Ruth Downie: Semper Fidelis

There was a pause while Sabina and Clarus thought about that. The chant of “Sa-bi-na!” still rose in the yard, embellished with whoops and whistles.

The empress said, “Can their officers not get them under control?”

“They are loyal to the emperor, madam,” Tilla reminded her. “But they have been badly mistreated.”

“That has already been dealt with! What is the matter with these people? The man is dead: What more do they want? I shall tell Paulina about this when we get to Deva and her husband will have them all flogged.”

“Sa-bi-na!”

“We are not in Deva tonight. You do not need anyone’s husband. Not even your own. Tonight everyone here is depending on you.”

“Stay here, madam!” urged Clarus, glancing over his shoulder. “My men cannot defend you out there. Stay here and wait for rescue.”

“Sa-bi-na!” The chant was beginning to sound ragged. The men would not wait much longer. Some of them would be drunk, and Clarus was right: Any minute now, the troops outside would find a way into the building and there would be an end to this, but neither a quick nor a happy one.

Tilla said, “Madam, they are calling for you. If you listen to them you can save us.”

“Do not believe her, Madam!” It was Minna’s voice. “She’s one of them: You can’t trust her!”

“Very well.” A figure rose from the corner. “I will do it.”

Several voices began to object.

“Thank you, but I have made my decision.”

Clarus said, “Then I shall come with you, madam.”

A voice from the door said in British, “We was told not to let nobody-”

“Have some sense!” Tilla snapped. “How can Marcus present anything to her if you do not let her out?”

“Just you and her, then.”

None of the Romans liked that very much, but the Britons were the ones with the swords. Sabina’s hand was trembling as Tilla led her along the dark corridor and down the stairs toward the barbarians.

Down in the courtyard, the chant of “Sa-bi-na!” gave way to cheering and shouts of “Make way!” as the two women appeared and were hustled across to the mounting block. Tilla felt a hand on her arm and turned to see her husband mouthing something she could not catch. Marcus was standing next to him with the snake arm around-was that Virana?

Accius was helping the empress up the steps of the mounting block. There was a confusion of shouting and shushing as everyone told everyone else to shut up and listen. Finally a hush spread across the courtyard.

Sabina’s earrings glittered as she looked over the heads of the crowd and waited for someone to address her. “Well?” she asked. “You had plenty to say just now. I am listening.”

There was nervous laughter. Tilla felt her arm released as some sort of whispered argument erupted between her husband and Marcus. Then Marcus stepped forward. “Empress,” he said, and bowed to the figure above him.

Someone shouted, “Good start, mate!”

Marcus hesitated, clearly unnerved. “Madam Empress, three months ago there were fifty of us, recruits to the Twentieth Legion. Now three are dead, one is sick, and one is in chains.”

Sabina said, “Who are you?”

“Oh. Yes.” Marcus cleared his throat. “Marcus of the Regni. Tonight Centurion Dexter tried to get rid of the rest of us, but we came to report to Tribune Accius instead, because we want to serve the emperor.”

Sabina inclined her head.

“And you,” he added quickly.

She inclined her head once more.

Marcus said, “We wanted the tribune to know what really happened to the men who died. Dannicus and Tadius and Sulio. And now he does. And … ah … we’re sorry about spoiling your dinner.”

A cry of “No we’re not!” was followed by a scuffle somewhere in the darkness and hissings of “Shut up!”

“I see,” said Sabina. “And what is your petition?”

There was another pause. Tilla could hear whispers of “What’s he saying?” but Marcus seemed not to know how to explain what his men wanted.

Suddenly Accius stepped forward. “Madam, if I may …”

“Please do, Tribune.”

“Madam, these men are proud to be citizens of Rome, but they are also natives, and they are overwhelmed by the honor of speaking with the greatest lady in the known world. Even here in the wilds, everyone has heard of your great virtue and beauty and your many achievements …”

So that was how you were supposed to talk to an empress. No wonder she always looked bored. Finally he seemed to be getting to the point.

“They ask your full and absolute pardon for their behavior this evening, for safe conduct to Deva where they can present their case to the legate and receive justice-”

“Proper justice!” shouted someone. There was a chorus of support. A small chant of “No more lies!” broke out and died away again as Sabina raised one hand for silence.

“-and for the immediate release of their comrade Victor, whom they believe is innocent of the murder of Centurion Geminus.”

Tilla noticed that he did not say what he thought of Victor himself.

Sabina said, “That is it?”

“Yes, madam.”

She held out one hand. “I will receive their petition.”

Accius looked around wildly. “Madam, my men have not yet-”

“Here you are, Empress!” Virana stepped forward, tugging a little scrap of rolled-up parchment out of her cleavage. Sabina took it between finger and thumb as if she were holding a dead rat by the tail. She teased it partly open with one fingertip and frowned. Then she lifted her head and said in a voice that was clear, but without the strength of one used to making speeches, “Men of the Twentieth Legion, on condition that you leave immediately and peacefully and return to your camp, I, Vibia Sabina Augusta, am pleased to grant a full and absolute pardon for your conduct this evening and to grant your petition.”

As the cheers gathered into a fresh chant of “Sa-bi-na!” she handed the parchment to Tilla. “Look after it. I can’t read a word of it in this light. I shall have to sign it in the morning.”

Ruso watched the recruits march out of the stable entrance behind Accius, the odd drunken stumble the only hint of the chaos they had caused just now. They appeared to have taken to heart the tribune’s warning that the first man to step out of line again would be crucified, and so would his comrades on either side of him.

Just before they formed up he had murmured to Marcus, “You’re a different man from the one I met at Eboracum.”

“It was you who gave me the courage, sir.” Then he grinned as if Ruso would be pleased with the compliment, and as if everything would be all right from now on, and wisely pulled the shoulders of his tunic down over his tattoos before merging in amongst the other recruits.

Meanwhile, Clarus had rushed outside to ensure that the Praetorians who had been spoiling for a fight didn’t pick one, and then returned to resume his anxious guard over the empress.

A couple of slaves crept out from wherever they were hiding, barred the gates, and disappeared again. The clearing up would have to wait for daylight.

Ruso sat on the mounting block, folded his arms, and gazed up at the stars. A horse stamped over in the stables, no doubt relieved that the terrifying humans had all gone away. Tilla had whispered a hasty “Wait for me!” but she had gone inside with Sabina and was probably still trying to smooth ruffled feathers. He should probably go straight to the camp, but he doubted the men would dare cause any more trouble now. He would just enjoy a few more moments of peace, then get out before everyone here locked up and went to bed.