Tilla said, “Somebody who wanted to tell but did not want to be punished for the telling.”
“Somebody who can watch the wall when most of the soldiers are not around.”
“Yes!” Tilla agreed. “Nobody could bury a body while the soldiers are working up there.”
“Somebody who does not think kindly of my family.”
“Or was just choosing a person to blame,” said Tilla. “How many people know your son?”
Enica looked at her as if the question did not make sense. “Everyone,” she said. “All the neighbors. People at market. The shopkeepers outside the fort where he makes deliveries.”
“The soldiers?”
She nodded. “They come here to buy cheese and milk and sheepskins. Then they come here as guards with the tax collectors. Then your husband’s men, searching for the missing soldier.”
Before Tilla could answer, Enica continued, “Conn thinks the soldiers made up the story and lied about Branan starting it to cause trouble for us. But I have been thinking: Why do that?”
“It does not seem likely,” Tilla agreed, glad the women from the house were not here; no doubt they would say that if something bad could be done, the soldiers would do it. “So it is most likely one of our own people who started the rumor. We have a place to start.”
“Maybe a hundred places,” said Enica, ripping the ham into shreds. “Maybe five hundred.”
Put that way, it did not sound so good.
Enica flung the scraps of meat out into the yard and there was a flurry of eager wings and beaks. “I cannot understand why someone would want to blame a child.”
“Perhaps they thought a child would come to no harm,” Tilla suggested. “Or would never find out.”
“Perhaps they chose a name and it happened to be my son’s.”
Tilla looked up. “Or perhaps because this rumor maker is a child too.”
“A child? Another child is behind all this?” Enica sounded horrified. “A child we know?”
“It is just an idea.”
“We must get there first,” Enica said, getting to her feet, “before whoever who made the burial finds this child for himself. I will talk to the neighbors.”
It might not last long, but Tilla was glad to see Enica’s renewed energy as she hurried across the yard.
Chapter 35
It was a mystery to Ruso why his late arrival for a clinic often seemed to be greeted by more patients than usual. Surely some should have given up and gone away? Lately he had come to the conclusion that for every man who decided—or was told by his centurion—that he was not ill after all, there were another two who simply saw a queue and joined it. The longer the queue stood in place, the greater the effect. The wait might also account for the number who presented him with one complaint and then proceeded to offer several others while I’m here. By the time he had escaped from the camp and hurried back to the fort, it was well past midday. Remembering the order to smarten up, he straightened his tunic, adjusted his bootlaces so they were even, and ran his fingers through his hair before making his way across to the HQ building. The guard standing in the middle of the road saluted as if he were not aware of the old man huddled on a blanket at his feet or of the voice crying out in Latin, “Where is my son?”
Ruso paused to crouch beside Senecio. Apart from his hair, the man looked smaller and thinner than before. The hair was a cloud of white, as if all his anxiety and alarm had pushed it out farther from his head. Ruso’s “How are you, grandfather?” was in British, but the reply came in Latin.
“Where is my son?”
Ruso lifted the cup that someone had placed beside him. “You should at least drink water.”
“Where is my son?”
“Everyone’s looking for him.”
“Where is my son?”
Maybe he was crazy after all. Ruso left him and hurried on into the wrong room.
Fabius’s office was warm and stuffy because it was full of men. Most were crammed together at the far end. They were sitting on the floor in their dirty work clothes and harboring expressions that ranged from boredom to resentment. Ruso recognized Mallius, the formerly blond purveyor of hens, and the thickset man who had tied the rope around him during the rescue, and assumed these were the quarrymen who had raided Senecio’s farm on the ill-fated search for Candidus. They were under the supervision of three guards. One of the guards stepped forward to impede his progress while the others continued to stare at the prisoners as if they had orders to stab the next man who moved. Ruso was pleased to see that they were enforcing the order that the men should not speak to each other.