Ruth Downie - Semper Fidelis

The bald head dipped in acknowledgment. “You’ve made me very proud, sir.”

“And to apologize to you for being an insufferable brat.”

There was a brief silence while everyone waited to see if Accius would smile. Then they all laughed. Even Geminus. The subject of dead recruits was forgotten.

By the time Ruso headed back around the courtyard toward his own room, the blustery rain had put out all but one of the torches, which was why he failed to see the puddle before he trod in it.

To his surprise he found his wife still awake and sitting at the table. Whatever was left of the food had been pushed to one side beneath a cloth. The flames of a triple-wicked lamp were dancing in the sudden draft from the door as she rolled up a scroll that had been laid out in front of them. He recognized the collection of poetry a friend had lent her for reading practice.

“If one of our poets had spoken this rubbish,” she said, tying it closed, “nobody would pass it on, and it would be forgotten, and good riddance. But this man wrote everything down, and now it floats about like somebody else’s hair in the bath. Who cares if his lady’s pet sparrow is dead?”

He sat on the bed and bent to tackle his wet boots. “The only other scroll Valens could lend me wasn’t fit for a decent man to read with his wife. It’s a foul night out there. How was your patient?”

“Pregnant, and very silly. Is it true three recruits have died?”

“And one’s deserted.”

“He is the one we met on the way here. His name is Victor. I hope he is somewhere safe in this storm.”

“I’m surprised more haven’t run off. They seem to be an unhappy bunch.” He tossed the boots into a corner.

Tilla retrieved them and put them on the windowsill to dry in the draft. “The girl said Fortuna has turned her back on Eboracum, and you should be careful. She thinks it is only the recruits who are cursed, but I have prayed to Christos for you-”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that.”

“-and I will find a place to leave a gift for the goddess, just in case.”

“Did she say how the second man died?”

Tilla frowned, as if she was trying to remember exactly what she had been told. “The recruits were frightened of each other after the one who jumped off the roof lost his boyfriend in the river.”

“His boyfriend?” That might explain the suicide. “Why were they frightened of each other?”

“She said, after the drowning, two of them were angry with Sulio.”

“Was it his fault?”

“I do not think so. By the end I was as confused as she was. But one of the angry ones is dead-”

“Tadius?”

“Tadius, yes-”

“Does she know how he died?”

“She was more interested in telling me how he bedded her and her sister. The other angry one is Victor, and he deserted because he thought he would die next.”

Victor, like Tadius, had been beaten up.

“Why?”

“I do not know. I do know he has a wife called Corinna.”

Ruso scratched one ear. Civilian gossip might move fast, but it degenerated into nonsense the farther it traveled. If Sulio had killed himself out of grief for a lost lover, he had waited a long time to do it. In the meantime Victor had run away and Tadius was dead. “I’ll see if I can make some sense of it tomorrow,” he promised her.

“Be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Is it true the tribune will try to lift the curse with a sacrifice in the morning?”

“Oh, hell.” Reminded, he reached down and lifted the shoulder plates of his armor. The attached segments rose one by one into a shape that could enclose a man’s chest. “He’s offering a ram,” he said, scowling at the orange specks of rust. “Best not to ask why. Have we got any rags and some oil?”

She delved into one of the boxes and pulled out a frayed linen bandage. “There is no sand.”

“We’ll just have to rub harder.”

Moments later he was wishing there had been an artist present to record the ensuing scene of domestic bliss, marred only a very little by Tilla saying, “If my ancestors are looking, I hope they know that I am only helping you because you are just a medicus and not a proper soldier.”

He let it pass. “By the way, I think I’ve found out what our noble tribune is really doing here, so far away from all the action.”

She paused with a length of oily bandage in one hand. “Husband, are you jealous?”

“Of course not,” he said, demonstrating his indifference by the casual tone of his denial. “But Accius made a tactless remark, and when it was obvious people had noticed, he was very careful to explain that he isn’t deliberately avoiding the emperor.”

“The tribune told you he is not avoiding the emperor?”

“Not directly. But he says he volunteered to come here because he wants to see Geminus before he retires. The old man’s hanging up his vine stick after he’s marched his men back to Deva.”

She frowned. “But if Geminus is marching his men back to Deva, why come all this way to see him? Would they not meet there anyway?”

“Exactly!” Even Tilla could see how obvious the tribune’s lie was, but she did not seem as impressed as he had hoped. “Accius is the son of a senator,” he explained, realizing he should have explained the background. “Most of the Senate didn’t want Hadrian in charge. They don’t trust him.”

“And because the father is not a friend to the emperor, you think the son would travel all this way to avoid him?”

“Four of Hadrian’s opponents in the Senate were conveniently murdered when he came to power. I have a feeling Accius may be distantly related to one of them. Even if he isn’t, people find it very hard to forgive that sort of thing. Of course Hadrian had nothing to do with their deaths-”

“Why not?”

He blinked. Even now, there were times when his wife took him completely by surprise.

“Well, because … because you can’t do that sort of thing these days.” The gods alone knew what went on amongst the Corionotatae when a new leader took over. He said, “Everyone knows he wasn’t involved, because he said so,” but this well-worn joke made no impression upon his wife. She had already moved on to the next question.

“And did you tell him that is also why you are here inspecting the medical service?”

“That’s not the same thing at all,” he said. “I just didn’t want all the-”

“Polishing?” she said.

“Fuss.” Outside, he could hear something loose banging about in the wind. “Is there anything left in that jug?” He lifted the cloth. The movement revealed the dark rectangle of his sister’s letter.

“Ah!” Tilla reached out and thrust it toward him before he could cover it up again. “You can read while I finish this. Quick, while there is still oil in the lamp.”

“I’ll read it tomorrow in daylight.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps I shall take it and ask that handsome Tribune Accius to read to me.”

“It’s no good,” he told her. “I’m not jealous.”

She took the bandage from his hand and replaced it with the letter. Then she slid the lamp nearer. The flames wavered in the draft from the window.

“All right,” he conceded, not sorry to abandon the cleaning. “Let’s get it over with.”

Most of his relatives never wrote unless they wanted something, but, as the head of the family, it was his duty to find out what it was before he refused it. He turned the thin wooden leaves to face the light and leaned forward to make out the crowded lines his sister had inked onto them several weeks ago in the sunny south of Gaul.

No wonder Tilla had struggled with it. Marcia’s spelling was always creative, but she could write perfectly legibly when she wished. This, however, seemed to have been composed with her eyes shut. If their father had lived to see the outcome of her expensive education, he would have demanded his money back.