Terra Incognita (21 page)
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now go and get on with it.”
When he had gone Ruso stared at the cloak hanging on the back of the closed door.
I respect the doctor’s judgment,
indeed! Of course he did. As long as Thessalus was happily doped up and dependent on Gambax for his supply, the staff had been left to manage the infirmary in whatever way suited them best. And what had suited most of them was to sit in the office with the door barred, drinking beer.
I was trying to help him, sir.
Gods above.
Still, he had Gambax on the run at last. He was making progress with the prefect’s order to sort out the medical service. Even if he was beginning to sound worryingly enthusiastic about the sort of administrative procedures he could never usually be bothered to follow himself.
Gambax had failed to shut the door. He could see movement in the corridor outside.
“Albanus, you’re lurking.”
The clerk grinned, stepped into the treatment room, and closed the door. “Could I possibly come in here for a moment, sir? It’s safer than out there.”
Ruso indicated a seat. “Tell me, Albanus,” he said, tipping back his chair so that the front legs left the ground, “have you ever heard of the torpedo fish?”
“It gives some sort of shock, sir.”
“Excellent,” said Ruso, wishing Gambax were there to hear himself proved wrong. “You haven’t by any chance got a remedy for a man whose triangles are falling apart, have you?”
“I think the only remedy for that is death, sir.”
“No doubt,” said Ruso, mildly surprised. Albanus was not in the habit of making jokes.
Seconds later it became apparent that no joke was intended. “It’s a bit of an obscure piece, sir. Plato. My father was a teacher. He made me translate it once. I can’t remember much about it, but I think when your triangles finally crumble they release your soul to fly to . . . somewhere.”
“What triangles?”
“I never really understood it. But I think Plato thought everything was based on mathematics and people are made out of little triangles and the sharp edges help you digest your food.”
“Gods above,” said Ruso, scratching one ear. “No wonder people are rude about the Greeks.”
“I probably haven’t explained it terribly well, sir.”
“No, I’m sure that’s right. It explains something Doctor Thessalus said to me yesterday.”
There was a thump from the corridor, then a curse and the sound of something cumbersome being dragged along the floor. Ruso guessed the orderlies had finally realized they needed to change the mattresses before they put on the fresh bedding.
“I’ve finished sorting the records, sir,” said Albanus. “There’s lots of gaps but at least you can find what there is now.”
“Excellent,” said Ruso. “I’ll come and have a look.” He caught Albanus’s eye. “Maybe it’s better not to disturb Gambax at the moment. But I’d like you to start checking the rest of the infirmary paperwork. Find out how they’ve been placing the orders, paying the bills, and so on.”
Albanus was chewing his lower lip. “I don’t think Gambax will like me interfering in that very much, sir. He’s a bit agitated already.”
“That’s why you’ll have to do it discreetly when he’s not there. In the meantime, I want you to nip around to the gatehouses and see if you can find a guard who can remember where Doctor Thessalus was called to on the night of the murder, and what time he arrived back. I tried last night but I didn’t get very far. While you’re there, see if they’ve had any messages from Tilla. If they haven’t, I think you’d better go out and try to track her down.”
“Right-oh, sir. What do I say if they ask why I want to know about the doctor?”
“Say ‘medical reasons,’ ” said Ruso. “That usually works.” He tipped his chair forward again. “Now I suppose I’d better go and encourage the scrubbers.”
T
HE THORN HEDGE
finally came into sight on the far side of the river meadow. Tilla looked above her shoulder again to make sure that there was no one following her before she forced herself to slow down and recapture her breath. Beyond the thorn hedge, smoke was seeping lazily skyward from a dumpy cone of thatch. As she drew closer she could make out the tops of the beehives.
Nobody noticed her approach. Veldicca was on her knees, ripping early weeds out of one of the herb beds. There was a green shawl tied across her back, sheltering the shape of a sleeping baby. In the doorway of the house a small girl was grinding flour while two hens loitered, waiting to lunge at the spilled grains of wheat.
“Veldicca!” called Tilla as she pushed open the gate.
The young woman took one look, scrambled to her feet, and backed away in alarm.
“It is me,” Tilla assured her.
“Daughter of Lugh?”
“Alive. May I come in?”
Veldicca peered at her for a moment, then hurried forward, slapping the worst of the mud off her hands before embracing her. “They told us you were dead!”
“And you have a baby!”
They drew back for a moment, each appraising the other. Veldicca was thinner, and a dull red scar ran across her left cheekbone. But whatever troubles had assailed her in the last three years, they had not repressed her smile.
“Come and sit and talk.” Veldicca turned to the girl. “Leave the corn and fetch us some mead—and some of the dried apple?” She looked to Tilla for approval.
“That would be very good,” agreed Tilla, realizing she had not eaten since last night.
“A friend’s child,” explained Veldicca, indicating the girl before she dipped her hands into the washing bowl by the door. “She is here to help and learn about the herbs. Where have you been? We mourned for you—it is a joy to see you!”
“I have been in many places. But last night I went to visit your brother.”
The smile faded. “I have no—”
“Never mind about that. He has been arrested. The soldiers have taken him.”
Veldicca shook her hands dry and wiped them on her skirt. Then she said, “I am sorry, but I am not surprised. From what I hear, it is better not to be Rianorix’s sister at present.”
They seated themselves side by side on the shaped log under the eaves. Tilla said, “The gods have woken, Veldicca. But doing their will has brought your brother serious trouble.”
Veldicca adjusted the shawl so that the child lay in her lap for her visitor to admire. “A girl,” she said, stroking the child’s dark hair. “Four months. Much has happened while you have been gone.”
“You must be proud,” said Tilla, reaching to snatch away the abandoned bag of grain just as the first hen stabbed at it. “About your brother—”
“I should be proud,” agreed Veldicca. “But mostly I am just busy and tired. You know I am widowed?”
“I am sorry. Your brother said nothing.”
“That is no surprise. Even in death, Rianorix does not approve of my choice of husband.”
“They say your brother killed a soldier,” said Tilla. “But all he did was curse him. He does not know how the curse was fulfilled. It must be a sign.”
“Well, if the curse did harm, then he has brought this on himself. You know what a fool he is.”
“Veldicca—”
“It has never given me pleasure to be estranged. But he has always been stubborn.”
“And you are . . . ?”
“As I said. Busy and tired. To speak openly, daughter of Lugh, we do not need my brother’s trouble at our hearth. He is not wise in the company he keeps, and if you want to stay away from trouble, do not go with him to the Gathering that he thinks I do not know about. Have you heard about this creature who is hunting down soldiers?”
Tilla took the cup the girl was offering, and took a deep swallow of the rich sweet mead. “My own brothers would have been just as yours is. Act first, think later. Or not at all.”
“I grieved for your family.”
“I thank you.”
A robin flitted down into the patch that Veldicca had been weeding and began to stab for worms.
“You never know how long the gods will allow you in this world,” said Tilla. “At least try to send a message to him.”
Veldicca bent and kissed the sleeping baby on the forehead. “I will think about it,” she said.
It was a concession. Tilla acknowledged it with silence, stretching her legs out in the grass and watching a white butterfly dancing above the vegetable patch. Moments later the child noticed it too and ran over to chase it away.
Veldicca said, “So, tell me. We heard you were killed. Then we heard a rumor you were alive. Surely you have not been all this time with the northerners?”
“Two years in Trenus’s household that are best forgotten,” Tilla said. “Then I went south and lived much better in the lands of the Cornovii.” That was true, if misleading. The Roman fort at Deva was on stolen Cornovii land. “They are a good people.” That was more honest: She had made friends in the surrounding villages.
Veldicca laid a hand on hers. “It is good to have you home.”
“There were times when I thought I would never see home again.”
“Trenus should have been punished.”
“Instead I hear he is invited to dine with the governor.”
Veldicca said, “You remember Dari, the girl both your brothers lay with in one night?”
“Big breasts and small brain.”
“She is working over in the town now. Selling drinks and pastries to soldiers and their families.”
“At Susanna’s?”
“You have met Susanna?”
“My friend is lodging there.”
They exchanged news of other mutual friends and acquaintances: of births and deaths, weddings and betrayals and divorces. All the news Rianorix had not thought interesting enough to tell her. Finally Veldicca asked if she was married.
Tilla shook her head. “My life is complicated.”
“Mine also,” said Veldicca. “Now you are here, will you stay?”
Tilla paused to dip the apple in the mead and lick it. “That depends. I have not seen my cousin yet. Or my uncle. I hear they are living over by the fort.”
“You will be surprised. Your uncle Catavignus is a rich man now. He is leader of the guild of caterers.”
“The what?”
“They worship Apollo-Maponus, the god who pleases everybody. He has one Roman name and one of ours.”
“I did not know my uncle was religious.”
“Nor did anyone else,” said Veldicca. “But I hear the caterers hold some very fine dinners and are loyal to the emperor. And of course they all help one another. They buy whatever beer Cativignus has left after he has supplied the soldiers. I hear he is having a grand house in the Roman style built up on the hill.”
“I have seen the house on the hill. It is just a hole in the ground.”
“Really? I had thought from what your cousin Aemilia said—”
“You know Aemilia.” Tilla dipped the apple again. “I am surprised to hear she is not yet married.”
“Hah! Did my brother not tell you what all this is about?”
“He said he is sworn to protect—surely not Aemilia?”
“Of course it’s Aemilia! I told you, he is a fool. Now see where it has got him.”
Tilla listened in silence as her friend explained how Aemilia had been convinced that a soldier had promised to marry her. “And this false soldier is the one who died?”
Veldicca nodded. “Felix, the man my brother cursed. So whoever killed him, Rianorix will be in trouble for it and Aemilia will be the cause.”
Tilla shook her head. It was plain that Aemilia had not changed.
“I hear Catavignus still has hopes of marrying her to a centurion,” said Veldicca.
“After this, about as likely as your family’s hopes of marrying you to that blacksmith.”
Veldicca sniffed. “I should have listened.”
“Your soldier was not a good husband?”
“It turned out he had more patience with his bees than with his woman.” Veldicca ran one mud-ingrained fingertip along the scar on her cheek. “This is what happened when I left his boots to dry by the fire and the leather went hard. I could show you others.”
“I am sorry.”
“But last winter he died of a fever. So now I do what I want.”
Tilla glanced toward the beehives. “Now you are the beekeeper.”
“I am the bee-loser. Whatever he was, that man knew how to charm the bees. After he died one swarm went and left no king, and another died of cold in the winter when I forgot to feed them. This is the last of the mead. I am glad to celebrate your homecoming with it.”
Tilla glanced down at the sleeping child. “I have seen your brother’s house, Veldicca. It is difficult for one man to manage alone. The house is very untidy and he lives on bought food and beer and lets other men’s ideas grow around him with no one to show him any sense.”
“My brother made his choice. I made mine.”
“And are you content?”
“Which of us is ever content?”
Tilla watched the hens pecking at the grass. “I have a friend in the army,” she said. “I will ask his help to release your brother.”
“I will pray for your success. Then you can go and sort out his house and his ideas. See if he thanks you.”
The baby stirred, opened a pair of deep brown eyes, and crinkled her small face as if she did not like what she had just seen. Veldicca unpinned her tunic and put the child to her breast just as it began to cry.
“So,” said Tilla, looking around, “how will you live without the wages of your angry soldier? Two hens, a little honey, and a few herbs for sale are not going to keep you through the winter. You have no cow. You do not even have a goat.”
“I have a little saved. Perhaps I shall buy a cockerel and become the champion hen breeder of Coria.”
“But—”
“And if I grow tired of hens,” Veldicca continued, “I will find myself a blacksmith. Or maybe a centurion.”
T
HESSALUS WAS ASLEEP
. Over at the infirmary, there was no one in the office. The cobweb above the pharmacy table was gone, the wastebasket was empty, and the green pancake had been scraped off the floorboards. A lone bottle with no label rested on the desk. Ruso picked it up, removed the stopper, and sniffed at the brown powder inside.
