat needed brushing, was Tilla’s husband. The horses stopped outside the gate. Enica hurried forward to greet them.
Tilla did not need to see the men’s faces under the helmets. She could tell from the way they moved as they swung down from the horses that there was no good news.
A mule cart drew up on the track behind the riders: Conn and the other searchers from the house. They too looked weary. She guessed both groups had already spoken on the way here.
Her husband unfastened his sword, then murmured something to Accius. They seemed to be arguing. Finally Accius handed over his weapon. Leaving the cart to his companions, Conn slung both swords over his shoulder and went into the house without a second glance, as if he disarmed legionary tribunes every day. Tilla wondered what role he had played in the troubles.
Enica stood back, allowing the soldiers to enter. Leaving the guards outside, the officers walked into the yard. The tribune’s gaze darted about as if he were assessing the location and looking out for threats and escape routes. Tilla wondered if he had ever been to a native farm before.
She stood back as her husband introduced the tribune and Enica to each other. After a quiet conversation the two men walked up to the fire, bowed, and threw herbs into the flames as a mark of respect. Then they stepped back and waited as the scent of rosemary and bay wafted into the air. Enica went to fetch Conn and the others. They emerged from the house, several of them carrying drinks. Conn wrapped a cloth around his hand and hacked some untidy slices from the outside of what remained of the lamb now that the proper portions had been burned for the gods. None was offered to the soldiers.
Accius was still glancing around, taking it all in. Tilla guessed he would rather have spoken privately with the man in charge than face a group of locals whose language he neither spoke nor understood. But the man in charge would have been Senecio, who was not here, and even if Romans had been good at negotiating with women—which they were not—Enica was in no fit state to deal with him. She had wisely called everyone together, and he was outnumbered.
In spite of all the Army’s weapons and armor and discipline and shouting, and despite the Great Wall that would help them to control everybody’s movements, they had been unable to stop one of their own people committing a terrible wrong. Yet, the disgrace of having a child snatcher in the ranks did not seem to have taught Accius humility. Tilla listened as he introduced himself, and then to her husband’s translation of it. Accius regretted that he had brought no news. He had just spoken to Senecio, who was well, and he had come to say personally how sorry he was that the boy was missing.
Tilla felt they could have worked out for themselves that he had come personally. He could only be speaking of it because he wanted to make sure that they understood what an honor it was. Then he told them that the army was taking “this allegation” very seriously indeed.
Her husband did not translate it as she would have done.
Allegation
was a cautious word but not a good one. It suggested that the tribune thought somebody here might be lying. Her husband translated it as “bad news.” Either he did not know the word, or he knew the offense it would cause. She wondered how many of the Britons had noticed.
After that, the tribune told Enica that the army was doing everything in its power to find her boy alive and well. He seemed annoyed when, instead of falling at his feet and thanking him, Enica interrupted.
“She says,” Tilla interpreted before her husband had the chance, “the boy has no coat with him.”
Accius replied that they knew what the boy was wearing.
That was not what Enica had meant, though. She was worrying about her son out there, enduring a second night with no warm covering.
“The description of the boy has been sent out with despatches to all military establishments in the province together with official posting stations,” the tribune announced, “and the legate has ordered a reward to be offered for his safe return.”
Tilla left her husband to translate that into British.
The Britons looked unimpressed. Conn was more interested in what had happened to the soldiers who had come to search the farm.
Accius told him they were now under arrest.
“Then why are you here?” Enica demanded. “Why are you not making them tell you where my son is?”
“Let us have them!” put in Conn. “We’ll find out.” There was a chorus of agreement.
When he could make himself heard, Accius explained that the men had been questioned and their stories were being checked. Meanwhile other searches would continue. “We need to coordinate our efforts.” He placed a hand on her husband’s arm as if to introduce him. “All messages will go through Medical Officer Ruso. He will keep you informed. If you have anything to tell us, speak to him.”
When her husband announced, “From tomorrow morning I will be based at Ria’s snack bar,” the tribune looked at him in surprise, as if this was something they had not talked about.
Conn wanted to know why, if the army was serious about the search, everyone was being forced to give up for the night because of the curfew.
“Our patrols will be looking throughout the night,” Accius told him.
Conn said, “But you don’t trust us near you in the dark.”
“See?” put in Cata’s sister, taking Enica’s arm. “They say they care about Branan, but they care more about themselves.”
This time, to her husband’s credit, he translated every word back to the tribune. Accius tried to wriggle out of it by saying the local searchers needed to sleep, whereas the soldiers had plenty of men and were used to patrolling through the night watches. Conn asked how he thought the farmers managed at lambing time, then.
It was Enica who told him to be quiet. Accius looked relieved and suggested that searchers might go out together.
“No, thanks,” said Conn in Latin.
Tilla watched confusion spread as the conversation rolled by too fast for her husband to catch it and clothe it in a different tongue. Accius’s scowl deepened. He repeated that they wanted to find the boy. Then, glancing at each of the faces around the fire and lingering on Conn, he added that nobody should hinder the army’s search parties. Otherwise they might not be able to continue.
Conn said in swift British, “They’re threatening to call off the search if our people don’t let them do anything they want.”
“That is not what he meant at all!” Tilla burst out. “What he is saying is—”
“Tilla, I can’t translate if you interrupt!”
“But Conn is telling them all wrong!”
“Stop!” The Medicus held up both hands and waited for silence. In slow and clear British—even to Tilla it sounded odd to hear a Roman with her own accent—he said, “What the tribune says is that if there is trouble between the local people and the army, both sides will be too busy defending themselves to look for the boy.”
“Exactly!” said Accius in the same tongue.
There was a moment’s stunned silence. It was hard to tell in the poor light, but Tilla was fairly sure that Accius’s fierce features had turned pink under the helmet.
Conn said, “Where did that come from?”
Accius did not reply.
“I told you!” Conn exclaimed. “You can’t trust them. He knows our tongue. He’s been listening.”
“Then he knows you mean no harm,” said Tilla.
“How do we know they’re helping to find my brother? They might be hiding him.”
“You do not know,” said Tilla. She looked at the two Roman officers standing unarmed in Senecio’s yard. At the old man’s one remaining son. At his pale wife. At the women who had been burned out of their home. Then she glanced back at the guards by the gate. “You do not know whether they can be trusted,” she said. “And nothing good that I can tell you about my husband will change what he did. But Enica’s son is missing, and Senecio has vowed not to touch food until he is returned. I have said this before. Only a fool will waste time fighting with men who have offered to help. I know you are bitter and ill-mannered, Conn, but I did not take you for a fool.”
Afterward, when the Romans had gone to mount the horses and a thunder-faced Conn was fetching their swords, Tilla turned to Enica. “You must try to sleep tonight. Leave someone else to tend the fire and turn the lamb. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
“I pray he will be found before then.”
“I will be here in the morning and together we will find the person who started that story.”
“What if the man who hid the body gets there first?” There was no need to explain. Tilla had offered a possible story and Enica had believed it: There was a body in the wall, and whoever had buried it had stolen her son.
“How can he get there first?” she asked. “He does not have all of us women on his side.”
The smile was weak, but it was there. Tilla clasped the rough hand in her own.
Enica said, “I said harsh things to you before.”