Ruth Downie - Tabula Rasa

He was pinching himself to stay awake when something scratchy and malodorous pushed up against his neck from behind. He shifted away but someone seized his arm and a gruff voice spoke in his ear. It took him a moment to disentangle the accent. “You speak our tongue, Roman?”

“Some.”

“My brother wants to know if you like small boys.” The man’s other hand pointed directly at Branan.

Ruso swallowed. “I might be interested.”

“We know. You keep looking at him. How much will you offer?”

He could hardly believe his luck. “Let me have a look at him first.”

The blow knocked him sideways. It was a moment before he could lift himself above the fuzziness and work out that the shrieking and slapping were coming from a woman in whose lap he had landed. Apologizing, he got up and staggered, stumbling over several more people and rubbing his ear. All the fur traders were gathered together now, shouting at him and pointing. He remembered what he had heard just before the blow. “Child snatcher! Leave his son alone!”

Others voices had taken up the cry: “Child-snatcher!”

“Get him!”

“Trying to steal that man’s son!”

“It’s the child snatcher!”

Somewhere a voice was shouting for calm but hands were pulling at him, hauling at his armor and his tunic and grabbing his hair. Someone punched him in the head and he stumbled, lunging for something to grab onto to keep his balance. If he went down now he would not get up.

“Branan!” he yelled. “Branan, wake up, it’s the Medicus!”

“Ask him what he did with the boy!” shouted someone.

“There he is!” he yelled, wrenching an arm loose and struggling to climb over his tormentors. “That boy is stolen! Branan, wake up! It’s the Medicus, come to take you home!”

“Child snatcher!”

“Liar!”

Then it was all fists and boots and elbows and yelling and pain, the stink of sweat and the tang of blood in his mouth. When he fell, he was still shouting Branan’s name, and he barely saw the flash of firelight on the blade.

Tilla lengthened her stride to stay between the two soldiers, who were keeping up a smart military pace along the moonlit road. The breeze snatched at her clothes and sent cold fingers down her neck. There must be Samain bonfires all around, but they were hidden on the left by the whispering black woods, and on the right by the rise of the land and the half-built wall that ran in silhouette along its crest.

She had guessed well: She had been able to persuade a bitter Daminius to help her, and to her relief he still had enough influence to bring Mallius with him, which was the whole point of asking. So here she was, a healer with two legionaries kindly guarding her as she answered a nighttime call to a patient who did not exist. At the time it had seemed like a clever plan. But now wandering spirits sighed in the trees with every gust of wind. All of Albanus’s objections made sense, and she wished she was back by the fire at Ria’s.

Seeing her glance at the woods, Daminius said, “All right, miss?”

“I thought I heard something.”

“A fox or a badger, miss,” he said, loud enough for Mallius to hear. He chuckled. “Or one of your ghosts.”

“You should not show disrespect. You do not know who is listening.”

“Sorry, miss.”

She was slightly breathless with the effort of keeping up, but her escort did not offer to slow the pace. She guessed they too would be glad when this was over. “We should be safe,” she said. “I made an offering before I came out.”

“We’ll look after you, miss,” Mallius assured her, adjusting his grip on his shield. She frowned. She did not want this man to think about helping her. She wanted him to be more nervous than she was herself, otherwise this trip would be a waste of time.

Where was Albanus? Scanning ahead, she said, “My husband says I am foolish to be afraid of the man in the wall.”

“Don’t you worry, miss,” Daminius told her. “All the officers say it’s nonsense.”

There he was! Albanus. Crossing the road about fifty paces in front of them. He was wearing Candidus’s helmet, just as they had agreed. The big rectangular shield covered most of his body. That and the dark cloak he had borrowed hid the absence of armor, a sword, and a proper military belt. “Your patient is a lucky woman, miss,” Daminius continued, pretending he had seen nothing. “A lot of healers wouldn’t go out tonight.”

Daminius was a good actor. She had guessed that he would be: How else had he managed to deceive his centurion about the kitchen maid?

The figure of Albanus dipped as it stepped down to cross the ditch. By the time they were level with it, it was walking away from them over the grass.

“What do you think, Mallius?” Tilla asked, forcing herself not to watch as Albanus approached the woods. “Is there a man in the wall?”

No reply.

“Answer the lady, soldier!” ordered Daminius. “Well? Is there a dead man inside the wall?”

Mallius, who had turned to stare at the departing Albanus, returned his gaze to the front and mumbled that he didn’t know.

“Of course you know!” snapped Daminius. “There’s nothing up there. It’s official. The lady’s husband is quite right.”

Mallius said, “Yes, sir,” and glanced behind him again.

“People are still saying things,” Tilla observed as the road climbed the slope. “Only today I spoke to someone who swears he saw the body being hidden. He even says he saw who did it.”

“He’s lying,” Daminius said.

“Perhaps,” said Tilla. “But I think in the morning I will take this person to the tribune. Then they can go and open the wall in the place he shows them, and everybody will see if there is anything there.”

“I’d pay to join that work party,” said Daminius.

“It will be good to know the truth,” Tilla continued. “People are afraid. They are saying the man’s spirit walks at night, searching for someone to give him the proper burial rites.”

She risked a glance and caught Mallius staring at her. She hoped she had not said too much. It had been a long day, and she was not at her best. “Anyway,” she said briskly, “it is good news about the boy. My husband will bring him back safe tomorrow and we will find out who stole him. Then perhaps this curfew will be-”

She stopped. They all saw it at the same time: something moving on the road far ahead. The sound of hoofbeats came toward them on the wind. For once Tilla was relieved to catch the glint of moonlight on armor. Moments later they were surrounded by four riders on stamping horses, and Daminius was explaining who his small party were and what they were doing out here. She dared not look to see where Albanus was, but she saw that Mallius was glancing round as if he were wondering the same thing. That was good.

Satisfied, the cavalry patrol cantered off into the night. Mallius propped his spear against his shield and loosened his chinstrap with one finger, gazing after the riders as if wishing he could join them.

Fifty paces farther on he glanced back again. Tilla turned. The sight of the soldier striding along behind them made her jump even though she was half expecting it. Albanus was too far away for his features to be visible in the poor light, but close enough for his slight frame to recall that of his nephew.

Mallius said, “We’re being followed.”

They stopped. Gazing at Albanus, who now stood like a statue in the road, Daminius said, “Where?”

“Did you see someone?” asked Tilla. She watched Mallius narrow his eyes to squint at Albanus in the stark pallor of the moon.

“Description?” Daminius prompted.