Ruth Downie - Tabula Rasa

This was even more provocative from a senior officer than it had been from Fabius. “Sir, the family are genuinely-”

“I didn’t say the family are in on it. It would only take two or three mischief-makers to set it up and then sit back and watch the fun.”

“But why-”

“They don’t like the wall?” Accius suggested. “They don’t like the old man? They like causing trouble? I don’t know. We don’t need to know why, we just need to put a stop to it.”

It was becoming apparent to Ruso that if they could not put a stop to it and Branan was not rescued, then whatever the truth, the story would be put out that he had been kidnapped by his own people and the Army were the innocent victims of slander. He could imagine only too well the outrage that would cause among the locals.

“Sir?” It was one of the guards. “Sir, I think I hear something.”

Accius raised a hand and the group drew the horses to a halt. There was indeed some sort of disturbance going on. Abandoning the gate in front of them, they turned left, then right, skirting around the corner of the fort between the outer ditch and the wall. There was a confusion of people and vehicles gathered around the south gate. Accius said, “Your Britons are back.”

“Not as many this time,” said Ruso.

There were eight or ten of them: both men and women as far as he could make out, clustered around the second of the two drivers who were still waiting to take their vehicles in. This time there was no chanting. Instead some sort of argument was going on in British. Accius shook his head. “I can’t follow it.”

Ruso listened for a moment.

“I think the locals are trying to persuade the driver not to deliver,” he said. “They want him to join them instead.” He paused. “ ‘You are bringing food to the soldiers,’ ” he translated, glad Tilla was safely behind the shutters of the snack bar. “He’s saying he has hungry children to feed. They’re calling him a traitor.”

Suddenly the Britons noticed Accius and his men, and the complaints switched to Latin.

“Give us Regulus!”

“We want the child stealer!”

The yells coalesced into a chant of “Regulus! Regulus! Regulus!”

Accius rode forward a few paces and listened for a while as if he were accepting a hymn of praise. Then he raised one hand to call for silence, and to Ruso’s surprise it worked.

“Regulus has been transferred elsewhere for punishment,” Accius announced. “He could not have taken the boy.”

As he spoke, the cart jerked into motion, the driver perhaps hoping to take advantage of the distraction. One of the protesters shouted and they all abandoned Accius and rushed toward it.

There was a brief scuffle around the head of the mule, with the driver lashing at his fellow Britons with his whip and yelling at them to let go. The cart lurched as the mule tried to back away.

Behind him, Ruso heard the bark of an order and a swish of blades against leather as Accius’s men drew their swords. Half a dozen gate guards stepped out, shields up and spears raised. Caught between the two, the Britons abandoned the cart and scattered, yelling “Traitor!” and “Friend of the child snatchers!”

Accius ordered his men not to give chase. Under the protection of the guards, they put away their swords and followed the cart under the archway. Once they were inside, the guards lowered their spears and put their shoulders to the gates. The sound of British jeering was overwhelmed by the screech of hinges.

“Marvelous,” observed Ruso, temporarily forgetting that he was in the presence of a senior officer. “Now we’re protecting a wife beater.”

“Yes,” said Accius. “But unfortunately he’s our wife beater.” He swung down from his horse. “If this goes on, we’ll have to clamp down on movement and gatherings and cancel market day.”

Ruso handed the bay’s reins to the waiting groom. “It’s the Samain festival tomorrow, sir.”

“Then they’d better start behaving themselves,” said Accius, just as a trumpet blast announced the curfew, “or they’ll find that canceled too.” He pulled off his helmet and tucked it under one arm. “Right. I hope my cook’s made it down here with my dinner. Go and get something to eat and then come over to HQ. We’ll work out where we are and decide on our next move.” He peered ahead to where a lone legionary stood in the street over what looked like a pile of rags. “What’s that noise?”

They stopped to listen. Weaving its way through the usual clump of boots and shouts of orders, the distant clatter of spoons in mess tins and a sudden burst of laughter, came a thin, reedy voice that rose and fell in what Ruso recognized as one of Tilla’s tunes. Senecio was singing.

“Doctor,” ordered Accius, “get that old fool under cover before he freezes to death.”

Tilla’s thoughts were heavy with sorrow and her stomach weighed down with unwanted food. Enica was not hungry, so she had forced down most of what she had mistakenly piled on the platter and then realized she could not refuse some lamb from the sacrifice. Straightaway, instead of a quiet stroll back to her lodgings, she had been forced to hurry to keep pace with the horses. She stumbled as she made her way past the one open door shutter, entering the bar with more of a fall than a step. An elderly couple looked up from a corner table. They pushed their empty bowls away and got up to leave. The woman was frail and struggled to stand, clutching at her husband’s arm, while he stood patiently until she got up on the third attempt. Tilla, unable to tell them she was no more drunk than they were, straightened her skirts, squared her shoulders, and walked past them with as much dignity as she could manage.

Ria came out to clear the bowls. The bar was empty apart from the two of them. “Hardly spent a thing,” Ria observed to the empty corner where the couple had sat. “What with the curfew and that missing boy, trade’s collapsed.” She clapped the empty bowls down on her tray and leaned across to wipe the table. “No news, I suppose?”

Tilla shook her head and slumped down on a bench. She wanted peace and quiet, a cool beer, and then a warm bed. But first she needed to talk to Ria and to Virana.

“At this rate we might as well not have had the new tables made. And if anybody asks me again if I’ve seen that boy . . .” Ria paused. “Well, they might have the decency to buy something while they’re in here.”

Tilla cleared her throat and said, “You may have a lot more people coming in about the boy.”

Ria took the news surprisingly well, which was explained when she continued, “Tell him I’ll want the cash up front. I’ve had promises from the army before.”

“Cash?”

“Well, there’s got to be a fee for him using the premises, girl! I’m running a business here, not a message service. It was bad enough before with all your patients coming in here, wanting to tell me about their aches and pains.”

“Have there been any patients?” Tilla realized with a jolt that she had forgotten to check.

She was torn between relief and disappointment when Ria said, “Not one. Oh, and your girl’s gone off in a huff. I told her, ‘Girl, this is a bar, you get called all sorts, take no notice,’ but in her condition it doesn’t take much.”

“I need to talk to her.”

“I have to say, I had my doubts about her from the start. But she’s a hard worker, and the customers like her, so I let it pass.”

“Is she here?” Tilla asked, hoping she did not have a missing girl to worry about now as well.

“I can’t give credit against the rent for a girl who doesn’t work, you know. Especially not now. I spent half the morning making a new savory cheesecake and I’ve still got most of it left over. I hope you’re hungry.”