Ruth Downie - Semper Fidelis

If only she had been traveling in a roadworthy carriage.

If only Julia had not been so inconsiderate as to fall pregnant. At least they could have assured each other that one day they would look back on this and laugh.

Separating from the emperor’s party had been a mistake. This was only their second night on the road and, breakdowns aside, it was already clear that her companions had more important things on their minds than entertaining a lone empress. There was plenty of wine, and the innkeeper had found a couple of moderately attractive girls to tootle on flutes, but the scowlingly handsome young tribune of the Twentieth Legion still reclined so stiffly on his faded couch that he might have been lowered in through the ceiling. Meanwhile, Clarus glanced up every time someone entered as if he was hoping to be called away at any moment. Even the wild, murderous doctor (not present, of course) proved to be less wild and murderous than she had hoped: Apparently he had been released and a native arrested in his place.

“So you were both wrong?”

“There will be a trial at Deva, madam,” explained the tribune.

“And was he right about the evil-minded centurion?”

The two men exchanged a glance. Clarus said, “We will see at Deva, madam.”

Both men returned stoically to the soup and offered no further information. The flutes trilled on in the corner.

The door opened. A slave placed an item of no obvious origin in front of them and proceeded to cut it into slices that steamed gently in the light of the lamps. Having established that it was a pig’s stomach, stuffed and roasted in bran, they ate it in silence.

Sabina sighed. The emperor never had this problem at dinner. No one would dare to look tired or distracted in his presence, and besides, since he had an informed opinion upon everything, the room was never short of conversation.

There were two more courses to get through before she could spend the rest of the evening composing another bland letter to Julia (she was sure someone read them before despatch) and beating her staff at board games. She considered pleading a headache, but to leave in the middle of a dinner could look like an insult. Clarus would understand, but it was never a good idea to insult the son of a potentially useful politician … although, since the emperor vastly outranked them, it was possible the other two were equally worried about insulting her. Meanwhile someone had to tell those annoying flute players to stop blowing and go away. And then someone was going to have to make conversation.

“Perhaps,” she said to the tribune, aware that she should have asked this before, “you could tell us what we are to expect in Deva. Apart from my cousin Paulina and a murder trial.”

At least that got him talking. His tactical briefing on the fortress at Deva lasted through most of the fish course. Had she been planning to lay siege to it, the construction techniques currently being used for the stone curtain wall would have been of enormous interest. Unfortunately she was not, and there was still an egg and milk sponge to get through.

This was desperate. Either she would be forced to plead a headache, or …

“That Briton,” she said. “The one who lent us her smelly cart. Married to the wild doctor. She was rather quaint. I think we should invite her in to keep us entertained.”

The tribune was too busy wiping the wine he had just spilled down his chin to reply.

Sabina smiled. “Did her medicine work, Accius?”

“I needed no medicine, madam.” He snatched a towel from the hand of a hovering slave. “The woman wanted an excuse to appeal for the release of her husband.”

Clarus said, “She does not know her place.”

“She’ll be busy serving her husband’s dinner,” put in Accius, who evidently thought she did.

One of his staff raised a hand. Accius snapped, “What?”

The woman whispered in his ear. The tribune’s scowl deepened to the point where he was no longer handsome. “I told him to take her back hours ago! What’s she doing in the stables?”

Sabina smiled. This would serve them both right for being such poor company. “Let’s ask her, shall we?”

They were still waiting for the egg and milk sponge when the Briton arrived. If she was pleased to be rescued from a stable yard in the middle of nowhere, she did not show it. She had not even bothered to comb the hay out of her hair, but at least this time she did not stare in that insolent fashion. Sabina said, “I am pleased to hear that your husband’s difficulty is resolved.”

“I thank you, madam. But the man they now have in chains is not guilty, either.”

“I see you are as refreshingly forthright as before.”

The young woman looked up. “I said some wrong things before. I did not mean offense.”

“Not at all. You were most entertaining. And are you still finding useful things to do?”

Accius burst in: “Madam, this woman should not be in the mansio!” Sabina said, “The tribune thinks you should be busy serving your husband’s dinner.”

The Briton looked confused, as if this were some sort of trick.

“But before that, perhaps you could tell us about all the things we have to look forward to in Deva.”

“Deva?”

“You have been there?”

“I live there.” The woman thought for a moment and then said, “The cheese is salty, but very good.”

Sabina nodded to Clarus. “We must try the cheese. Which reminds me …” She beckoned the serving staff with one finger. When nobody approached, she turned to see two of the mansio slaves staring vacantly across the room. She sighed. She should have insisted on bringing more staff too.

“You there. Have they forgotten us down in the kitchens? Go and see where the next course is.” To the Briton she said, “Go on.”

“The best bakery is the one opposite Merula’s bar, and the baths are open to women in the morning.” She paused again, then added, “But I think the legate has his own baths.”

“I do hope so.”

Clarus was poking at an olive with his knife as if he were trying to goad it into life. Accius was having his wine refilled. The woman seemed to have run out of things to say about Deva.

“There must be something else.”

The woman met her gaze. “Madam, I go to market and talk to my friends and deliver babies and keep house for my husband and try not to anger the gods. I do not know what would interest a lady like you in Deva. You must ask the legate’s wife.”

“You were more helpful in answering my questions last time we met.”

“You asked better questions.”

Sabina chuckled. At last! This was more like it. “So, what else should we travelers know about the Britons? Is it true you that you believe chickens are gods and nobody should eat them?”

“A chicken is a not a god, madam. It is a bird that lays eggs.”

“And your warriors-” Sabina stopped. “What is that?”

Everyone looked up as it came again: an irregular cracking and scraping somewhere above them, almost as if someone were walking about on the tiles.

The woman said, “Perhaps there are rats in the loft, madam.”

Sabina shuddered, imagining the size of a British rat. She would have to make sure every hole was stuffed with rags tonight, and one of the girls would have to lie across the gap under the door. The others could take turns to keep watch. “Is it true,” she said, making an effort to regain her composure, “that your warriors fight naked and live in bogs?”

“I cannot speak of warriors, madam. The tribune has ordered me to speak only of matters concerning civilians and women.”

Sabina exchanged a glance with Accius. “That is very good advice,” she said, wondering exactly what had gone on between them. “I believe I told you something similar.”