Ruth Downie: Semper Fidelis

As he made his way back toward the entrance hall, he heard a loud whisper of “Oh, isn’t he kind! You are so lucky!”

No, he thought. She is not. She is cursed with knowing too much. And so am I.

Alone as usual, Sabina lay in the comfort of her own fragranced sheets and savored the silence. The women bedded down on the floor around her would not dare to speak into the darkness unless she gave the order, and of course there were no rats. It had been the sound of mutinous Britons creeping across the roof.

The tremulous staff from the inn were long gone, as was the dreadful woman from the tribune’s household who had the nerve to ask the slaves-in her hearing! — if the empress was really as all right as she claimed to be.

Clarus had been harder to get rid of, but he had finally stopped making a fuss when she compromised: no Praetorians standing guard in the bedroom, but however many he wanted outside the door. She heard a floorboard creak as one of them shifted his footing. It would not surprise her if Clarus, ever loyal and now unusually flustered and apologetic as well, was lined up out there with them.

Safely returned into the care of her staff, she was finding it hard to believe what had happened this evening. All those men chanting her name! She could not restrain a smile. Her name. Not that of the emperor. Sa-bi-na! Raw and raucous and potent.

For a few brief minutes, she had been more than an unloved wife trailed in the wake of the most powerful man in the world. More than a woman with thinning hair and a tooth held in by gold wire whose slaves tactfully buried her deeper each year in layers of jewelry and makeup and hairpieces.

They had called for her. They had cheered her. They had listened to her. They had even laughed at her joke. She had felt a thrill run all the way through her as she knew for the first time what real power was like.

If the men knew what you had done, the Briton had said, they would be grateful to you . What did the Briton know about the murder of the centurion? What exactly had Clarus told her when they were alone together, and how much had she passed on?

It was a problem she would consider tomorrow.

Tonight she would enjoy being Sa-bi-na, Warrior-Queen of the Britons.

Morning came, and with it the sound of birds singing and broken things being swept up. The Warrior-Queen of the Britons pulled the sheet up over her face, wishing away the knocking on the door and the urgent whisper of “Madam!”

The wishing did not work. Sabina, empress of Rome, flapped the sheet back down and said, “What?”

“Madam, Prefect Clarus is here to speak with you.”

“Tell him to come back at a sensible hour.”

“We tried, Madam. He won’t go.”

She ran her fingers through her thin hair. He could not be allowed to see her like this. Gesticulating to the other slaves to fetch her clothes, she said, “Ask him if the carriage is mended, and whether-” She stopped herself just in time from calling them my men . “-and whether the soldiers are behaving themselves, and how long it will be before we can get out of this dreadful place.”

The questions were conveyed, but instead of answering them Clarus called through the door, “Madam, the emperor is in the camp. He will be here at any moment.”

“Here?” She sat bolt upright. “Why did nobody-What is he doing here?”

“I sent a message last night, madam.”

What would people tell him about yesterday? Would anyone tell him how much she had enjoyed it? She turned to her slaves. “Clothes, quickly! Fetch my hair!”

“Madam, if I could speak with you a little more privately …”

“In a moment!”

When she was sufficiently clothed and coiffed to be decent-although the perfect lead-pale skin was still in its pot and the curling tongs were heating in the brazier-she finally allowed him to enter.

Clarus looked even more cadaverous than usual. “Madam. I am glad to see you looking refreshed and well this morning.”

“I wish I could say the same of you.”

“It has been a long night,” he conceded. “But now that the emperor is here, I’m sure all will be well.”

“No doubt he will enjoy setting us all straight. What do you want?”

“I thought you would like to know that the officers were very grateful for your help last night, madam. The camp has been peaceful all night.”

“Good.”

He lowered his voice. “Although some of the Twentieth seem to think that my men murdered their centurion.”

So the woman had talked. Already rumors were spreading among the soldiers. “Well, you’re in charge of the investigation,” she told him, settling herself on the stool as the slave approached with the first pot of skin cream. “It’s nothing to do with me. I thought you had some suspects under arrest.”

“The Briton’s husband and the recruit. Both have been released. You agreed to the release of the recruit last night.”

“Ah, yes. So I did.” She sighed. As usual, pleasure was followed by regret. “I still haven’t signed anything.”

“I think it would be unwise to retract now, madam.”

“Well, what can I do?” She pushed the slave’s hand aside. There was no sense in letting her get cream all over the hairpiece.

In front of her, Clarus was looking genuinely worried. She said, “I never interfere, as you know, but if I were you, I would consider rearresting the other one.”

“Yes, madam. That was what I was thinking also. I shall see to it.”

“Now, go away. I have to get ready to receive the emperor.”

Clarus did not seem in the least offended at being sent away. He seemed to have grown in her presence. He had to duck to get out of the doorway.

‘Valens?’

“You’re not going to ask if I’m dead again, are you?”

“No, but what are you doing here?”

Valens yawned and let the tent flap fall closed behind him, cutting out most of the light. “That was quite a ride. I don’t know how Hadrian does it at his age. I thought that little secretary chap was going to expire before we got here. Have you got something to sit on down there? I don’t want a damp backside.”

“On my left.” The chains rattled as Ruso patted the torn goatskin. Valens settled beside him with the weary grunt of a tired man whose muscles had begun to tighten up. “I’m sorry to see you still in this state. I was hoping they’d have sorted it out by now.”

Ruso said, “So was I.”

“I did my best with Tilla, you know.”

“That’s all any of us can do with Tilla. Have you seen her?”

“They said she’s over at the inn. I’ll go and find her in a minute.” Something else occurred to Ruso. “Aren’t you supposed to be with the procurator? Or is he here too?”

Valens yawned again. “The gout’s settled down. I’ve left him in good hands.”

“But aren’t you-”

“The truth is I’m not sure I really want to go to Rome.”

“What about the family?”

“The wife won’t like it,” Valens conceded. “But she’s marginally less frightening than a couple of people I might run into back there.”

“What sort of people?”

“You’d think they’d have more important things to worry about, wouldn’t you? I mean, look at you. Still stuck here in chains on some ridiculous murder charge. You’ve got a real problem.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh by the way, the tribune says he’ll do his best for you. I don’t know why he’s changed his mind, but he seems to be a sensible sort of chap after all.”

“Good.”

“Anyway, Rome: You know how you get chatting to people on a journey? It turns out one of Hadrian’s grooms has a cousin in the household of someone I used to know years back, and apparently I’m still mentioned.”