Terra Incognita (25 page)

“No,” said Ruso, noting Thessalus’s eagerness as he reached for the wine cup. ‘I want to talk to you without the medicine clouding your brain.”

Ruso leaned his elbows on the freshly scrubbed wood of the operating table, lifted a bronze clamp from his case, and slid the clip idly up and down, feeling the faint jolt as it bumped in and out of the grooves on the handles. Metellus was supposed to be delivering Tilla to the infirmary after he had finished with her. How long could an identity parade take?

He needed to talk to Metellus anyway. Now that the word was out about Thessalus’s confession and the native had been arrested and questioned—if only briefly—he was not sure what version of the truth he was supposed to know. And what version of the truth everyone else was supposed to know, and whether they were different. He snapped the jaws of the clamp together and scowled.

If only he had kept his mouth shut, he would never have gotten involved in this.

Ruso placed the tip of his little finger in between the jaws of the clamp and winced as he slid the clip into the groove. The trouble was, despite his fortuitous discovery of the truth about the murdered bar girls in Deva—something for which he had received no credit at all—he really was not very good at this sort of thing. Moreover, he didn’t like it. He certainly didn’t like Metellus. What the hell was that man doing with Tilla? How long could it possibly take her to look at a few suspects, announce that she didn’t recognize any of them—as she undoubtedly would—and then be escorted across to the infirmary? And why had he clipped this painful thing onto the end of his finger?

Someone was knocking on the door. He slid off the clamp, put it back in his case, and said, “Yes?” hoping to see Tilla. He would explain why he had not been allowed to warn her about the identity parade. He would make it up to her by buying her a meal at Susanna’s. He would sit with her in public. What did it matter? They were only here for a few days.

The disappointment that was Gambax stepped in and consulted the writing tablet he was carrying as if it lent authority to what he had come to say. “Twenty-two-and-a-half denarii, sir.”

“Ah,” said Ruso, not sure what Gambax was talking about but hoping not to have to admit it.

“Doctor Thessalus usually lets me have the money right away, sir,” said Gambax, still not explaining what the money was for.

“Twenty-two-and-a-half?” repeated Ruso, hoping to elicit more information.

“Yes, sir. That includes my costs for processing the herbs delivered by the woman Veldicca.”

Evidently it was something to do with the clinic. “Perhaps you could give me a breakdown of the figures?”

Gambax looked as though he had just asked for something outrageously complicated. “Doctor Thessalus never asks for a breakdown, sir.”

“I’m new here,” said Ruso, conceding defeat. “And frankly, I haven’t a clue why you’re asking me for money.”

“The cost of the clinic medicines, sir.”

Ruso looked at Gambax’s face and tried to detect some sign of humor or deceit, but failed. The man who gave up his time to run a free clinic and took his staff out on their birthdays had evidently reached heights of generosity that Ruso could barely imagine. “Does Doctor Thessalus pay for all the medicines himself?”

“Oh no, sir.” The corners of Gambax’s mouth began to twitch. “You did remember to charge everybody, didn’t you?”

A glum realization began to dawn. No wonder he had been so popular. While he had been behind the screens, word had spread around the market that the new doctor was handing out army medical supplies for free.

“Twenty-two-and-a-half sounds about right,” he agreed, unstringing his purse and spilling its contents onto the operating table. He had paid Lydia’s rent. Now he had inadvertently made a donation to the ailing civilians of Coria.

It was another dilemma for those bright young minds.

A man gives money to a deserving cause by mistake. Is he in any way morally superior to a man who gives nothing?

“Thank you, sir,” said Gambax, scooping the money off the desk with one sweep of his hand and sending it clattering into a wooden box. “I’ll write you a receipt from the pharmacy.”

After he had gone, it occurred to Ruso that a more suspicious man might accuse Gambax of deliberately leaving him in the dark and sending a bandager who did not know the routine.

He got up. He was going to find out what Metellus was still doing with Tilla.

39

T
ILLA STARED AT
the row of faces in front of her: seven local men, some of whom she recognized. None of whom deserved to be stood squinting into the afternoon sun in the courtyard of an army headquarters building. One had blood dripping from his nose. Another had a swollen eye. There would be other injuries, deliberately inflicted where they would not show.

The medicus had delivered her to the same quietly spoken officer who had arrested Rianorix last night. At first she had not recognized him. The hair that had glinted blond in the torchlight was dull brown by day. As soon as she realized who it was she had wanted to beg the medicus to stay with her, but she was afraid the quiet one would tell him where he had found her last night. The medicus, who liked to think he was a reasonable man, would not be reasonable about that. So she had said nothing when he repeated, “Just do your best,” and abandoned her.

The quiet one had led her into the courtyard and told her to say which of these men she had seen in the yard at the inn.

“I saw a god,” she said. “These are men. I do not know any of them.”

“Look again.”

She looked again, noting a bent nose that was nothing to do with the army: It had been broken years ago in a fight with her oldest brother.

The men were staring straight ahead, showing no sign of remembering her although several must have been surprised to see her there. She said truthfully, “None of them was in the yard.”

“Take a good look.”

“I have taken a good look,” she said, loud enough for them to hear. “I do not know them. You have arrested the wrong men and hurt them for no reason.”

Instead of being angry, the officer smiled. “Come with me,” he said.

She followed him out of the courtyard, past the guards, and straight down a wide paved street. Before they reached the gatehouse the officer turned off to the right and led her to what looked like some sort of deserted workshop or storehouse. The windows were secured with bars against thieves. He unlocked the main door and led her into a small room. The sole item of furniture was a solid wooden chair bracketed to the center of the floor. On the wall beside her hung four sets of chains, a knotted rope, and a long-handled iron tool that reminded her of blacksmith’s pliers. Already she wanted to scream.

“Now then,” he said pleasantly, closing the heavy door behind her and locking it. “You’ve put on your little show for your friends. They can’t hear you in here. So tell me which one it is.”

“I am already tell you,” insisted Tilla, aware that she was losing her grip on Latin and angry with herself for betraying her fear, “I do not know those men!”

The officer shook his head sadly. “I do wish I could believe you, Tilla. I really do.”

“I cannot tell what I do not know. Let me talk to the medicus. He will tell you.”

“Oh, dear. I do so hate to get cross with attractive young ladies.”

“I do not know those men. Please. Let me—”

“Not one of them? You’ve never seen any of them before in your life?”

Outside she could hear men shouting orders. The sharp screech of boot studs swiveling on paving stones. Someone laughing. She forced herself not to look at the dark stains on the floor around the chair. Rianorix had spent the night in this room. She had seen what this man had done to him. “I have seen some of them before,” she whispered. “They live near here. None of them is the man in the yard.”

The officer’s smile looked almost relieved. “Thank you, Tilla,” he said.

“Or shall I call you Darlughdacha? That wasn’t so very difficult, was it? Now tell me about your friend Rianorix.”

40

I
WAS JUST
coming to look for you,’ Ruso said. ‘Where have you been?”

Tilla was frighteningly pale.

“Are you all right?”

She did not answer.

Metellus smiled as he stood aside to let her enter the infirmary and assured Ruso that she had been very helpful. “Property returned in good condition as promised, doctor. I’ve told the watch captain you’ll be escorting her out later.”

He beckoned Ruso outside and murmured, “Any sign of Thessalus withdrawing his confession?”

“Not yet.”

“I told the girl I’d give you a few moments alone together. I’d be interested to know what she says to you. Just watch what you tell her. I know she’s very lovely, but she is a native.”

“I’m not a fool, Metellus.”

The aide smiled again. “I do hope not.”

One of the orderlies was rattling a broom around the corners of the treatment room. Ruso took Tilla by the hand and led her into his temporary quarters. When she was clear of the door, he squeezed in himself and sat beside her on the narrow bed, observing, “You’re pale.”

No reply.

Perhaps she needed to be distracted. He tried, “I expect it’s a lot more comfortable than this at your uncle’s.”

She said, “Yes,” but hardly bothered to look around.

He put an arm around her shoulders. She gasped with pain.

“Sorry,” he said, retracting the arm. “I forgot. Tell me what happened with Metellus.”

“I would rather have the ugly centurion with his stick than that one,” she said. “That one has things in his room that I do not want to think about.”

“He promised me he wouldn’t hurt you!”

“I am not hurt.”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing. I am all right.”

“It is not nothing,” he insisted. “And you are not all right.” He got to his feet and turned around in the small space between the bed and the door. “I should never have left you alone with him. Tell me what happened and I’ll go and see him right now.”

“He did not touch me.”

“He frightened you.”

She bowed her head. He saw the dark splashes of the tears in her lap. If Metellus had been within reach at the moment, Ruso would have punched his even features out of alignment.

More tears. He could not send her back to her uncle in this state. “I’ll go and see him. I won’t leave you alone with him again.”

She gave a loud sniff, and whispered, “I am no good.”

“They’re desperate to catch the man you saw in the yard,” he explained. “Lydia’s man isn’t the first one he’s killed. But if you can’t help, it isn’t your fault.”

She rubbed her fists into her eyes. “Last night a rude man will not let me in here. Now you take me in to look at some men of my people, and the officer with the smile of a snake wants me to get them into trouble.”

“You can only do your best, Tilla. There’s nothing to worry about. The accident wasn’t your fault.”

She slapped her hands down on her knees in exasperation. “Is not me I am worrying about! Is Rianorix!”

“Rianorix? The man at the clinic? He’s not seriously hurt, you know.”

“They are still asking questions about him,” she said.

“Well, just tell them what you know.”

“I know he does not kill that man. But they do not want to say the gods did it because that will show our gods are more powerful than theirs. And they will not blame the doctor because he is a Roman.”

Ruso sighed. This was exactly the native reaction that Decianus had anticipated.

“The doctor has a lot of problems,” he explained, “but really I don’t think killing Felix is one of them.”

“Well, it is not Rianorix. You must tell the officer he is wrong.”

“Tilla, when your gods do things, do they send people to act for them?”

She thought about that for a moment. “It is likely,” she said. “A stag is a messenger.”

“So the stag would give someone a message from the gods to do something?”

She nodded. “We must find out who the gods send to kill Felix. You must talk to the men who are with him in the bar. Perhaps it is them. Perhaps it is somebody who wants to kill Felix and blame Rian for it. Perhaps it is anybody. I will talk to Susanna at the bar and we must find Dari and ask if she knows where he goes afterward.”

“Dari?” Dari the arm-wrestling waitress? “What’s she got to do with it?”

“Susanna says she is the last person talking to Felix before he goes. We must find out. Like you find out what happened to the girls in Deva.”

“I can’t just go trampling all over Metellus’s investigation, Tilla.”

“Why not? He is wrong.”

“You’re absolutely convinced Rianorix is innocent?”

“I know.”

For a moment Ruso wondered if he should ask her what a native warrior would do with an enemy head. Where would he hide it? Who would he show it to? Tilla, whose kitchen duties were often accompanied by interminable songs about her ancestors, must know the stories. She could save the army hours of fruitless hunting and possibly a great deal of trouble with their own men. The killer’s trophy, the head of a Batavian soldier, might even now be at the center of some ghastly magic ritual that Rome had failed to stamp out with the extermination of the Druids. According to Albanus, which force had led Rome’s final assault on the Druid stronghold?

The Batavians.

Ruso did not know what Batavians believed about death but he was certain that none of them would believe Felix was resting peacefully while his head was still in the hands of the enemy. Worse, it would no doubt reappear in a show carefully orchestrated to cause the maximum alarm among the Roman forces. One question to Tilla might save them from all of that.

On the other hand, Metellus could have asked her that himself, and it seemed he had not. Maybe his investigation did need a little trampling upon.

“I’ll talk to Metellus,” he promised, reaching forward to slip a finger under a curl that was touching the corner of her eye.