Nor would he be able to ask the question the Legion would like answered, which was: Why are people saying there is a body in the wall?
Approaching the turn to the farm track, he pushed distracting thoughts aside and took stock of his surroundings. A carriage approaching from the east: a squad of infantry marching off toward the brighter sky in the west.
The russet shape of a squirrel ran out into the middle of the track. It caught sight of him, and scampered off into the woodland on the other side. Probably nobody lurking in the trees, then, but the danger would not lie here, in sight of the main road. If Conn and his friends wanted some fun, they would be waiting farther along, where the track disappeared around a bend to the right. There, they could be seen from neither road nor farm.
He moved ahead steadily, alert to the sound of water dripping off leaves and the squelch and crunch of his own boots, and pushing aside the voice in his mind that said, You should never have come alone.
Rounding the corner, he thought he glimpsed the figure of a legionary amongst the trees on his left, but then it was gone. Wishful thinking. He moved faster. Another forty paces. Thirty. Almost there . . .
As he approached the gate, Conn and the one-eyed man stepped out from behind the main house. The big black dog trotted along behind them. They ignored Ruso’s greeting and marched up to block the gate, farm implements casually laid over their shoulders. Conn might conceivably have been working under shelter with that pitchfork, but there was no call for a scythe in weather like this.
Ruso was wondering whether Branan would appear when the boy dropped out of the tree by the gate and ran across to join his older brother. He was not looking friendly now. He had picked up an axe that was half as tall as he was.
When the boy had taken his place, Conn said, “There is nothing for you in this place, soldier.”
The other man’s one eye and empty socket glared at Ruso. “Perhaps he’s come to see for himself.”
“I would like to speak with your father.”
Conn said, “My father does not want to hear you.”
“That is for him to decide. My wife promised him I would come.”
They stood facing each other. Rain trickled down Conn’s face and dripped off the end of his nose. Ruso knew that if he flinched now, he had lost.
Branan looked from one to the other of them. “Shall I ask Da, Conn?”
“I’ll do it. You watch him.” Conn strode away into the house. Branan shifted his grip on the axe handle and lifted his chin, then spoiled the effect by taking one hand off the axe to wipe the rain off his nose and shove his wet curls out of his eyes.
Ruso, still behind the flimsy protection of the gate, glanced around the yard. He had barely noticed when he was here before, but he saw now that the main house, the biggest of the buildings, had so many logs stacked under the broad eaves that the walls were almost hidden. A fat hayrick sat on a raised platform under its own thatched roof. He remembered the apples on the shelf indoors. This was what the family had worked through the summer and autumn to build up: the supplies that would, if their gods were kind, keep them and their animals from freezing and starving through the long, barren months of winter. This would be what the army had destroyed over at the house of Senecio’s sister.
A few hens and a cockerel with a shimmering blue-green tail were pecking amongst the cobbles. Ruso guessed that the sister’s livestock had made some very tasty suppers in military quarters last night.
Conn reappeared. “Let him in.”
The one-eyed man gestured toward Ruso’s sword and held out a hand to receive it across the top of the gate. His other hand retained its grasp on the scythe.
Ruso would have felt more at ease if he had been allowed to keep the sword and walk in naked.
After the daylight the house seemed even gloomier than it had at night. Senecio was seated in his carved chair again. As far as Ruso could make out, there was nobody else there. But he knew now about all those dark sleeping spaces hidden away behind the wicker partitions.
He bowed his head. Senecio made no attempt to rise or to acknowledge him. Ruso thought he heard movement somewhere behind one of the screens.
Finally he heard, “Are you aware of what has happened here, and at the house of my sister?”
“I am, sir.”
“I am told that this began when one of your men mistreated my niece.”
“He should not have done that, sir.”
“True.”
From somewhere in the darkness came a thud, then a whisper and “Sh!”
If he heard, Senecio ignored it. “Your people need to learn a little respect.”
“Yes, sir.” They needed to learn a great deal of respect, but since they were usually the ones with the swords, it wasn’t likely.