Tabula Rasa(92)

Unabashed by Ruso’s silence, Fabius carried on. “I can see it all now, looking back. Always finding excuses to come to the house. Volunteering for things. Asking to take on more responsibilities. I should have guessed.”

These were the very qualities which Fabius had prized in him until just now. Ruso could not think of another man who would have covered up for his centurion the way that Daminius had, and he had no doubt that Fabius had taken the credit for most of the work his optio did. It occurred to him that the affair with the kitchen maid might have been the only thing that kept Daminius sane. “What will you do with the girl?”

“She’ll go back to the dealer.” They both stepped across a broad puddle. “I can’t have a deceitful little trollop like that in the house. I have a wife back in Deva to consider.”

Ruso supposed Fabius would buy himself a new maid to chase.

“I need to write to the dealer straightaway. I may need you as a witness.”

“To say she’s not satisfactory?” This would hardly get Fabius a better price. It would certainly wreck the girl’s chances of being bought by a good family. “Why not just sell her locally?”

“I want my money back. She’s still within the six-month guarantee period.”

“Ah.” If the lovestruck Daminius had thought about buying the girl for himself, he would have to beat the original price.

“I’ll have her confined to the kitchen until we get back to Deva. Although why the cook didn’t tell me there was something going on, I don’t know.” He answered his own question with “I suppose she was sleeping with him too. The only place who might pay decent money for her here is the brothel, and it’s too much bother selling to them since the law changed.”

Considering the fate of slaves in brothels, Ruso took the view that the more bother involved in consigning them there, the better.

“Anyway,” Fabius continued, “with all this to deal with, it’s just as well my headache has cleared. Doctor Valens was right: I should be staying out in the fresh air during the hours of daylight.”

“He’s a good doctor.”

“You need to get up-to-date with the latest treatments, Ruso. The Greeks don’t know everything. You should read about what Doctor Spiculus and his people are doing in Alexandria.”

“Really?”

“I’ve asked Doctor Valens to find me a copy.”

“I’d like to see it.” Ruso had never heard of a Doctor Spiculus in Alexandria, but he could recall a bartender of that name not fifty paces from where Valens used to live in Londinium.

“Anyway, I’ve told the tribune that the doctor and I can keep everything going here between us while you search for the boy. A huge quantity of routine work goes into keeping a century running smoothly, you know. People don’t appreciate it.”

“It’s the same with hospitals.”

“But you don’t have quotas and targets in hospitals,” Fabius pointed out. “Obviously it’s a pity about the boy, but Second Augusta are already on the march back to Isca. My old comrades in the Sixth expect to finish tomorrow and head south the day after, whereas our men have a turret and another hundred feet of wall to complete before we can all go home. I’ve explained that we’ve had a landslide and trouble with the natives and I’ve practically lost my optio, but it makes no difference. Everyone still expects the stone to arrive on-site as if nothing had happened. Even if they send us more men—which they won’t—Daminius says we’ll need at least a week.”

Daminius says. Daminius was not suspended from duty any more than was the kitchen maid, because Fabius could not manage without them.





Chapter 53

“Leave that alone!” The young woman let go of the handle in the top grinding stone, grabbed the toddler, and lifted him away. Over his howls of outrage, she shouted, “Do you want to get your fingers mashed?”

The toddler wailed louder. Still squatting, she held him at arm’s length, turning toward the unkempt man who had just let Tilla and Enica into the yard. “What’s that boy of yours done now?”

“I don’t know!” The man glanced around and yelled, “Aedic? Aedic! Get here now!” There was no response. “Where is he?”

“How should I know?” The woman ignored the toddler’s frenzied struggles to free himself from her grasp. “He’s your son!”

Tilla glanced at Enica, who was looking exhausted. The harassed mother thrust the toddler toward the man. “You take this one. I’ll see to them.”

“I’m busy.”