The clerk squinted at it, turned it upside down, held it level to examine it for something or other, and finally agreed to let him pass.
The security officer placed a stack of five or six writing tablets on the desk and kept hold of them. “Give me the name again.”
“Conn,” Ruso said. “Son of Senecio.”
“Interesting. I think we had a question about Senecio the other day.”
Ruso, whose enquiries about Senecio had been strictly unofficial, said nothing.
The tablets were parceled up with twine. The officer pulled the strand to one side and bent his head to reveal thinning hair combed across a bald patch. “Conn, son of Senecio, resident on a farm with three buildings seven hundred and fifty paces southwest of the fort known as Parva.”
“That’s him.”
The officer picked at the knot in the twine. Finally he opened the top document and read, giving the occasional “Hm” as he reached an interesting point. Ruso said, “I don’t want to waste your time. I can look for myself and let you know when I’ve finished.”
The man shook his head and said, “If only it were that easy.”
Ruso refrained from pointing out that it would be that easy if he handed them over.
“Facts are not intelligence, Doctor. Intelligence is what we sift from the random facts that accumulate in our reports.”
Ruso waited. Finally he was rewarded with “ ‘Conn. Served as a leader in the troubles. Younger brother Dubnus killed in a skirmish with a unit from the Twentieth.’ ”
There was not time to dwell on the news that the men who had killed Senecio’s second son were from his own legion.
“ ‘Father still alive, mother dead, father remarried, one half brother, Branan.’ ”
“Branan is the one who’s missing,” said Ruso, hoping to speed things up.
“No wife or children listed. ‘Other occupants of the farm . . .’ ” He paused, “There are cross-references. Do you want me to look them up?”
“Stay with Conn for now.”
“ ‘Thought to retain contact with remaining rebels . . . mostly social . . . Suspicious activities much curtailed since executions of ringleaders after the troubles . . . No associates currently known in other tribes . . .’ Some trouble with one of our men over a woman now married to another cross-reference . . . ‘Tendency to speak before he thinks . . .’ ” Ruso could vouch for that.
“Ah. There’s a new female associate called . . . holy gods, these people’s names . . . Dar—”
“Darlughdacha?”
“Could be.”
“It means Daughter of the God Lugh. Also known as Tilla.”
The man’s eyes widened. “ ‘Married to an officer of whom he doesn’t approve.’ ”
“That’s me.”
The security officer glanced at the permit again and looked up. “Are you sure you’re supposed to have access to this?”
“Absolutely. I’m here because I’m the link. I need to know if he’s got any other contacts within the army or if he knows anyone who can impersonate a legionary.”
“The former, not that we know of. The latter . . . perhaps. If they got hold of the kit.”
“Plus I’d like to know where he was two days ago, between the sixth and twelfth hours.”
The security officer sighed. “We use local informers, Doctor. We don’t send men to follow ‘persons of interest’ about all day. Nobody’s that interesting.”
“Who’s our informer?”
The man pursed his lips and indicated the permit. “You’d need more than that. Especially since you’re personally involved.”
“I need a clear picture of who knows what about the family.”
“The man who took the child wasn’t our informer, if that’s what you’re thinking. I can tell you that for certain.”
“How do you know?”
The officer sighed. “Listen to me, Doctor. The man who took the child wasn’t our informer.”
Ruso said, “Ah.”
“I shouldn’t even have said that much.”
“That’s not to say your informer didn’t pass something on to him. Is this woman reliable?”
“We deal in a world of shadows and tricks of the light,” the officer said, “but mostly hard cash. They get paid, or we have some way of pressuring them.”
“And can Conn exert counterpressure on her to keep her mouth shut?”
“He doesn’t know it’s open.”
It was about midday when Ruso rescued the Vindolanda stable lads from the horse, which the groom described as a vicious bugger. Feeling oddly protective toward it, Ruso observed that it was temperamentally unsuited to being with the Legion and would probably be happier in a permanent home.