Ruth Downie - Semper Fidelis

Emerging onto the street at the far end, he followed the muddy trail round to the right and found himself in front of a nondescript wooden building about thirty paces long. At first sight the double doors were padlocked like all the others, but then he saw that although the lock had been slid across, it was not secured into the body. He glanced round to check that nobody was watching, slid the lock open, and stepped into a silent darkness.

With the door closed behind him he could see nothing. Then he could make out bright lines around the shutters. He picked his way across what felt like a bare earth floor to reach up and let in the light from the passageway. He turned and waited for his sight to adjust to the gloom.

Gradually, the object he had been searching for took shape in the middle of the floor.

He had seen this sort of thing before. A shackle and chain attached to a heavy stone block. It was where the captured animal or the condemned prisoner was attached, so that it could not escape from its tormentors while the crowd in the amphitheater cheered them on.

Ruso perched on the edge of the block and fastened the cold shackle around his ankle. He stood. Two experimental paces away from the stone, the chain jolted him back. He tried to move as a man would who was trying to defend himself. The chain wrong-footed him. It wrapped around his free ankle so he had to hop to release himself. Then he tripped over the block and sat heavily on the floor. That was when he noticed darker patches on the mud around him. He ran a forefinger over one of them and sniffed it.

Blood.

Blood, and a shaft of light spreading across the floor, and the broad silhouette of a legionary in the doorway. Centurion Dexter’s voice said, “Best to stay out of here, Doctor. The roofs are none too good in some of these buildings. That’s why we keep them locked.”

Ruso said, “The place looks used.”

Dexter made his way across the room and slammed the first set of shutters closed. “Crafty buggers had a stash of beer hidden in here.”

“Is this where Austalis was found?”

“I hear he’s dying.”

“Not if I can help it.”

The second set of shutters slammed. “When I joined up, we got paid to keep the Brits out. Now we invite ’em in and give ’em weapons.”

As he followed Dexter toward the door, Ruso said, “What’s the block and chain for?”

Dexter halted in the doorway and turned to gaze across the room as if he had not noticed the stone cube he had just walked around.

Ruso pointed to it.

Dexter shrugged. “Something left by the last lot, I suppose.”

The statement was plausible. The pretended ignorance was not. Ruso was beginning to think that something even worse than Geminus had described had happened to young Tadius. This did not look like a hunting game that had gone wrong. The blood could have belonged to a drunken Austalis, but the presence of the shackle made it look very much as though Tadius’s comrades had taken him here, chained him to a stone, and beaten him to death.

Corinna’s son was lying motionless on the little bed in the alcove, his eyes closed and one plump arm flung above his head. Tilla bent over him, relieved when the faint rise and fall of the covers told her he was breathing. His skin was pink: His hand was warm. The poppy had done its work safely.

“I always check too.” Reassured, Corinna teased out more wool from the combed fleece by her stool and twirled the dangling spindle. “As soon as they are born, you worry about them.”

Tilla noticed again the soft burr of the Southwest in her voice. This girl was a long way from home. She left the curtain drawn back so they could see the little bed from where they sat talking in low voices by the hearth. It seemed the family lived in this one narrow rented room, with a loft above, a small plot behind where Corinna had planted a few vegetables, and an empty shop counter at the front under which they kept a stock of firewood that had almost run out. It was clean and homely and probably as good as anything they had grown up with. The child was bonny and Corinna seemed a gentle sort of girl. Wondering what could make a man leave all this behind, Tilla gave her the bag of dried honeysuckle leaves to help against weariness before passing on the news that she thought she had seen Victor at Calcaria two days before.

The girl’s eyes widened. “You know about him?”

“Virana told me.”

Corinna gave the wool a sharp tug. “I’ve had no message. There is nothing I can tell you.”

“The army are not chasing him, and if they were, I would keep silent unless you asked me to speak. Someone tried to help him, but he ran away.”

The girl laid the spindle in her lap. “How was he?”

“Bruised, but well able to run.”

“Hm.” Corinna did not seem to be sure whether she was pleased about that or not.

Tilla said, “It is not easy to be married to a man who is supposed to be married to the Legion.”

Corinna glanced over at her son again. “I thought at first that I could manage.”

“You are a strong woman. And your son will heal.”

“I want to go home.”

Tilla sat back in the battered chair. “Tell me about your home.”

“It is very beautiful,” Corinna said. “The army hardly bother us. The seas are wild around the rocks but there is good fishing. The land is rich for cows and good for crops if you lime it, but things do not change very fast. And Victor is a man who always thinks there is something better somewhere else.”

She picked up a rag from the wool basket and wiped the grease off her hands. “I tried to tell him it was a good life, but he wouldn’t listen. He is a fighter: a champion wrestler. In the old days he would have been a warrior, but of course at home he was not allowed to train for battle or carry weapons. He used to talk all the time about the legions-how he wished he had joined when he had the chance.”

“This was after you were married?”

“I doubt he meant it as an insult, but he kept saying I was the only thing that stopped him from joining. I knew the army would treat us as divorced, but he spoke of it so often that I was afraid he would run off and join anyway.”

“So it was better to agree than to lose him.”

“That is what I thought back then.” Corinna shrugged. “My mother said he was a fool, and so was I, but my father had a pair of soldier’s boots made for him as a gift. We traveled for weeks to get to this place of terrible winters. Then he was only allowed out for one afternoon every week, and when we saw him, all he wanted to do was quarrel or sleep.”

“I have met other women who say the same.”

“Perhaps it is different if your husband is an officer. The Legion was not the life he was expecting. The training is hard, even for a strong man. There were a lot of arguments.”

Tilla said, “Did he tell you he was leaving?”

The thin fingers rubbed a fold of her skirt. “He said we would slow him down. The soldiers came here to look for him, but I do not think they were sorry to see him go.”

“Was there something that happened that made him leave, Corinna?”

The girl eyed her steadily. “It was not for any reason they will tell you. That is all I can say.”

“Who hurt him?”

“Tadius.”

Tilla frowned. “I have been told wrongly. I thought Tadius was his friend.”

“He was. A good friend.”

“Then why-”

“There are things you don’t know.”

“Tell me.”

The pale lips twitched into a smile that did not reach the eyes. “If you don’t know, you are safe. You don’t have to decide what to do. You can keep quiet and not call yourself a coward, because you know nothing. And if you are a friend to my family, you will forget I have ever spoken to you of this.”