Ruth Downie - Semper Fidelis

And now that he thought about it, for most of the evening he had no idea where Tilla had been.

Lucios saw no reason to linger in bed once he was awake, and it was barely dawn when his father carried him down the ladder and wandered about, bleary-eyed, in search of breakfast. Corinna was still asleep. Tilla, her own blanket already rolled and crammed into one of the bags, found them bread and honey. She wanted none herself. After a sleepless night her stomach felt as though someone had tied a string around it and hauled it up between her lungs. She forced herself to drink a cup of water. She was washing her face when she heard the rap at the door.

Victor leapt up, handed the entire honey jar to a surprised Lucios, and vanished into the loft. Tilla managed to trade the jar for the honey spoon before there was a sticky and costly mess, and waited. The knocking came again, followed by a child’s voice calling in Latin, “Message for the doctor’s woman!”

When she opened the door, the boy from the brothel held out a grubby hand.

Tilla reached for her purse. “Come in! What have you found?”

“The man says you got to come with me, quick.”

“Which man?”

“I got to help carry your things.”

“What has this to do with the centurion?”

The boy shrugged.

“Where did you get this message?”

“At the north gate.”

“Did the man give you his name?”

The boy closed his eyes. His lips moved as he recited the message, trying to remember. The eyes opened. The words “Doctor Val-” ended in a squeak as a rough forearm clamped around his throat.

They threw Tilla against the door frame. They pushed past her in a confusion of helmets and armor, yelling, “Out! Everybody out!”

Corinna was shouting for Lucios above the crash of furniture being overturned.

“Stop!” Tilla grabbed the nearest arm. “Stop it!”

He did not even turn. The arm shook free, swung back, and hit her on the nose. She staggered sideways, gasping with the pain, her eyes filling with tears. “Stop, please!” she cried again, groping blindly with one hand and shielding her face with the other. She could hear the child howling with fright. “Lucios, where are you?”

Footsteps above her. Corinna screaming. A confusion of angry voices. Thuds, cries of pain-Victor with “Don’t touch my family!” and Corinna with “Let him go!”- and then they were gone, leaving Corinna shouting into the street, “Be brave, husband!” and then “Rot and die in pain, you filthy cowards!”

She gave a squeal of terror as the footsteps came back. There was a dreadful moment with a soldier standing in the doorway and no sound but Lucios whimpering and the slow drip of liquid from a broken container. At last Corinna said, “Whatever you want. Don’t hurt the boy,” but Tilla could see well enough now to know that it was not Corinna the man wanted: It was herself.

She straightened up. He was wearing the tunic of the Twentieth Legion, but he was not someone she recognized.

“Are you the doctor’s woman?”

A few days ago she might have expected her husband’s unit to protect her. Now she was just another native. She should have said something brave like Where have you taken that man? but all that came out was a little squeak of “Yes.”

He nodded. “Sorry about that, miss, but the tribune thought if we warned you, the prisoner might run off. He said to thank you for your help.”

Tilla stared after him, still stunned by the blow in the face, unable to understand what he meant.

“It was you?” cried Corinna.

Tilla turned just in time. The slap only half caught her. Corinna made another lunge and missed. Tilla was out of the door before she could try again. Moments later, one of her bags flew out into the street, accompanied by “Get out and stay out, treacherous bitch!”

Tilla stepped backward, dazed. Even at this hour there were more than a dozen people in the street, staring at her. “It wasn’t me!” she said, looking around at them. “I didn’t betray him!”

The second bag landed at her feet. Corinna shrieked, “Get away from my son!” and kicked the medicine box, which was too heavy to throw.

One of the onlookers took a step forward. Tilla recognized the scalded-like-a-pig woman, who said, “It was all right here till you and your man started interfering.”

“That’s right,” agreed another voice. “Clear off.”

The others were advancing toward her now.

Sensing a movement, she spun round, grabbing for her knife.

It was the boy. He heaved up one of the bags and balanced it across his thin shoulders. “Shall we go now, miss?”

The sun was up by the time they reached the north gate. The bags seemed much heavier than when they had set out. Tilla and the boy struggled through the chaos of vehicles and pack animals. Everyone from armorers and ambassadors to jugglers and souvenir sellers seemed to be planning to set off for the border in the wake of the great man. She recognized the two junior officers who had been Geminus’s shadows. They looked somehow less frightening now that Geminus was not there to give them orders. She guessed they were heading north, safely away from the recruits who might want revenge.

There was no sign of Valens. A Praetorian who had clambered up onto a cart waved them away. He was busy trying to organize drivers whose vehicles were crammed too close to move no matter how much they were yelled at. Someone told them that the procurator’s carriage was still inside the fort. The informant had no idea where-or who-the procurator’s doctor was.

Eventually she heard someone calling her name. Before she could respond, several bored travelers took up the cry. There was a mocking chorus of “Tilla! Hey, Tilla! Come on Tilla, you’re late!” and a round of applause when she appeared.

Valens too looked as if he had been awake all night. He paid off the boy and seized her bags.

She said, “Is there any news?”

“Not yet.” He lifted the bags into the air, maneuvering past a stall where a couple of foreign-looking slaves were haggling over the price of coats with hoods to keep the rain off. Finally he deposited them in the back of a worm-eaten two-wheeler that smelled of sheep. Its lone mule was being held by a boy not much older than the one who had just brought Tilla here. “This is Celer,” announced Valens. “He’s promised me he’s a safe driver. I’ll pop back and see you whenever I can.”

“But where-”

“Ruso’s fine,” said Valens. “I saw him last night. He sends his good wishes.” Drawing back from the cart, he murmured, “Sorry about this, but it’s all I could find. You should be all right: The mule doesn’t look capable of running off.”

“But where is it going?”

“We’re traveling with the emperor,” he said, as if he had just told her something good. “Well, a little behind him, actually.”

“But where is-”

“I promised Ruso I’d look after you.”

“But-”

He seized her by the elbow. “Jump in,” he urged. “Get yourself comfortable. The emperor should appear at any moment and then we’ll be off.”

She stood her ground. “What about-”

“He’s with the Twentieth. Give me your arm-”

“We are following the emperor while my husband is going west to Deva?”

“Please get in the cart, Tilla.”

“The emperor is going north, to where his wall cuts my people’s land in two.”

“You’ll be able to see your family. How long has it been?”

“But I have to go where my husband goes.”

“Dear girl, you don’t understand. He doesn’t want you there. He made me promise to take you with me.” Valens flashed her one of his charming smiles. “You don’t think I’d dare to argue with you otherwise, do you?”