He had a worrying suspicion that he knew what she was talking about and that he had agreed to it yesterday under the cheering influence of the poppy. Rather than risk a direct question, he tried, “Remind me of what I did for Daminius.”
She pulled his best cream tunic out of the trunk and flapped it vigorously to get rid of the creases. “You have kindly lent him the money to buy Fabius’s kitchen maid. It is very good of you.”
“But I haven’t got any money! If I had, I’d spend it on a kitchen maid of my own.”
She eyed him over the top of the tunic.
“That didn’t sound quite how I intended.”
“You do not have money, but Serena has arrived to visit her father and she always has plenty of money because her father says she does not deserve to live like a doctor’s wife.”
“So, in effect, Valens’s wife has lent money to a man she doesn’t know in order for him to buy the slave he was having an affair with?”
“No. She has lent it to you to buy a horse. You have lent it to Daminius.”
Ruso groaned. “Is there anything else I’ve done that I should know about?”
“I did ask you,” she said. “You said yes.”
“Was I full of poppy?”
“You do remember that we are to have the wedding blessing this afternoon?”
He rolled over to put his feet on the floor so she could not see his face. “Of course. But I don’t feel up to a big fuss.”
“Just the family and a few friends. I shall be there waiting for you. I will ask Conn to fetch you in the cart.”
He did not want to spend time with Conn. “I’ll walk.”
“It’s raining.”
“I know.”
Ruso suspected he and Albanus made a comical pairing as they limped down the farm track in the rain, one leaning on a stick to support a bandaged ankle and the other shuffling along as if he had aged forty years in the last couple of days. Still, he was glad of the opportunity for an uninterrupted conversation about Albanus’s lost nephew, who had failed to realize the danger he was in once he had recognized a runaway slave who did not want to be caught.
When he had finished, Albanus was silent. They separated to skirt around opposite sides of a puddle. Albanus said, “All this has caused you a great deal of trouble, sir.”
Ruso opened his mouth to assure him it was no trouble at all, but the words would not make their way past the dull ache in his jaw. Instead he said, “If he were my nephew, I’m sure you’d have done the same.” Albanus, without the distraction of Tilla, would probably have dealt with it in a much more professional manner. He said, “I’m sorry it ended the way it did.”
“Thank you, sir.” But Albanus had further apologies to make. He seemed to think he was entirely responsible for the ghost escapade, since he had failed to strangle the plan at birth, and when it all went wrong-as he had anticipated-he had then sat nursing a sprained ankle and sent Tilla off into the night alone.
“I thought it was a bad idea from the start, sir, but your wife was very keen, and I thought I’d better try and help. But I didn’t.”
“Don’t worry,” Ruso assured him. “I know how persuasive my wife can be.” He squinted through the drizzle, assessing how much farther they had to walk. “I hope you don’t mind coming to a thing like this when you’ve just had bad news.”
“That’s quite all right, sir. I’m glad to be asked. Weddings are always cheerful.”
Something else occurred to Ruso as they passed the leaf-spattered fork in the track and turned in amongst the trees. “You never did tell me what happened to-”
“Hah!” interrupted Albanus, as if he did not want Grata’s name mentioned. “A fat old merchant flaunted his moneybags in front of her, sir.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“She seemed to think he wouldn’t last long. She promised to marry me next, but I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that.”
Ruso doubted that the fat old merchant would have liked it much, either. He said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I wish I had come sooner, sir.”
From up in the oak tree there was a cry of “There you are!” and Branan scrambled down to where the dog was waiting for him.
Ruso glanced across the yard and saw Enica watching her son from the porch. “Your eye looks even worse today!” Branan exclaimed. “Come and show everybody.”
Chapter 75
Just a small affair, Tilla had said. Just the family and a few friends. The roar that went up as he arrived made him wonder if he had come to the wrong place. Perhaps there was a cockfight going on in there somewhere. Branan gave him a push and whispered, “Go on!”
The air inside the house was vibrant with cheering and heavy with the smell of smoke and wet wool and beer and pork crackling. There were people sitting on skins around the hearth with their knees jammed into other people’s backs, and human shapes filled all the space back into the darkness behind the wicker screens.
Ruso was led forward to sit next to Tilla on the bench with the tickly fur, which had been moved nearer to Senecio’s chair. Tilla was pink-faced with the heat and unusually demure in a pale green dress he was fairly sure he hadn’t seen before. Her hair was swept up into some sort of complicated knot and adorned with what he at first thought were large spiders but turned out to be flowers. Maybe the poppy was still affecting him.
“Mostly family,” she whispered, in answer to his question. “Just a few neighbors.”
Ruso gazed round at the unfamiliar faces and foresaw a lot of You must remember them: You met them at our wedding conversations.
“The friends are yours,” she added.
Someone handed him a brimming cup of beer and said, “Pass it on.” As his eyes adjusted to the poor light he could make out Aemilia and her husband. Conn and the other people from the farm. Virana sitting awkwardly next to Ria. Enica by the door, where she could see if Branan tried to leave. He thought he recognized the baker from outside the fort, and then, over by the wall, behind all these natives, he found himself looking at Accius and Daminius with Gallus from the hospital, standing upright in full parade kit and looking deeply uncomfortable. Daminius in particular looked as though he would rather be almost anywhere else. Ruso assumed Tilla had invited him by way of apology for whatever had happened last night, but it might have been kinder to leave him alone. Fabius, he supposed, was too ill to leave the fort.
Senecio heaved himself to his feet almost unnoticed and said, “Friends!” This brought on a chorus of “Shh!” and “Stop shushing, we can’t hear!”
“Friends,” he said, indicating the bride, “this is my precious daughter, Darlughdacha, whom the gods have sent home to me at last. She is even more beautiful and brave than her mother, so already we have enjoyed several arguments.” He paused to let the laughter die away. “This is Gaius Petreius Ruso, a man of great courage who brought our son back to us. His people and his farm are far across the sea in the south of Gaul. We welcome him into our family.”
There was movement over by the door, with more people crowding in and a loud whisper in Latin: “Sorry we’re late. You know how long women take to get ready.”
Ruso, spying a true friend, stood and beckoned Valens over. Serena, stouter than Ruso remembered, picked her way between the seated guests with obvious distaste. She accepted a beer cup from a grinning native with buckteeth and wild hair and passed it straight on. Ruso wondered if he should thank her for the money.
The next part was as long and tedious as only a Briton-or a politician-could have made it. As Senecio sang the history of Tilla’s people from the time they had descended from the gods, Ruso found himself watching the progress of the beer and willing it to come round again. Even Serena relented and took a sip before passing it on. While the locals cheered at the mention of each familiar character, he felt himself starting to nod off.