Tabula Rasa(111)

The figure of Albanus dipped as it stepped down to cross the ditch. By the time they were level with it, it was walking away from them over the grass.

“What do you think, Mallius?” Tilla asked, forcing herself not to watch as Albanus approached the woods. “Is there a man in the wall?”

No reply.

“Answer the lady, soldier!” ordered Daminius. “Well? Is there a dead man inside the wall?”

Mallius, who had turned to stare at the departing Albanus, returned his gaze to the front and mumbled that he didn’t know.

“Of course you know!” snapped Daminius. “There’s nothing up there. It’s official. The lady’s husband is quite right.”

Mallius said, “Yes, sir,” and glanced behind him again.

“People are still saying things,” Tilla observed as the road climbed the slope. “Only today I spoke to someone who swears he saw the body being hidden. He even says he saw who did it.”

“He’s lying,” Daminius said.

“Perhaps,” said Tilla. “But I think in the morning I will take this person to the tribune. Then they can go and open the wall in the place he shows them, and everybody will see if there is anything there.”

“I’d pay to join that work party,” said Daminius.

“It will be good to know the truth,” Tilla continued. “People are afraid. They are saying the man’s spirit walks at night, searching for someone to give him the proper burial rites.”

She risked a glance and caught Mallius staring at her. She hoped she had not said too much. It had been a long day, and she was not at her best. “Anyway,” she said briskly, “it is good news about the boy. My husband will bring him back safe tomorrow and we will find out who stole him. Then perhaps this curfew will be—”

She stopped. They all saw it at the same time: something moving on the road far ahead. The sound of hoofbeats came toward them on the wind. For once Tilla was relieved to catch the glint of moonlight on armor. Moments later they were surrounded by four riders on stamping horses, and Daminius was explaining who his small party were and what they were doing out here. She dared not look to see where Albanus was, but she saw that Mallius was glancing round as if he were wondering the same thing. That was good.

Satisfied, the cavalry patrol cantered off into the night. Mallius propped his spear against his shield and loosened his chinstrap with one finger, gazing after the riders as if wishing he could join them.

Fifty paces farther on he glanced back again. Tilla turned. The sight of the soldier striding along behind them made her jump even though she was half expecting it. Albanus was too far away for his features to be visible in the poor light, but close enough for his slight frame to recall that of his nephew.

Mallius said, “We’re being followed.”

They stopped. Gazing at Albanus, who now stood like a statue in the road, Daminius said, “Where?”

“Did you see someone?” asked Tilla. She watched Mallius narrow his eyes to squint at Albanus in the stark pallor of the moon.

“Description?” Daminius prompted.

“I thought . . . one of our men.”

“Moonlight,” said Daminius, as if that explained everything. “But I wouldn’t put it past the natives to creep around in the dark. Keep your eyes open.”

Mallius hissed, “Look again, sir.” He had his spear raised now. Tilla hoped he was not going to fling it to see if the ghost was solid.

Daminius turned to Tilla. “Can you see anything, miss?”

“I see the road,” she said. “And the trees, and the moon.”

Mallius looked from one to other of them, then back at the statuelike figure on the road. His voice had an oddly strangled quality, as if all the muscles in his throat had tightened up. “There’s nothing there, is there?”

“I can see there’s nothing there,” Daminius retorted. “You’re worse than a bloody native. Sorry, miss. No offense. How far now?”

“The next turn on the left.” Tilla tried to signal Go away behind her back. The ghost had done his job. She wanted to get back to the warmth and safety of Ria’s.

“Isn’t this where the missing boy lives?” Now Daminius was sounding nervous too.

“We are going to their neighbors,” said Tilla. Branan’s household was the last one she would want to disturb tonight. “It is about a hundred paces,” she said, taking the left fork onto the track and stepping into an empty blackness where the overhanging trees blocked out the moonlight and it was impossible to see their footing. She remembered to add, for the sake of the pretense, “I thought they would send someone to meet us at the corner.”