Ruso said, “Where’s the tribune?”
Without taking his eyes off the prisoners, one of the guards said, “Tribune Accius is in the clerk’s office, sir.”
Accius was indeed in the clerk’s office, as was Fabius—something Ruso could have deduced without being told, from the shout of “You must be able to remember somebody!” Several of the quarrymen looked up. One or two glanced at each another. Ruso was surprised too. He had never considered Fabius to be a man who shouted at people except on the parade ground, where behaving like a real centurion was unavoidable.
Ruso found the two officers seated behind the clerk’s desk, which had been pulled into the middle of the room. Judging by their expressions, Optio Daminius—who was standing facing them—had not come up with a satisfactory answer.
“Ruso!” exclaimed Accius, the warmth of his greeting suggesting that he was glad to be interrupted. “Come in. What news?”
“None that I know of, sir,” said Ruso, putting his medical case on the floor. While he had been listening to wheezy chests, pulling teeth, and examining an inguinal hernia, he had heard officers barking orders for all tents to be opened up for inspection. The entire camp had been searched. The boy had not been found.
Ruso had not expected that he would be; it was more a case of convincing both the men and the locals that they were taking this business seriously. A stolen child was much more likely to be hidden on a vehicle, or in a remote shelter, or somewhere in the rolling countryside that stretched for miles in every direction. He said, “My replacement’s on his way, sir.”
To his relief, there had been a message from Valens at the gate. Valens had agreed to leave his own unit in the care of his many underlings and brave the scorn of Pertinax.
Accius said, “Good,” and returned his attention to the man in front of them. He folded his arms on the clerk’s desk, and leaned forward. Beside him, Fabius was slightly red in the face. Now that the tribune had occupied the desk space, Fabius did not seem to know what to do with his hands. Eventually he put them behind his back.
Daminius carried on staring at a point on the opposite wall just above the officers’ heads. The good-luck charm was still strung around his neck, but for once it did not seem to be working. Ruso saw a muscle twitch above his jaw.
“The optio and several of his men had a free afternoon yesterday,” Accius explained.
This was not good news. Since the fort had no proper bathhouse, each man was given one afternoon a week to visit one of the bigger bases nearby. No account of movements was normally expected, and if a man chose to do something else, nobody usually cared.
“Optio, tell the doctor where you were.”
“I went for a run, sir. On my own.”
“Tell him where.”
“I went east along the road to Vindolanda. Then north, up across the building line, west past the lakes, and along the bottom of the cliffs and down through the gap by the stream. I got back here not long before curfew when the gates were still open.”
“And in all that time you managed to speak to nobody nor see anyone who might be able to remember you?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“What about natives?” Fabius prompted, as if they were a species not covered by the tribune’s previous question.
“I may have seen some, sir. I can’t remember.”
Accius said, “And you say you didn’t call in at Vindolanda?”
“No, sir.”
“Oh, gods above, man!” exclaimed Fabius. “You can do better than that! We’ve a child to find.”
“I’m very willing to help, sir.”
“Then tell us something useful!” snapped Fabius. He sounded more desperate to clear Daminius’s name than the man was himself. He had come to rely heavily on his optio.
Ruso was puzzled. In other circumstances, if a man had gone for a run preoccupied with some worry or other, the story might have been almost plausible. But the restrictions on lone travel away from the main roads were still in place—something an optio would know very well. Any legionary running across fields on his own would be both conspicuous and cautious. He said, “Tell us what you know about the native family.”
“The father and the eldest son are on the list to watch, sir. The father because he used to stand around chanting to stir up his gods while we were working. The son fought with the rebels in the last troubles. He’s got a short temper and a big mouth. Also I believe they’re connected to the family that kidnapped Regulus.” He swallowed. “And they’re friends of your wife, sir. I’m sorry about the boy, sir.”