Terra Incognita: A Novel of the Roman Empire (23 page)

“And you have a baby!”

They drew back for a moment, each appraising the other. Veldicca was thinner, and a dull red scar ran across her left cheekbone. But whatever troubles had assailed her in the last three years, they had not repressed her smile.

“Come and sit and talk.” Veldicca turned to the girl. “Leave the corn and fetch us some mead—and some of the dried apple?” She looked to Tilla for approval.

“That would be very good,” agreed Tilla, realizing she had not eaten since last night.

“A friend’s child,” explained Veldicca, indicating the girl before she dipped her hands into the washing bowl by the door. “She is here to help and learn about the herbs. Where have you been? We mourned for you—it is a joy to see you!”

“I have been in many places. But last night I went to visit your brother.”

The smile faded. “I have no—”

“Never mind about that. He has been arrested. The soldiers have taken him.”

Veldicca shook her hands dry and wiped them on her skirt. Then she said, “I am sorry, but I am not surprised. From what I hear, it is better not to be Rianorix’s sister at present.”

They seated themselves side by side on the shaped log under the eaves. Tilla said, “The gods have woken, Veldicca. But doing their will has brought your brother serious trouble.”

Veldicca adjusted the shawl so that the child lay in her lap for her visitor to admire. “A girl,” she said, stroking the child’s dark hair. “Four months. Much has happened while you have been gone.”

“You must be proud,” said Tilla, reaching to snatch away the abandoned bag of grain just as the first hen stabbed at it. “About your brother—”

“I should be proud,” agreed Veldicca. “But mostly I am just busy and tired. You know I am widowed?”

“I am sorry. Your brother said nothing.”

“That is no surprise. Even in death, Rianorix does not approve of my choice of husband.”

“They say your brother killed a soldier,” said Tilla. “But all he did was curse him. He does not know how the curse was fulfilled. It must be a sign.”

“Well, if the curse did harm, then he has brought this on himself. You know what a fool he is.”

“Veldicca—”

“It has never given me pleasure to be estranged. But he has always been stubborn.”

“And you are . . . ?”

“As I said. Busy and tired. To speak openly, daughter of Lugh, we do not need my brother’s trouble at our hearth. He is not wise in the company he keeps, and if you want to stay away from trouble, do not go with him to the Gathering that he thinks I do not know about. Have you heard about this creature who is hunting down soldiers?”

Tilla took the cup the girl was offering, and took a deep swallow of the rich sweet mead. “My own brothers would have been just as yours is. Act first, think later. Or not at all.”

“I grieved for your family.”

“I thank you.”

A robin flitted down into the patch that Veldicca had been weeding and began to stab for worms.

“You never know how long the gods will allow you in this world,” said Tilla. “At least try to send a message to him.”

Veldicca bent and kissed the sleeping baby on the forehead. “I will think about it,” she said.

It was a concession. Tilla acknowledged it with silence, stretching her legs out in the grass and watching a white butterfly dancing above the vegetable patch. Moments later the child noticed it too and ran over to chase it away.

Veldicca said, “So, tell me. We heard you were killed. Then we heard a rumor you were alive. Surely you have not been all this time with the northerners?”

“Two years in Trenus’s household that are best forgotten,” Tilla said. “Then I went south and lived much better in the lands of the Cornovii.” That was true, if misleading. The Roman fort at Deva was on stolen Cornovii land. “They are a good people.” That was more honest: She had made friends in the surrounding villages.

Veldicca laid a hand on hers. “It is good to have you home.”

“There were times when I thought I would never see home again.”

“Trenus should have been punished.”

“Instead I hear he is invited to dine with the governor.”

Veldicca said, “You remember Dari, the girl both your brothers lay with in one night?”

“Big breasts and small brain.”

“She is working over in the town now. Selling drinks and pastries to soldiers and their families.”

“At Susanna’s?”

“You have met Susanna?”

“My friend is lodging there.”

They exchanged news of other mutual friends and acquaintances: of births and deaths, weddings and betrayals and divorces. All the news Rianorix had not thought interesting enough to tell her. Finally Veldicca asked if she was married.

Tilla shook her head. “My life is complicated.”

“Mine also,” said Veldicca. “Now you are here, will you stay?”

Tilla paused to dip the apple in the mead and lick it. “That depends. I have not seen my cousin yet. Or my uncle. I hear they are living over by the fort.”

“You will be surprised. Your uncle Catavignus is a rich man now. He is leader of the guild of caterers.”

“The what?”

“They worship Apollo-Maponus, the god who pleases everybody. He has one Roman name and one of ours.”

“I did not know my uncle was religious.”

“Nor did anyone else,” said Veldicca. “But I hear the caterers hold some very fine dinners and are loyal to the emperor. And of course they all help one another. They buy whatever beer Cativignus has left after he has supplied the soldiers. I hear he is having a grand house in the Roman style built up on the hill.”

“I have seen the house on the hill. It is just a hole in the ground.”

“Really? I had thought from what your cousin Aemilia said—”

“You know Aemilia.” Tilla dipped the apple again. “I am surprised to hear she is not yet married.”

“Hah! Did my brother not tell you what all this is about?”

“He said he is sworn to protect—surely not Aemilia?”

“Of course it’s Aemilia! I told you, he is a fool. Now see where it has got him.”

Tilla listened in silence as her friend explained how Aemilia had been convinced that a soldier had promised to marry her. “And this false soldier is the one who died?”

Veldicca nodded. “Felix, the man my brother cursed. So whoever killed him, Rianorix will be in trouble for it and Aemilia will be the cause.”

Tilla shook her head. It was plain that Aemilia had not changed.

“I hear Catavignus still has hopes of marrying her to a centurion,” said Veldicca.

“After this, about as likely as your family’s hopes of marrying you to that blacksmith.”

Veldicca sniffed. “I should have listened.”

“Your soldier was not a good husband?”

“It turned out he had more patience with his bees than with his woman.” Veldicca ran one mud-ingrained fingertip along the scar on her cheek. “This is what happened when I left his boots to dry by the fire and the leather went hard. I could show you others.”

“I am sorry.”

“But last winter he died of a fever. So now I do what I want.”

Tilla glanced toward the beehives. “Now you are the beekeeper.”

“I am the bee-loser. Whatever he was, that man knew how to charm the bees. After he died one swarm went and left no king, and another died of cold in the winter when I forgot to feed them. This is the last of the mead. I am glad to celebrate your homecoming with it.”

Tilla glanced down at the sleeping child. “I have seen your brother’s house, Veldicca. It is difficult for one man to manage alone. The house is very untidy and he lives on bought food and beer and lets other men’s ideas grow around him with no one to show him any sense.”

“My brother made his choice. I made mine.”

“And are you content?”

“Which of us is ever content?”

Tilla watched the hens pecking at the grass. “I have a friend in the army,” she said. “I will ask his help to release your brother.”

“I will pray for your success. Then you can go and sort out his house and his ideas. See if he thanks you.”

The baby stirred, opened a pair of deep brown eyes, and crinkled her small face as if she did not like what she had just seen. Veldicca unpinned her tunic and put the child to her breast just as it began to cry.

“So,” said Tilla, looking around, “how will you live without the wages of your angry soldier? Two hens, a little honey, and a few herbs for sale are not going to keep you through the winter. You have no cow. You do not even have a goat.”

“I have a little saved. Perhaps I shall buy a cockerel and become the champion hen breeder of Coria.”

“But—”

“And if I grow tired of hens,” Veldicca continued, “I will find myself a blacksmith. Or maybe a centurion.”

34

T
HESSALUS WAS ASLEEP
. Over at the infirmary, there was no one in the office. The cobweb above the pharmacy table was gone, the wastebasket was empty, and the green pancake had been scraped off the floorboards. A lone bottle with no label rested on the desk. Ruso picked it up, removed the stopper, and sniffed at the brown powder inside.

An orderly with strands of straw caught in his hair—presumably Gambax had assigned him to stuffing mattresses—wandered in and told him the deputy had gone to fetch some stationery supplies.

No doubt finding a clean stock of labeling materials would occupy him until lunchtime. It was a pity Albanus was not here to start investigating the rest of the paperwork. Ruso put the bottle back where he had found it. Gambax seemed to know what he was doing, even if he was doing it painfully slowly. Ruso had once had the misfortune to work with an apprentice pharmacist who had decided to tear off all the labels at once, throw them into the fire, and start again.

As he left the office the trumpet sounded the next watch. There was still no sign of Albanus. Ruso would have suspected most men of deliberately spinning out his missions to find out about Thessalus’s night call and track down Tilla, but not Albanus. The clerk’s deeply rooted sense of duty would compel him to get on with the job and report back, even if it did mean facing the rest of the day in the office with Gambax. No: It was far more likely that Tilla was proving elusive.

Just as he reached this conclusion, the clerk reappeared. He was not happy.

“Every door in the town, sir,” said Albanus, slumping back against the table in the treatment room. “Every single door. And I explained that I’d been sent by an officer. In case they thought I was hunting down a runaway girlfriend.”

“Very wise.”

“I had to stop telling people you were a doctor,” he said. “Some of them wanted to tell me what was wrong with them.” He winced. “One even wanted me to
look
at it.”

“I know,” agreed Ruso. “That’s why I don’t tell them either.”

“A couple of them said they wouldn’t talk to me because a doctor had murdered that trumpeter they found in the alley.”

“Really?” said Ruso. Evidently Thessalus’s confession was no longer a secret. He wondered whether anybody had told Metellus.

“Then some ignorant clod in the vehicle repair shop said if I was snooping around his woman I would end up in the alley too. And some people wouldn’t talk to me at all. I suppose they were hoping for a bribe.”

“Probably,” said Ruso, wondering how the news about Thessalus had leaked out.

“But I didn’t have any money, sir,” the clerk pointed out, clearly feeling his officer did not appreciate the difficulty of the fool’s errand on which he had wasted most of the morning. “And I had no idea she might be using a native name.”

“Albanus,” said Ruso, who had forgotten to warn his clerk beforehand that Tilla’s current name had only been adopted after he met her, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, sir.”

“Never mind. I think neither of us knows quite how things work around here.”

“I think it helps if you’re Batavian, sir.”

This was not encouraging. “Apparently I have to go down to the bathhouse and face a clinic full of the Batavians’ friends and relations. I can’t think of a good excuse not to go.”

Albanus seemed to be on the verge of coming up with one when Gambax put his head around the door frame of the treatment room to announce that he had put together a box of the sort of medicines and dressings Doctor Thessalus usually took with him. The regular assistant was on leave but he had assigned a bandager to clinic duty. Clearly, to back out now would be a sign of weakness. No Batavian was going to be allowed to accuse him of that.

Albanus, offered a choice of activities, decided that despite his complaints he would rather resume the search for Tilla than face the ailing families of the Batavians. “While you’re out,” suggested Ruso, handing him some small change, “just listen out for any gossip about the murder, will you?”

Albanus’s eyes widened. “Are you doing another investigation, sir?”

“No,” said Ruso. “I’m just trying to help Doctor Thessalus. Officer Metellus is . . . it’s ah . . . it’s just that there seem to be some rumors going around that may be . . .”