Tabula Rasa(28)

She jumped down from the cart at the turn to Senecio’s house and started running again. She was almost at the gate when she saw the soldier standing guard.

For a moment they stared at each other in surprise, then he lifted the loop of rope and held the gate open for her, stretching out his other arm to guide her as if she were a sheep being ushered into a pen. She said in Latin, “What is happening?”

“Go on in, miss. Just routine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Why are you here? Where is the family?”

“Just go on in, miss.”

She heard voices. Stepping forward, she could see past the oak tree to where some of the family seemed to be lined up in the yard, facing a couple more soldiers.

Behind her the guard shouted, “Adult female coming in!”

Senecio’s chair had been brought out, but he was standing, supported on one side by Enica and on the other by the small form of Branan. Conn was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the one-eyed man or the tall, skinny one. A couple of the children were crying.

One of the soldiers facing the family motioned her to join them. She heard men’s voices inside the house as she crossed the yard.

The woman with the lisp moved to make space. As she passed in front of her, Tilla murmured, “Where are the men?”

“Safe,” came the soft reply. Tilla took her place in the line next to Branan. The soldier in charge pointed at her and looked as though he were waiting for something.

She had seen that face beneath the helmet before. He sometimes ate in Ria’s bar. He was a junior officer of some kind. For once, she wished Virana were here. Virana knew what all the soldiers were called.

“Tell them your name,” Branan whispered.

She told him her local name. The other one made some attempt to write it down.

“We here,” the officer announced in very bad British, “to look for man. Soldier man. Him lost. You tell.”

The family showed not a trace of understanding or amusement. She knew most of them would have understood him if he had spoken his own tongue, but it was a small form of revenge to make him struggle like that: perhaps the only one they could exact without getting themselves into trouble. We do not speak Latin in this house. Perhaps they would share the joke later. Him one ugly man. Him think we as stupid as he is. Meanwhile she spoke up in the forbidden but very useful language of Rome: “If you describe him, sir, perhaps we can help.”

His relief showed on his face. “We don’t want trouble,” he told her. “We want a missing soldier. Name of Candidus. Five feet three inches tall, thin, dark hair. Been gone three days. You tell me if you’ve seen him or know anything about him.” He jerked his thumb toward the smoke. “That’s what happens if I think you’re lying.”

Tilla had begun to translate when there was a metallic crash inside the house and someone swore. It sounded as if the fire irons had been tipped over. “Careful, mate,” called a voice. “Yeah,” put in someone else. “That could have landed on your toe.”

She said, “If there is damage, I will speak to my husband and we will make a complaint.”

The soldier squinted at her. “Don’t I know you?”

“I am the wife of Medical Officer Ruso of your own legion.”

The face brightened for a moment. “Ah! I thought so.” He broke off to yell, “Steady on, lads! Officer’s wife present!” then returned his attention to Tilla. “You can tell your husband all about it when you get home, miss. He’s the one who ordered the search.”





Chapter 14

Somebody needed to grease those hinges. They sounded like two flocks of seagulls having a fight. Or like a set of hefty gates in the charge of some very sloppy soldiers. They shouldn’t be closed before curfew, either.

Ruso, returning from afternoon rounds at the camp, was about to shout when two shawled figures seemed to detach themselves from the fort wall and hurried toward him. Behind them, the screech of iron on stone died away.

“There you are!” cried the slimmer of the two women in a cloud of frosted breath. Ruso stared at them. “What are you two doing here?”

His wife stabbed a finger toward the gates. “I am here because those men will not let me in!”

“And I am here because the mistress is very upset,” said Virana, taking Tilla’s arm as if she needed physical as well as moral support. “The people at the farm were nasty to her.”

The guards saluted from beneath the archway, but they were taking no chances. “Password, sir!”

Stepping forward, he murmured, “Morning star,” to the guards and then returned to his wife. “There’s a security alert,” he explained, secretly relieved that Tilla’s short friendship with the local family seemed to be over. “They won’t let anyone in. You should have left a message.”