Ruth Downie - Semper Fidelis

He was conscious of Hadrian assessing him, the famously piercing eyes seeing an officer who was too nervous to go far.

He took a deep breath. “It’s a lot better than Antioch, sir.”

Hadrian chuckled. “Indeed. Now, while the pair of you decide who’s in charge, I shall visit some of your patients.”

Later, Ruso could remember very little about Hadrian’s tour of the hospital. Austalis, whose injury was not explained, was declared to be “a brave lad.” There were occasional silences that Pera stepped in to fill. Meanwhile Tilla’s question was echoing around his mind. If this was not the time, then when was?

As the senior doctor, he was surely not just here to patch up the sick and wounded as they were presented to him, any more than a commander’s only role in battle was to stand in the front line and stab the enemy one by one. It was his duty to organize the defences, to devise strategies that might prevent them from harm in the first place. It was his duty to challenge something that was making the men here very sick indeed.

Yet, when a man with the power to change things had asked him how things were in Eboracum, he had pushed aside his duty and said the sort of thing his superiors wanted to hear. Thinking of Marcus’s battered face as he remembered the glib It’s a lot better than Antioch, sir made him feel hot with shame.

Hadrian was leaving the bedside of the last overawed patient. “Well, your men seem to be doing a good job in here.”

Pera said, “Thank you, sir.”

Everyone else began to shuffle out behind him. It was over. Hadrian was happy. Everyone was satisfied. The reputation of the Twentieth was intact, and Ruso had missed his chance.

As the last flunky filed out, Ruso dodged past him into the corridor. “Your Majesty! Sir!”

Everyone turned. The hangers-on looked shocked. Hadrian looked impatient, then glanced at his friends. “Did I forget something?”

“Sir, you asked a question and I didn’t answer it properly.”

Beyond Hadrian he could see Pera in the corridor, eyes wide in horror. He should have rehearsed this, he realized now. Hadrian was used to receiving ambassadors who had been polishing their speeches for months. But it was too late. This was his moment, and instead of feeling bold he was shaking as if he had just offered himself up to an underfed tiger.

One of the flunkies stepped forward and murmured, “Sir, the recruits will be waiting to start their trials.”

“In a moment,” Hadrian snapped. Ruso quailed at the annoyance in the voice.

“My lord,” he said, switching to Greek. At least the patients wouldn’t understand. “My lord, I think I should tell the truth.”

Hadrian’s expression was stern. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“My lord …” He stopped, conscious that everyone was waiting to hear what he had to say. If only he could speak privately with the great man … but Hadrian, by dint of his very greatness, was perpetually surrounded by other people.

Hadrian indicated his rotund secretary and the lanky Praetorian prefect. “These are my friends. You can speak openly.”

That was when Ruso noticed the nondescript man loitering at the back of the group. Metellus, security adviser to the outgoing governor. Metellus, who had put Tilla’s name on one of his infamous lists. Metellus, whom Ruso had last seen flailing about in the muddy waters of the river Tamesis-after Ruso himself had pushed him in there.

“Well?” said Hadrian.

Ruso cleared his throat. “My lord, there are good men here in Eboracum. But there are also men who order their juniors to face dangers just for the pleasure of betting on the outcome. Three Britons who joined your legion to serve you are dead because of it.”

He stopped speaking. Somewhere, someone slammed a door. The crash echoed down the corridor. Everyone except Metellus was watching Hadrian to see how he would respond. Metellus was watching Ruso.

This was not the time. He saw that now. He had allowed Tilla to push him into a terrible, catastrophic mistake.

The great man lifted his head. “I see.” Behind him, faces appeared, peering round the end of the corridor. Even if they didn’t understand, someone would be bound to translate for them as soon as the emperor was gone.

“Have you informed your superiors?”

It was a question he should have foreseen.

Tell the truth again. Just leave parts out . “Tribune Accius is aware that something’s wrong, my lord, but I’ve only just found out the details for him.”

“Well, I’m sure he will deal with it appropriately.”

And with that, the moment was over. Hadrian and his entourage swept out of the hospital entrance and away down the street.

Pera must have slunk away. Ruso was alone in the entrance hall. He leaned against the wall, feeling nauseous.

At a time like this, a man should be comforted by philosophy. Virtue, said the Stoics, was the only possession worth having. But he was no longer sure that he knew what virtue was, and the faint whisper that Tilla would be proud of him was not going to be enough to sustain him through the storm that was to come.

“I am only saying what you are both thinking,” declared Sabina, pushing away the bowl of dates whose shape and color had reminded her that this place might have cockroaches. “Germania was bad enough. Did you see all those ghastly people?”

“I am sure the emperor knows best, madam,” Tranquillus assured her.

“And I’m sure this couch is damp.” She gestured to the steward. “Have them find me something else to sit on.”

The steward nodded to one of the slaves, who flitted out through a side door.

“Britannia is a very prestigious posting, madam,” said Clarus.

Sabina frowned at the flaking paint of what was supposed to be the best room, and ordered more coals for the brazier. “If Britannia were so marvelous,” she continued, “Tranquillus would have come here when he first had the chance, instead of finding ways of wriggling out of it. Wouldn’t you, Tranquillus? You could have had a glittering military career.”

Tranquillus modestly inclined his head. “I am honored to be the emperor’s secretary, madam.”

“Oh, be honest, both of you. You would both rather be at home with your noses stuck in scrolls than trailing around all over the empire. And after all this bother, not a blue face to be seen anywhere! Do you think the painted ones have run away?”

“I believe they are on the far side of the emperor’s Great Wall, Madam.”

“Along with the land of eternal day, I suppose.”

Clarus examined a date before biting off one end. “Very possibly, madam.”

“They murdered Lollia’s husband, you know. And both of poor Favonia’s sons.”

Tranquillus said, “I am sure the emperor will not put you in danger, madam.”

She sighed. “No. I’m not even allowed to risk listening to your book about prostitutes.”

“Madam, if the emperor thinks it suitable-”

“We both know that if the emperor thinks it will entertain me, it will not be suitable.”

Clarus glanced at his friend, but Tranquillus had developed a sudden interest in rubbing an ink stain off his forefinger. Clarus helped himself to another date while he was still chewing the first one.

“Surely there must be something both respectable and interesting to do here while one’s husband talks about walls?” demanded Sabina. “What about the famous native warrior women? Could you find one of those for me to look at?”

“I believe they’re all dead, madam.” Was that a touch of condescension in Clarus’s voice?

“Oh, dear. I shall have to spend the afternoon writing to tell Julia that you’re both terribly boring and she isn’t missing anything.”