Ruth Downie - Terra Incognita

“Not at this hour.”

“He’ll be awake,” insisted Ruso. “He’s having a visit from the governor today.”

No one in her family who had any honor had ever been inside the fort, and yet here she was again, this time standing in front of the desk of the commanding officer. She lifted her chin. She was not going to look submissive. Or nervous.

“I will tell you what I know,” she announced, “if you promise to let the prisoners go.”

The man reclined in his chair, looking faintly amused. “And what is it you know?”

“Not until you swear to let them go.”

He said, “I will decide what your information is worth when I hear it.”

She looked into the deepset blue eyes. This was a man whose people had been crushed by Rome and who now oppressed others on the emperor’s behalf. How could he be trusted? On the other hand, what choice did she have? She said, “You must give me your word as the emperor’s servant that if what I say is good, my people will go home.”

“You have my word,” he agreed, as if he still had some honor to lose.

“My name is Darlughdacha,” she said. “Three winters past, in the time of year when the wheat was beginning to ripen, my home was raided by thieves under the command of Trenus of the Votadini. My family was killed, and I was taken as a slave. All our animals are stolen. One of the animals is a good bay mare, five winters old, dark all over with a few white hairs above the nearside front hoof.”

She was interrupted by a quiet voice from behind. “Can I have a word, sir?”

She turned to see the snaky one standing behind the door. The prefect beckoned him forward. The snaky one hissed in his ear for a moment. The prefect nodded. The snaky one slithered back to his place.

“It seems you are better at recognizing horses than people,” said the prefect. “I hear you failed to help us identify the man who caused the wagon accident. I also hear that your father and brothers were known troublemakers.”

“Is that why you do not give justice when Trenus raids our land, burns our house, murders my family?”

“That took place under my predecessor,” explained the prefect smoothly. “I’m sure he would have dealt appropriately with any complaint. Now, what is it you would like to tell us?”

Tilla clenched her fists. She must stay calm. She was here to save the living as well as avenge the dead. “I have seen that horse again last night,” she said. “And then when I see the younger storyteller-the second one-I remember where I have seen him before too. Three times now. Once in the yard at the Golden Fleece inn. And once riding along the hillside when the accident happens. And before that at Trenus’s house where he comes to share supper and accept the gift of the bay mare stolen from my family.”

The prefect’s eyes flicked across to the other man. “Metellus?”

“She’s got a motive for discrediting Trenus, sir. And last time she was questioned she said nothing about seeing this man before.”

“I do not lie,” insisted Tilla, concentrating her gaze on the prefect and wishing the snaky one would stop interfering. “If you trust Trenus, you will be a very sorry officer. He is pretending to be your friend while he is supporting this man who stirs up my people against you.”

Again the two men looked at each other.

“Do you know where we can find this storyteller with the horse?”

“No, sir. He is very careful. But Trenus must know someone who can tell you.”

The prefect beckoned the snaky one to him again. There was another whispered conversation.

When they had finished she said, “Now can the people go?”

The snaky one stepped aside. The prefect sat looking at her, tapping a thumb on the edge of his desk. “Rome has no quarrel with the Votadini,” he said. “Why would Trenus want to cause trouble here?”

“I only tell you what I know, my lord. I do not know what is in his mind.”

The thumb tapped the desk again. Finally he said, “You were a slave to him for how long?”

“Two years, my lord.”

“You know his people.”

“Some of them.”

“You could be very useful to us.”

“But my lord-”

“Give us something definite on Trenus’s connection with the Stag Man and we’ll release your people. You have my word.”

Ruso and the nymph were watching the rising sun gilding the top tiles of the prefect’s roof when two people emerged from his office.

“Tilla!”

She turned to look at Ruso as the guard hustled her along under the portico.

“Are you all right?”

“Eyes front!” snapped the guard, giving her a shove that made her stumble, and they were gone.

Moments later another familiar figure emerged. Metellus strode past the nymph and accosted him. “Your girlfriend,” he said, “is nothing but trouble.”

“What’s she done now?”

“Amazing how taking hostages jogs their memories, isn’t it? She’s suddenly remembered where she saw Stag Man before.”

“She’s what? Let me talk to her!”

Metellus snorted. “If I were you, I’d stay well away. You don’t want to be dragged down with her. Try thinking with your head for a change, Ruso.”

Before Ruso’s head could come up with a reply, the house steward approached.

“Prefect Decianus will see you now, sir,” said the steward, his tone suggesting that if it were up to him, he would have told Ruso to come back sometime next year.

In the light of what Metellus had just said, Ruso wished he had.

“You were supposed to report back in time for Metellus to organize a prosecution case,” said Decianus, lifting his arms while a crouching slave adjusted the folds of his tunic, “Instead of gallivanting over the hills getting yourself taken prisoner by barbarians.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Are you injured?”

“Not really, sir.”

“I hear your deputy’s been arrested for trying to murder your clerk. You haven’t exactly restored order in the infirmary, have you?”

“The clerk was investigating a fraud in the infirmary accounts, sir.”

“What else have you got for me?”

What Ruso had had, until moments ago, was a plea for mercy on behalf of the undeserving Rianorix and an insistence that both he and the innocent Tilla had been trying to restrain the crowd last night.

Now it seemed that Tilla was not so innocent after all. And if she had been lying to him all along about knowing the Stag Man, perhaps she had lied about Rianorix. Perhaps he really had murdered Felix. On the other hand, Catavignus had a motive, and he had an opportunity, and… And Ruso was suffering from lack of sleep and a headache and he did not know what to say about any of this. He could not come up with any words until he had had a chance to unscramble Metellus’s latest revelation.

“I’m told,” prompted Decianus, “that you now think Catavignus the brewer carried out the murder. I take it we have evidence?”

“I was hoping to get something this morning, sir.”

“You mean no?”

“Not yet, sir.”

The slave finished tweaking and lifted the prefect’s breastplate from the stand. Decianus motioned him to wait. “I’ve got the governor arriving in a matter of hours,” he said. “I’ve still got one man who’s confessed to a murder and another one who probably did it. You’ve had days to sort this out, and we’re no farther ahead.”

“You’ve got Rianorix in custody again, sir.”

“We could have done that whenever we wanted. We’d have the Stag Man as well by now if it weren’t for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So have you got anything useful to tell me?”

“The infirmary’s been cleaned out and tidied up and is ready for the governor’s inspection, sir.”