Ruth Downie - Semper Fidelis

The mansio slave’s directions were good. It was barely two hundred paces upstream along the muddy path from the wharf to where the old willow bent to dip its leaves into the glittering silver of the river. She raised one arm, counted to three, and flung the coin. The small splash was washed away in the flow. While the gift was sinking, she said a prayer to the river and to the goddess to look kindly on her husband and keep him safe. Then she asked for a blessing on her new start, and for courage, because the decision that had seemed so clear this morning had faded in the sunlight.

Who has ever heard of a woman being a medicus?

What will your husband say?

You can hardly read Latin, and nearly all the recipes for medicines are written in Greek. You cannot even understand Greek, let alone read it …

Who will do all the work you do now?

Do you really want another woman in the house?

What if you get the wrong sort of slave-one who needs constant watching, or one like Minna? That would be even worse. What if …

Something white caught her eye. Two swans, a cob and a pen, were gliding downstream. She watched as they drifted past the fort walls, smoothly changed direction to pass behind the approaching ferry, and disappeared beyond the warehouses. It was a sign. She let out a long breath and whispered a prayer of thanks, remembering the wounded Brigante warriors she had tended with stolen bandages and medicines during the troubles. None of them had complained about her being a woman.

All will be well. All will be-

“There you are! They told me you were here! What are you doing? Can I help?”

She turned, startled and not pleased. The pink dress was no cleaner than yesterday. “Good morning, Virana.”

“Are you looking for plants for healing?”

“Not this morning.”

Virana parted the fronds of the willow as if she hoped there might be something interesting beyond them, then let them fall. “This is where Sulio came to pray for the soul of Dannicus.”

“Is this where he drowned?”

“No, farther down by the ford. Sulio tried to save him but he couldn’t, and then the Centurion had to get Sulio out too.”

“It must have been frightening.”

“I suppose so. I was at home with my family.” She hauled the beads out of her cleavage and hung them down the front of the pink dress. “They were all being horrible to me, as usual. Did you hear the trumpets this morning? They don’t usually sound like that. Was it because of the sacrifice?”

“Sulio must have been a brave man.”

“Oh, he didn’t jump in. He was there anyway.”

When Tilla looked puzzled, she said, “He hurt his knee while he was on one of those long marches they do, and Dann stopped to help him, and then they had to get back across the river. Well, that’s what they’re saying.”

Tilla frowned. “Why did they not use the ferry?”

The girl began to fiddle with the beads again. “I wasn’t there myself.”

“You can tell me the rest of the story while we walk back to town.”

The string had twisted and hooked over one bead, making a loop. Virana frowned as she tried to straighten it. “If I tell you, will you tell your husband?”

“My husband is a medicus. He understands about secrets.”

The bead was finally disentangled. “I only know what I heard.”

“That will be fine.”

“You must swear on the bones of your ancestors that you won’t say who told you.”

“I swear.”

The path was only wide enough for one. Tilla’s skirts brushed through the overhanging grass while Virana’s voice sounded in her ears.

“The river is always cold,” the girl said, “and it rises with the tide. It’s worse after a new moon. And it had rained a lot, so the water was almost at the top of the landing stage.”

Tilla could not remember much about the landing stage; she would have to go down and take a look. “So it was dangerous to cross?”

“Even the ferrymen don’t like it when it’s like that. Anyway, they were late back and the centurions were waiting for them and somebody heard Geminus shout across to them that he wasn’t going to send the ferry because it was their own fault. And he told them to swim.”

“Did he not see it was dangerous?”

“Dann was never any good at swimming.”

What had her husband said? I’m surprised more haven’t deserted . She was beginning to see why.

She did not need to ask why the recruits had obediently entered deep fast-flowing water. She had spent long enough in and around army camps to know that they would not dare to refuse an order, in case something worse happened to them.

Virana said, “They got sticks to keep themselves steady and they tried to cross hand in hand, but the current was pushing them, and then Dann lost his footing and they both went under. Then Geminus dived in on the end of a rope and they got Sulio out.”

“But not Dannicus?”

She shook her head. “The ferrymen found him washed up on the north bank the next day. He was a long way downstream.”

There was only one question left now. “Did the centurions know that Dannicus couldn’t swim?”

“Well, I knew,” said Virana. “And my friend knew. And I heard the other boys teasing him about it. So I should think everybody did, wouldn’t you?”

Ruso was searching the office in vain for the postmortem report he had read only yesterday when he was startled by a rap on the door. He shoved the box onto the nearest shelf and turned just as a young man burst in wearing a sweat-stained tunic, exuberant tattoos, and an anxious expression.

“Can I help you?”

In Ruso’s experience, recruits were perpetually hungry, but this one seemed to have given up the battle with the chunk of tough barley bread clutched in his hand. He also seemed to have forgotten how to speak.

“The clerk’s gone to find some lunch,” continued Ruso, who had chosen this moment to visit the office for that very reason. “I’m the doctor.”

The man glanced down at the bread, then tried to hide it behind his back before more or less standing to attention.

“Are you looking for somebody else?”

“No, sir.”

“So,” said Ruso, wondering if his visitor was also on a mission to sneak into the records while the clerk was absent, “why are you here?”

“I was told to come and see Austalis, sir.”

“Ah,” said Ruso, helping himself to a seat. “Stand easy, er …”

“Marcus, sir.”

A man called Marcus who spoke Latin with that accent had probably been given one of the few Roman names his parents knew. Ruso guessed he was a full-blooded native son of some sort of local chief. “You’ll find him in the room opposite. Don’t stay too long: He’s very weak.”

“I have seen him already, sir. He looks terrible.”

Ruso said, “We’re doing everything we can.”

“I think he will die.”

“Not necessarily.”

Marcus ran a hand back through his hair, inadvertently giving Ruso a better view of the blue horse rearing up his right arm. “He was fine just a few days ago.”

“I’ve been wondering why a man who was fine would deliberately take a slice off his own arm.”

The young man hesitated.

“There are safer ways to remove tattoos.”

His visitor’s face brightened: Ruso had guessed well. “Are there, sir?”

“Nothing’s completely safe, but I’d suggest burning them off slowly with a caustic potion.”

“Can you do these?”

“Turn around and let me see.”

A serpent slithered down the other arm toward the left wrist.