Somehow they managed to converse without help. It seemed Senecio could speak enough Latin when he wanted to.
When they had finished, Accius gave orders to one of his men and beckoned Ruso over.
“The old man will be staying here for a while. I’ve sent for a couple of British recruits to stand there and make sure nobody flattens him.”
Leading Ruso away out of earshot, the tribune added, “I’m not giving him the satisfaction of a fight. With luck he’ll get cold and bored and go home. But tell your staff to keep an eye on him. If he looks unwell, have him carted off to a hospital bed. I wouldn’t put it past the old goat to die on us.”
“I’ll tell them, sir.” Ruso shifted the case back to his other hand. “Will that be all, sir?”
“Go and see your patients and arrange some cover,” Accius told him. “Then come straight back here. I shall want you to deal with communications with the natives, so make yourself available. And don’t tell them anything unless I’ve authorized it first.”
“Sir, they really don’t trust me.”
“Stop fussing, Ruso. The priority is to find the boy. You said yourself: Everyone unites against a child snatcher.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and, Ruso . . .”
“Sir?”
“Smarten yourself up a bit. You’re representing the Legion. We may be surrounded by barbarians, but there’s no need to look like one.”
Chapter 32
Neither Conn nor the woman spoke as the cart jolted them all back to the farm. Or perhaps they did, but Tilla did not notice over the voices of fear and reassurance that were chasing each other around inside her mind. As the cart drew up to the gate she realized she was holding her breath, hoping that Branan would scramble down from his favorite tree to greet them.
Enica was crossing the yard, carrying a basket piled with logs. When she saw the cart she dropped the basket and ran forward to haul the gate open. Tilla knew immediately that there was no good news and that the woman’s look of disappointment must be mirrored on her own face.
At least he is not dead, she told herself. She had seen the hope flicker and fade in Enica’s eyes. She knows no more than we do.
Enica clutched at Conn’s arm as he climbed down from the cart. “What did they say?”
“They say they know nothing.”
“Where is your father? Why is she here?”
“My father has stayed to shame the Romans,” he told her. “They say they will question the men her husband sent here.”
A few days ago this woman had looked more like Senecio’s daughter than his wife. Now she was pale and hollow-eyed. Her hair was lank and disheveled and her tunic was spattered with grease.
“They have sent messengers to all the forts with a description of your son,” Tilla said. “Senecio asked me to see that you come to no harm while he is in the fort reminding the soldiers of what they need to do.”
“You?”
Before Tilla could answer, several women came out of the house with a gaggle of children tumbling around their skirts. She recognized a couple of the gossips from Ria’s bar, along with Cata, whose bruised cheek had turned from blue to purple, and her mother and sister.
Conn called, “No news!” and their faces fell just as Enica’s had. They ushered him and the other woman inside, urging them to come and eat and tell everyone what they had heard and seen, even though he had told them the important part already. Cata’s mother called to Enica to come and join them, but Enica replied that she wanted to build the fire. If they wanted to help, could they please look after Conn? She would talk with the doctor’s wife.
Tilla bent to help collect the scattered firewood. Enica flung a log into the basket. It landed with a thump. “They must know where he is!” she exclaimed. “They are always spying on people. Asking questions. We see the way they look at Conn at market. How can they not know?”
It was a question Tilla could not answer. She tossed another log in on top of the others.
“Why did my husband send you?”
“Perhaps because I was all there was.”
“I warned him to stay away from you!” Enica burst out. “Right at the beginning. I knew you would be trouble! The army never bothered us before you and that medicus came here.”
“The army took half your farm before we came here,” Tilla objected. “And I never meant to be trouble.”
Enica snatched up the basket. “He had this foolish idea about making things better between our people and yours.”
Tilla followed her across the rough grass at the back of the houses to a blackened bonfire patch where she supposed the family had planned to celebrate Samain tomorrow. She wanted to say, “Those foreigners are not my people.” But then, who were?