Ruth Downie - Caveat emptor

Dias nodded as if he had been expecting the question. “Asper got Chief Magistrate Caratius’s wife pregnant. She left, or Caratius kicked her out, I don’t know which-but Asper had to take her in.”

“Do you think it’s relevant?”

“You mean, did the chief magistrate have a reason to have Asper murdered? Or did Asper have a reason to get out of town with no woman, no guards, and a big bag of somebody else’s money?”

“It certainly doesn’t seem to be a random theft,” said Ruso, deciding not to mention the claim that Asper had really been on the way to visit the chief magistrate when he vanished. For all he knew, Dias would be reporting the conversation back to the Council.

“We think the brother turned on him,” said Dias. “They used to argue a lot.”

As Ruso was considering this nugget of fresh information, Dias said, “I hear you haven’t brought any men with you. I’ll assign you a couple of guards.”

“If this whole thing was engineered by a dead man and a brother on the run, I doubt I’ll be in much danger.”

Dias grinned. “True,” he said, “but I don’t want your pals in Londinium thinking the natives don’t know how to make a man welcome. I served in the army too: I know the sort of things that get said about us. Besides, my lads can help you find your way around.”

The military service explained the Latin. “I was with the Twentieth for a while,” said Ruso, realizing Dias had noticed his old army belt, now adapted for civilian use. “You?”

“Five years with the Third Brittones over in Germania,” said Dias, adding, “Medical discharge” to explain the short duration of a service that would normally last a couple of decades. “Back trouble.”

Ruso eyed the lithe form, the good bone structure that meant Dias would grow old still handsome, and the colorful native hairstyle. “There’s a lot of back trouble in the army,” he observed. Much of it was completely unprovable, but he was not going to insult the man by saying so.

“It’s settled down now,” said Dias. “How about you?”

Clearly Ruso did not look like an aristocrat who had served briefly on the way to greater things, and he was not going to admit that he was a doctor with a short-term contract. He lifted one leg and said truthfully, “Broke my foot.”

Dias gestured toward it. “All right now, is it?”

“Fine.”

The native stood up, apparently satisfied that they had established some sort of connection.

Ruso said, “I’ll need to report to the Council.”

“No chance at this hour,” said Dias. “But there’s a few of them hanging around here. Don’t worry, they’ll find you.”

His visit to Tilla would have to be postponed.

“I’ll have a couple of lads waiting by the time you’ve finished cleaning up,” Dias said, adding as if he had only just noticed, “Hot in here, isn’t it?”

Half an hour later Ruso was cleaner but no more enlightened. He had been offered opinions by glistening men with rats’ tail hair in the hot room, by fat old men playing board games in the hall, by a masseur with a large mole on his nose, and by a couple of weightlifters with thick necks and veins bulging around the outsides of their oiled muscles.

Several were off-duty councillors. One or two suggested that Asper might have been the victim of a robbery, but most were convinced that he had stolen their money himself. There were dark mutterings about That Woman. The fact that he had been murdered was explained as divine vengeance. He had insulted the emperor, the chief magistrate, the Council, and the whole tribe. When they realized the money was missing, the magistrates had sacrificed a ram to Jupiter and a dog to Sucellus-whoever he was-and the thief had gotten what he deserved.

It was further evidence for Albanus’s view that the Britons were not interested in logic.

Most people, though, were less interested in the fate of Julius Asper than in knowing what the procurator would do if the money did not turn up. Would he insist that the councillors make good the loss? Would everyone have to pay their taxes twice?

Ruso’s refusal to speculate did nothing to allay their fears. He had picked up his towel and was fending off requests from opposite sides to champion one design for the new theater over another when the word Investigator! boomed and echoed around the exercise hall.

Ruso gave his hair one final rub and dropped the towel onto the changing bench. A large expanse of exposed flesh was approaching with one pudgy bejeweled hand outstretched. The flesh tapered up into a fashionable beard and neatly trimmed hair framing a broad smile. “Gallonius,” it introduced itself. “Chief Magistrate.”

“Joint Chief Magistrate,” chimed in a second voice over the sound of footsteps. Ruso looked over the shoulder of the first speaker to see Caratius striding across the hall with his cloak billowing out behind him.

“Please excuse the informal welcome, investigator,” continued the large man, pumping Ruso’s arm up and down with one hand and making a grab for his slithering towel with the other. “They’ve only just told me you’re here. I hope they’re looking after you over at the mansio. This has all come as a bit of a shock.”

“I’ve already told the investigator the facts,” put in Caratius.

“Your guard captain’s briefed me on the inquiries so far,” said Ruso, “but I’ve got a few questions. I’ll need to talk to you both separately.”

While Gallonius nodded approval, Caratius said, “Of course. You’ll have to question everyone involved.”

Ruso said, “Did Asper have any trouble collecting the taxes?”

Both men looked taken aback. “No more than anyone else would,” Gallonius told him. “Collecting the corn tribute is always a slow business, but we get there in the end.”

“It’s a matter of honor,” said Caratius. “Verulamium always pays on time.”

This impressive show of unity and loyalty was followed by an awkward silence. Ruso said, “Perhaps we could talk at a more convenient-”

“Dinner tonight,” said Caratius.

Taken by surprise, Ruso cast about for an excuse. He had barely slept last night and it had been a long day with a tiring ride, but he could hardly say he had been looking forward to an early acquaintance with the scented sheets of Suite Three.

“I insist,” said Caratius.

Gallonius’s expression might have been indigestion, or it might have been the effort of holding back an opinion.

“I’ll send a man to escort you out to the house in an hour,” said Caratius, promising a private conversation with “a few details there wasn’t time to explain yesterday.”

Ruso supposed he wanted to give his side of the marriage story. Meanwhile Gallonius was still looking as though his internal workings were badly out of balance.

Ignoring the complaints from his own stomach that an hour was a long time to wait, Ruso accepted. “There’s no need for an escort,” he said. “I’ve already been assigned a couple of guards.”

Was that annoyance on the magistrate’s hard features? Finally he said, “I’ll call in at the stables and tell Rogatus to give you one of my horses,” as if Ruso had just bargained him down. “You can use it for as long as you’re here.”

He did not much want the horse, either, but it seemed churlish to refuse. Caratius gave his fellow magistrate a look of triumph before departing with, “Good! I’ll see you later.”

When he had gone, the big man beckoned Ruso back toward the stifling room in which he had already endured the conversation with the guard captain. “A word in private, Investigator.”

Ruso, wishing he had not just put all his clothes back on, was obliged to follow.