Ruth Downie: Terra Incognita

Ruso glanced across. “He’s a native brewer,” said Metellus. “He’s a man who did a deal with a neighboring chieftain to get rid of his own brother’s family.”

“But I helped you!” shrieked Catavignus. “You said there would be protection!”

“He’s lying,” said Metellus.

“This is the army, Catavignus,” said Ruso, pushing the wet head downward again. “There is no protection for natives. Sorry.”

While he was under, Ruso turned to Metellus. “It is Catavignus that Gambax is accusing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Phew,” said Ruso.

Metellus frowned. “But I still don’t see why Gambax didn’t come forward and say what he’d seen right away.”

“Because he was blackmailing you, wasn’t he?” demanded Ruso of the struggling Catavignus as he hauled him out of the water. “That’s what Gambax does.”

This is just like old times!” exclaimed Valens, leaning back against the wall of the isolation room and handing Ruso the smaller of the wine cakes he had just liberated from the prefect’s kitchen.

“Not really.”

“No, of course not,” said Valens. “Sorry, I forgot. I must say it’s a bit rich, her taking up with a native after all we’ve done for her. Still, it hasn’t been an entirely wasted trip, has it? You’ve rescued the reputation of a colleague and you’ve pinned down a very nasty murderer.”

“That doesn’t give me much pleasure,” said Ruso, remembering the faces of the women Catavignus had wronged as they circled the malt house.

“That’s because you like to be miserable,” said Valens. “Did I tell you our friendly brewer of fine beer is claiming he did everything at the request of the army? He says Metellus asked him to help clear up undesirables.”

“How do you know?”

Valens grinned. “You should have joined the governor’s hunting party today, Ruso. Fresh air, good exercise, and a chance to meet influential people and help them kill things. And it gave most of the Tenth an afternoon out, making sure we weren’t ambushed by ungrateful natives.”

“So are your influential friends going to reward Catavignus for clearing up the undesirables?”

Of course not. Nobody wants it to look as if we can’t keep order without the help of the guild of caterers.”

“They make a shambles and call it peace,” said Ruso, misquoting a famous historian.

“Desolation, sir,” came a voice from the bed. “They make desolation. It’s from Tacitus.”

“Pleased to see you’re feeling better, Albanus,” said Ruso.

“No thanks to you lot,” observed Audax from the doorway. “If I hadn’t gone and got that tonic, he’d be dead by now.”

“Must be good stuff,” said Ruso, wondering if Valens had administered it or poured it down the latrine.

“Hmph,” said Audax. “Tell that to the young whippersnapper who was in here this afternoon. How many bloody doctors have we got hanging around here now? Four? World’s gone mad.”

“We’re not officially supposed to be here,” explained Ruso. “The whippersnapper’s taken over. He’s brought in his own clerk, and he’s going to tell the prefect that the survival of the infirmary without Thessalus must be thanks to Gambax, who may have been a violent criminal and a thief, but was obviously a marvelous deputy medic.”

“We’re surplus to requirements,” agreed Valens. “That’s why we’re hiding in here with our favorite patient.”

“Well, one of you do something useful and fetch me a beer.”

Valens shook his head. “Sorry. The whippersnapper doesn’t approve of beer.”

“He doesn’t approve of a lot of things,” agreed Ruso, recalling the new man’s outrage at his treatment of Thessalus.

“Why’s he in this miserable hole?” the new man had demanded, assuring Thessalus, “Don’t worry, you won’t be stuck here much longer. We’ll get you out somewhere with a bit of light and fresh air and better company.” He had turned to Ruso. “He needs a properly controlled diet, pleasant surroundings, and full-time nursing. Why isn’t he in the infirmary?’

“I’m sorry, Thessalus,” said Ruso, not intending to explain to the new man about the abandoned murder charge. “I suppose I should have thought about putting you out in a convalescent billet in the town.”

“Of course you should,” said the whippersnapper, glaring at him.

This, decided Ruso, was the ideal posting for such a man. He could spend the long empty evenings composing diatribes against the stupidity of his colleagues. “There’s a local woman who supplies medicines for the clinic,” he said thoughtfully. “Veldicca. She might take him in.”

“I’d like that,” agreed Thessalus.

“But she’s not cheap,” added Ruso.

“That’s hardly the point, is it?” said the new man. “We should be doing the correct thing, not the cheapest thing. Especially for a colleague.”

“You’re right,” agreed Ruso.

“Thank you, Doctor,” said Thessalus. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you. I’ve been getting a bit downhearted, shut up in here.”

“It’s nothing,” the new medic had said with a smirk, as if the sick man’s thanks were intended for him. Behind his back, Thessalus caught Ruso’s eye and smiled.

Valens’s eyes widened as the sound of the trumpet penetrated the peace of the isolation room. “Heavens, is that the time? I must get going. Did I tell you I’m dining at the prefect’s house tonight?”

“With the governor?”

“You really should have come hunting this afternoon, Ruso. You never know when good contacts might come in useful. Tell you what, some of the great man’s underlings will be down at the public baths about now. I’ll introduce you.”

“No thanks,” said Ruso. “But I’ll walk across with you. I’ve just remembered some unfinished business.”

The two surplus medics made their way out through the gates where, a couple of hours earlier, Ruso had stood and watched the weary native prisoners shuffling past. Decianus had kept his word to Tilla, but not before names had been recorded, evidence taken, and backs flogged. All had taken place well out of earshot of the governor-who could not be expected to have to put up with the noise that men and women insisted on making when in pain-but within sight of their children, who needed to be shown that threatening to butcher a Roman officer was a very bad idea.

“Still here?” Metellus had inquired, having appeared from nowhere as usual.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” said Ruso. “I thought you were going hunting?”

“I would have,” explained Metellus. “But unfortunately I was delayed by having to prepare a murder case and deal with this lot. Look pretty harmless now, don’t they? But they would have torn you to pieces last night.”

“I know,” said Ruso, watching Rianorix wince as he forced himself to march out of the fort with his head held high.

“Incidentally, how did you know about Gambax being a blackmailer?”

Ruso shrugged. “Just a lucky guess. Tell me something. Was it you who gave the order for Tilla’s family to be got rid of?”

“Me? Of course not.”

“And the water being supplied to the brewery had nothing to do with paying for services rendered?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

Metellus shook his head. “As I told you before, you have a vivid imagination.”

“No you didn’t,” said Ruso. “You told me I think too much.”

There was no sign of the released natives now. They must have scattered into the countryside to nurse their wounds and their indignation.

“Does he really sell everything?” inquired Valens as they passed the shop.