Ruth Downie - Tabula Rasa

“Done!” The trainee sounded relieved.

Giant metal blades filled Ruso’s vision. There was a final tug as the thread was snipped. He gave up trying to work out why he was here, and asked.

“You went to a party that got a bit out of control,” answered the senior man.

That was when it came back. The bonfire. The fur traders. The crowd turning on him. He felt suddenly short of breath. “Where’s the boy?”

The man said, “You can see him when we’ve tidied you up.”

“Is he all right?”

The man said, “Tell him.”

The trainee took a breath. “Bruising to the arms and face,” he said. “Some rope burn around the neck and wrists. No broken bones that we can detect, and nothing life threatening.”

Ruso tried to steady his breathing. Tried to think. This was something he knew about. “Did you check him all over?”

“Of course.”

“Head injuries?”

“None. And he’s eating everything he’s given.”

Ruso made an effort to relax. “I feel as though I’ve been kicked by a horse.”

“They slashed through the ties on your lorica,” said the senior man. “Then they unpeeled you like a prawn.”

It was not a pleasant image, picturing the iron plates of the lorica wrenched apart to reveal the vulnerable torso inside. He said, “What have you put on the boy’s rope burn?”

There was silence for a moment. Then the trainee said, “D’you think he might be a medic, sir?”

“I doubt it,” the other one said. “What would a medic be doing on his own late at night at the Three Oaks?”

Ruso clutched at the side of the table and tried to pull himself up. “I need transport. I need to get the boy back to Parva.”

They both laughed at that. “You’re not going anywhere, my friend,” said the senior of the two. “Doctor’s orders.”

Tilla took a couple of deep breaths and the cold air sliced down her throat. She felt slightly calmer now that she was doing something. Walk. Keep walking. Put your mind on one thing. Do not, however much you want to, scream. By the time she reached the place where the track divided, Albanus was far behind and the twisting feeling in her stomach had become nausea. Sacred goddess, holy mothers, great Lord Christos, let those two soldiers be safe . . . Not only because one of them was definitely innocent and had tried to help her, but because she could not bear the thought of the consequences for everyone else if the thing she feared was really happening.

The track to the farm was invisible in the shadow of the trees. Unable to see what was beneath her, she slid in soft mud and cold water seeped over the tops of her boots. It was no worse than she deserved.

It had not been up to her to do anything about Mallius. That part of the message had been for the tribune. Yesterday her husband had told her very clearly that she could not tell Daminius what to do, but she had thought she knew better. Now she had not only shamed her husband, she had put his comrades in danger too.

“It will all be all right when the sun rises,” she whispered, as if speaking it aloud would make it true. “Perhaps in the morning my husband will come back with Branan and everything will be all right again.”

They might even have the wedding blessing. That would please Aemilia.

Aemilia. How could she have forgotten to tell her cousin the blessing was withdrawn? Was there anything she had not made a mess of lately?

You should not have used Daminius.

“Oh, shut up!”

There was no sign of the dog as she pushed open the gate, which was not good. Holy Christos, mothers and goddess, let them all be asleep in bed. Let them not be a part of whatever is happening. Then I can run to the fort for help. Tapping a knuckle on the door, she said, “It is the Daughter of Lugh. Is anyone awake?”

To her surprise the creak of someone getting out of a chair was immediate. A quiet female voice that she recognized as Cata’s mother came from the other side of the door. “Go away, Daughter of Lugh. It is not safe for you here.”

“I need to talk to Senecio and Conn!”

“They are not here. Nobody is here. Only me and Cata, looking after the children.”

“Where did they all go?”

Silence.

“Are you still there?”

“Go!” the woman insisted. “They do not trust you. They know Branan has been taken north into the high mountains. Somebody spoke to a messenger from Coria.”

“What have they done with the soldiers?”

Silence.

“Are they here?”

“You can do nothing for them. Go a long way away. Go back to Deva with your Roman before Conn takes you too. He does not listen to the old man anymore.”

“Are the soldiers still alive?”

The woman hesitated for a moment. “They said if we did not want to watch, we should mind the children.”

Tilla swallowed. She felt shaky with exhaustion and fear. “Just tell me where they went.”

There was another pause before, “The old hut down toward the stream. But you cannot get there. They will have lookouts.”

She had passed that old hut this afternoon with Dismal. It was two or three hundred paces down through the pasture. The sensible thing would be to hurry back to the fort now and summon help. But if she did that, even if the family escaped, they would be hunted down and executed. Besides, even if Daminius survived, when the officers found out that he had helped her to betray one of his own men he would be in just as much danger from his own people as he had been from the Britons. “I thank you,” she said, and set off to pick her way across the rough pasture alone.

The lookout had not thought to hide. He was standing by the gate, stamping his feet and blowing on his cold hands. It was a simple matter to creep along by the wall and throw a stone so she could slip past while he looked the wrong way. She was almost annoyed. If this was how her people fought, no wonder they lost.

She bent to summon the dog as she arrived. It ran up to her, pushing its nose into her hand and circling around her, its tail thumping against her skirts. The simplicity of its welcome made her eyes well with tears. Dogs knew nothing of guilt.

Once she could make out the wall at the lower end of the pasture, she heard voices raised in argument. The breeze carried the smell of baking bread. It was not a pleasure. There could be only one reason to bake bread down here and at this hour.

She had never seen the threefold death take place, but everyone knew about it. It was something that parents rarely spoke of until their children were old enough to know, but by then it was only one of the many frightening things that the children had already learned about from their older brothers and sisters. That’s what will happen to you if you tell on us!

When older people spoke of the threefold death, they did so with respect, but with no sign of intent. It was a thing for others. The ancestors. The elders. The chosen. The seers. The courageous and the powerful. She had never dreamed that anyone she knew would dare make it happen. But Senecio was a man who sang to dying trees and shouted at the thunder. She had no doubt that Senecio was serious.

Now that she had moved closer, she could hear that they were arguing over whether to kill both of the prisoners or just Mallius the child stealer. Conn, of course, wanted to do away with both. Senecio and Enica thought the life of the child stealer would be enough.

“And we leave the other one around to betray us?”

She had to stop this before it was too late, and before Albanus reached the fort and brought help. It would not take long to feed the sacred bread and mistletoe to the victims. They would be stripped naked and told to kneel. First came the blow to the head, always hard enough to stun. This was not an especially cruel death. It was not about causing pain to the victim. It was a sacred, awe-inspiring gift of a human life to the gods. Second, the offering of breath as the twisted sinew tightened around the neck. Then the offering of the blood as the throat was slit and the head was held down over the bowl.