Tabula Rasa(24)

“What happens to the ones who don’t come back?”

The watch captain had no more idea than anyone else. “I’ll let you know straightaway when he turns up, sir.”

“In the meantime if you can find anyone who’s seen him—anyone at all—I want to talk to them.”

Ruso lashed Candidus’s possessions together, slung them over his shoulder, and squelched his way back toward the gates. Candidus’s new accommodation was a definite step down from the permanent quarters over at Magnis. Perhaps the tent—or its occupants—had frightened him off. He had not seemed the toughest of individuals, and Albanus had described him as not only sensitive but—and this was more believable—“rather easily led.” But where, in this land of wide rolling hills, wooded valleys, native huts, and building sites, could anyone have led him? And what if he had not been led but forced?

A stronger-than-usual smell of burning hung in the air as he made his way back to the comparative comfort of the fort. Glancing around, he saw thick columns of black smoke billowing up into the clouds on the western skyline. Even at this distance, he could make out glimmers of orange flame inside them. A cluster of four or five things that shouldn’t be burning were fiercely ablaze, and it was not difficult to guess what they were. The locals who had attacked the plumber would be long gone, but the stink of their homes going up in smoke would linger in the nostrils for days. It would be a lesson. Or another wrong to feel aggrieved about, depending on which side of the divide you were born. He could understand why Senecio, having lost one son and with another clearly spoiling for a fight, was doing his best to prevent any repeat of the vicious battles that had taken place around this border only a few seasons ago. It was a pity more of his countrymen did not feel the same way.

A squad of legionaries carrying shovels and picks were tramping past him. Their salutes were exemplary, but their gazes lingered a little too long. He glanced down at himself. Was there something unusual about him? Tunic caught up in his belt? Dirt on his nose? Something stuck in his hair? Then he realized. They were enjoying the sight of an officer carrying his own kit.

They would have been even more surprised if they had known it was somebody else’s.





Chapter 11

Ruso was barely through the door of the hospital at Parva when he heard raised voices. He left the door open, dumped Candidus’s kit in front of Pandora’s cupboard, and followed the sound. A cluster of legionaries were blocking the far end of the corridor.

The cries of “No visitors!” from Gallus, Ruso’s baby-faced deputy, were barely audible above the various voices demanding to be let in on the grounds that they were his mates, he would want to see them, they would cheer him up, and yells of “You all right in there, old son?” and “Chin up, mate!”

The shape of the group shifted. They were trying to drag the protesting Gallus out of the way.

Doors opened. Several staff hurried down to join the fray, and a couple of patients stumbled out to see what the commotion was.

“Out!” ordered Ruso, pointing toward the exit. The noise of protest died down.

“But, sir—”

“You,” said Ruso, choosing one and looking him in the eye. The others fell silent. “Name?”

The man straightened. “Peregrinus, sir. Century of Fabius.”

“Why are you causing a commotion in my hospital?”

“Regulus is in there, sir. The natives have been at him and we want to make sure he’s all right.”

Gallus, breathing heavily, was still stationed between the outside world and the door latch. His whole face was now as pink as his cheeks. “It’s the kidnap victim, sir,” he explained. “The tribune says no visitors and no passing on information.”

An orderly approached to announce that Prefect Pertinax wanted to know what all the din was and when he was going to get some crutches.

“Tell him it’s under control,” said Ruso, ushering the reluctant gang of legionaries toward the street door with a promise to send on news when there was any.

Back in the corridor, inquisitive heads disappeared and doors closed.

“And the crutches, sir?”

“Absolutely not!” Seeing the expression on the orderly’s face, Ruso added, “Just be brave and tell him I said no. He can’t catch you. He’s only got one foot.”

Another figure still loitered in the doorway. Ruso recognized the once-blond soldier who had passed up the waterskin to the trapped Pertinax. The bandage on his wrist was even grimier than before. He was poking at the loose end with his forefinger, trying to tuck it back in.