The scratchy, angry wail of a newborn was almost immediately drowned out by cheering. Hardly anyone apart from Ruso heard Conn say to his father, “We should have killed that bastard Mallius when we had the chance,” or Senecio’s reply of “The man is hated by them as well as us. One day our people will rise again. Until then we wait. Let them do the dirty work.”
Chapter 76
It was still dark when Tilla woke him and said Albanus was waiting. Ruso mumbled, “What for?”
“You must go up to the wall.”
Even as he said, “Uh?” he remembered. Albanus had bowed to pressure. The Legion had decided they could get away with it, and he was too gentle to insist.
By the time the three of them reached the wall, the night was giving way to a gray morning of murky drizzle. As Ruso hauled himself up the last few paces of the slope, Tilla took him by the arm. He did not have the energy to object. He was surprised and embarrassed by how exhausted he was.
There were two shadowy figures moving about up there. Albanus had told him to expect the tribune. He assumed the other was a guard, but the voice that murmured a quiet greeting was that of Daminius.
Accius handed his cloak to Daminius, dug into a bag Ruso had not noticed resting by the wall, and draped a white toga over his military kit with practiced efficiency. He pulled up a fold to cover his head and shook the metal rattle to frighten away any evil spirits.
It was not the usual sort of funeral speech, but this was no ordinary funeral. It began by swearing all those present to silence in the name of Jupiter, Best and Greatest. Then it continued:
“In light of the fact that, firstly, there is no visible evidence for the location of Candidus, who is presumed dead, and, secondly, the exact spot under suspicion can no longer be identified, it has been decided to hold this ceremony here this morning in the sight of the gods.” He gestured toward the anonymous rows of squared stones. “By tomorrow engraved lettering resembling a centurial building marker will have been created at an appropriate point.”
At least Albanus had got some sort of marker out of them.
“Those of us who can interpret the meaning of the engraving will understand its significance.”
“Those of us who understand it, sir,” put in Albanus, “can be proud that my nephew has the biggest memorial in the empire.”
Accius, not looking pleased, cleared his throat, shook the rattle again, and got on with the official rites.
Afterward the toga vanished back into the bag. Albanus asked to be left alone there for a few moments. The others walked down through the wet grass in silence, only Accius pausing to accept the salute of the men trudging up the hill to start the day’s work.
Chapter 77
The Twentieth Legion finally left for Deva on a blustery day in mid-November. While her husband was busy getting his patients loaded onto transport for the journey, Tilla ran down to the farm to say a last good-bye. When she started to cry, Senecio told her she must go with her husband: What was the point of all that effort to bless their marriage otherwise? But his words were blurred: He was weeping too.
She found Conn down in the bottom field checking on the sheep. “Twenty-three?” he said, asking her to confirm.
She counted, trying to mark their positions as they shifted about. “No . . . yes.” They both tried again to make sure. Then she said, “I want you to know something. It was not me who called the army when you took the soldiers to the hut, nor that skinny one who hurt his ankle.”
Instead of arguing, Conn said, “I know. Cata’s mother said you wouldn’t have had time.”
“Perhaps they were just passing.”
He shook his head. “I think we have an informer. I don’t know who it is, but that is not the first time the soldiers have known things they shouldn’t.”
She started to ask, “But who-” and then realized she did not want to know.
“I’ll find out,” he promised. “Somebody will be sorry.”
“You could try not doing anything worth the telling.”
The smile transformed his face.
She said, “And you could try smiling more often.”
“You should have met my brother Dubnus. You’d have liked him better.”
She said, “I shall learn to like you well enough. Find a wife, Conn. The old man will not last forever, and he wants grandchildren.”
“Any more orders?”
“I will be back with more in the spring,” she promised.
Pertinax swung himself toward the hospital wagon on his crutches, telling his anxious helpers to stop circling round him like bloody vultures: He wasn’t dead yet.
His daughter turned to Ruso and said, “Valens says you haven’t bought a horse with my money.”
“I’m still deciding,” he told her.
“He says you’ve never bought a horse in all the years he’s known you.”
“I’m taking some time to choose,” he admitted. “I’ll pay you back in Deva if I don’t go ahead.”
Serena shook her head. “You always were indecisive, Ruso. I don’t know how your wife puts up with- Not that way, Pa! Turn around! ”
Watching Pertinax pause and then shuffle round in a circle to park his backside on the floor of the wagon, Ruso said, “I’m not quite sure myself.”
“I don’t know how she puts up with that girl, either.”
Ruso glanced across the street to see Virana hurrying toward them. Her baby daughter was swathed in a thick golden blanket that had been a gift from . . . he still found it hard to refer to them as “Tilla’s family.” He was ashamed to say it, but she had been exclusively his for so long that he was jealous.
“Virana’s a friend,” he said. “She’s not coming back to Deva,” he added, with no pleasure. “She’s going home.” He had insisted they stick to her agreed departure date, but no matter how annoying she could be, he would miss her cheerful smile, her willingness to work, and her unwavering loyalty. And Tilla would miss the baby, because Tilla always found it hard to part with babies. She was, in that respect, the worst possible person to be a midwife. She had tried to channel her efforts into medicine for the sick and injured, but the babies kept coming and somebody had to deliver them.
He had no idea what Virana was doing in the fort, or who she had charmed on the gate to gain access. “Is everything all right?”
“I must talk to you, master.”
Ruso turned away from Pertinax, who had managed to bottom-shuffle his way into the wagon and was swearing because he had dropped one of his crutches in the street. Ruso now took little notice of his complaining. He had looked Ruso in the eye after Branan’s return and said, “Good man.” Ruso had left the room feeling three feet taller.
Virana said, “It’s about your wedding present for the mistress.”
“I haven’t organized one yet,” he confessed.
“I know. And I have spoken with Albanus, and we both think it is a good idea. But he says I must ask you first because you might say no, and then the mistress would be upset.”
He hoped whatever it was would not be expensive. He still had yet to find a way to recoup the cost of all the drinks and pastries the locals had enjoyed at Ria’s.
Virana held up the baby toward him. It was, like most babies, small and round and pink. It had wispy dark hair and a thin red scratch on its nose, probably made with its own fingernails. It smelled of milk and baby and nothing else at the moment, and it seemed to be asleep. It was, in short, as good as a baby was likely to get.
“Very nice,” he said, because he never knew what to say about babies.
“Your wife loves her very much already. She is no trouble. And if it was not for you, I don’t know where I would be.”
Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes as she was saying something about Tilla finding a nurse for the journey, and when she stopped talking he had no idea what else she had said or what to say in reply. Then she thrust the baby at him and he had to grab hold and press it against his chest for fear of dropping it, which meant that when she ran for the gates he could not give chase. He could only shout, “Virana, come back!”