Caveat Emptor (33 page)

69

A
FTERWARD, ON BAD
days, Tilla would blame herself for the delay she had caused by insisting on taking Grata and the baby to safety. On those days, she would blame herself for everything. Sometimes the Medicus would tell her that they were both at fault, and at other times they would agree that Dias had been the cause of it all. The truth was that they would never know. All they could say with certainty was that if they had been a few minutes earlier, it might not have happened.

If only Tilla had demanded a proper horse, instead of the fat little pony that the stable boy had insisted on leading across to the mounting block because he seemed to think a woman would not know how to get on without help. If only she had not distracted him by asking if he had never seen a woman in skirts hitch them up and ride astride before. If only it had not begun to rain in thick cold drops as they trotted through the town toward the south gates, and if only they had not had to shout for the men to come out of the guardhouse and confirm that, yes, they had seen Camma hurrying past less than an hour ago.

If only they had not wasted time riding through the cemetery and calling her name into the woods, with Tilla pushing windswept hair out of her eyes and shivering, wishing she had brought a cloak, while the horses’ hooves churned up the wet grass between the graves. If only there had been a funeral that afternoon, the cemetery slaves might not have smelled of beer as they wandered out of their hut to see what was going on. They might have remembered which way the wild-haired woman had gone after she had left.

If only she had not paused to cut a switch to wake the fat pony because it refused to speed up even when the Medicus tried to lead it with his own horse, and if only he had not slowed so that he could keep her in sight …

If none of these things had happened, then Dias might not have already been on his way back from Caratius’s farm by the time they arrived, galloping headlong toward them on the track through the woods and reining his horse in as he saw the Medicus waving at him. Tilla was too far away to hear what they were saying to each other before Dias yanked the horse’s head around and both men raced back toward the house. Even the fat pony seemed to understand, too late, that she needed to hurry.

Through the rain Tilla could see servants clustered around something at the foot of the house steps. The Medicus slid down off his horse and ran toward them. As they parted to let him through, she could see a splash of bright hair on the ground, golden against the scarlet of blood. The fat pony’s hoofbeats slowed and she heard the thin, terrified screams of the old woman.

The Medicus was bending over Camma, talking to her, but he was asking the same questions again and again.
Can you hear me? Camma, can you hear me?
He was trying to wipe the blood from the side of her head and shelter her from the rain with a borrowed cloak and organize the servants to bring something to lay her on and get her up to the house.

All the time the old woman was clinging on to the door frame wailing and crying and the maid was trying to reassure her and coax her back inside. Dias was saying, “I couldn’t stop her. I saw it happening and I couldn’t get there in time to stop her.” Caratius was there, kneeling in the mud beside his former wife, his gray hair lank and dark with the wet. When he looked up and roared, “Silence!” to Dias, was that rain on his face, or tears?

According to the maid, Caratius had been up in the top paddock assessing a lame foal when Camma had appeared out of the rain, running toward the house with dripping hair, her skirts gathered in her fists and mud splashed up her legs and a warrior chasing after her on horseback. The maid had opened the door, then rushed to the kitchen to fetch the cook and tell the kitchen boy to find the master. In that brief moment it seemed nobody except Dias had seen the old woman shuffle out onto the porch with a bag clutched in one hand and her walking stick in the other, and lunge with the stick. Camma had fallen back down the steps while the old woman cried out something about Boudica and a little boy.

Dias told them he had been trying to catch up with Camma to offer her protection. Tilla said, “Like you did with Grata?” and he said nothing. When he left, saying he would take the news back to town, the Medicus followed him out into the rain.

She could hear the maid in the old woman’s room, singing softly to calm her. Caratius was bending over his beautiful dead wife, stroking her hair. He looked up. His voice was strained, almost pleading, as he formed the words, “I never meant her any harm.” For once he was speaking in the tongue of his ancestors.

“She knew that,” said Tilla, crouching beside the old man she had once thought dangerous, and then merely foolish and pompous, and putting a hand over his. “She was coming here to make her peace with you.”

70

I
T OCCURRED TO
Ruso that anyone watching the farewell on the sunny steps of the mansio the next morning would have thought they were witnessing the end of a happy and successful visit. It was not obvious that the redheaded baby in Tilla’s arms was there because nobody else wanted it. Gallonius and Dias might have been there to honor Ruso rather than to make sure he was off their territory.

While Gallonius was assuring him yet again that the job of mansio doctor and the house that went with it were his whenever he wanted them, the cousin was begging Serena to “come back and see us soon,” as if she and her husband had not subtly thrown her out over dinner last night.

Ruso envied Valens his ability to ignore what he did not want to hear. Serena was busy supervising the loading of her voluminous luggage onto the second carriage. Valens was bouncing up and down the steps with one or other twin on his shoulders. He seemed to have decided that his wife was returning home because she had succumbed to his charms. As their hosts had remarked over dinner several times before the first course was cleared away, it was
so
considerate of him to come and fetch her.

The baby really was very red haired. Ruso waited until his wife had climbed into the carriage and then handed him up to her, careful to support the wobbly head with a hand that looked huge against the size of the creature that might be about to change both their lives. Tilla took the baby without a word. Last night they had agreed not to talk about it, both afraid of saying things that could not be unsaid later. This agreement seemed to have carried on through breakfast, and now he was wondering if they would ever talk about it, or if Tilla was hoping that one day he would forget that the child belonged to neither of them.

She settled down in the corner and brought out the clumsy feeding cup. He swung up to sit beside her. He supposed she would find a wet nurse when they got to Londinium. He supposed he would be expected to pay. He wanted to say, “It’s not the baby I object to, it’s the not being consulted,” but he was not sure it was true.

The carriage shifted and creaked as the driver climbed on board. To Ruso’s surprise Valens appeared in the doorway. “Mind if I ride with you? It’s a bit crowded back there. Our driver says we’ll never make it up the hills with the weight.”

“Give us some luggage instead,” suggested Tilla. “Then you can talk to your wife.”

“Oh, I can talk to her anytime,” said Valens breezily, settling himself on the seat opposite. “Whereas you two are likely to push off at any moment. Actually, that’s what I wanted to chat with you about. Ruso, are you taking that job offer?”

Ruso said, “I’d rather starve.”

Valens’s eyes widened. They widened even farther when Tilla said, “We are wiping this place off our shoes and never coming back.”

Valens shook his head sadly. “The business with Camma was always going to end badly, you know. You could see that from the start. And now you’re left holding the baby.” He peered across the carriage. “It is awfully red, isn’t it?”

“Like fire and the sun,” said Tilla.

“If you say so.”

“And beautiful.”

“Oh, absolutely. Anyway, those chaps back there obviously took to you both, even though you did try to strangle the one with the things in his hair. And the place can’t be that bad. Albanus says he’s staying on for a few days after the funeral.”

“Albanus is staying because Grata is there,” said Tilla, setting the pot aside to wipe up the milk the baby had just dribbled all over her lap, “and because Londinium is full of small boys who do not want to learn Greek.”

Ruso did not want to think about Albanus and the disappointment on his face last night. Ruso had broken the news of Camma’s death to both clerk and housekeeper in Camma’s kitchen. Through the tears Grata had said, “Dias did it.”

“I think so too,” he agreed, “but he’s clever. If Caratius’s workers saw anything, they were too frightened to say. The only thing we can prove about Dias was that he was in Londinium. And that’s using a witness who was drunk at the time and may be too loyal to testify.”

“And me,” put in Grata.

“I’ve been talking to this young lady, sir,” said Albanus, placing one hand on Grata’s shoulder with surprising boldness. “She is prepared to testify that Dias sent a false message to lure Asper and his brother to their deaths.”

Ruso had promised them both that he would see what the procurator said. The Albanus he had known back in the army would have been satisfied with that. These days he was confident enough to argue.

“Grata is being very brave, sir. She’s prepared to give evidence despite being threatened.”

“I know,” Ruso had said, “and I appreciate it.” The trouble was, he suspected nobody would want to listen.

The carriage lurched as the driver urged the horses forward. Valens gave the group on the mansio steps a cheery wave. Ruso raised a hand in farewell to Publius and his wife, and if Gallonius and Dias thought he was acknowledging them, they were wrong.

“What I was thinking,” said Valens, settling back into his seat, “was that if you aren’t taking that job, I might pop back while you’re all at the cemetery and have a chat with them about it myself. To be honest, things are a bit tricky with Serena at the moment, and a move might—”

“It’s not a job,” said Ruso. “It’s a bribe.”

Valens frowned. “Are you sure?”

Tilla said, “The handsome one you just waved to was your burglar. He has killed four people and we think the man who is in charge of these carriages was helping him. The fat one made my husband cover everything up because they do not want Rome saying they cannot govern themselves.”

Valens leapt up and hung out of the open doorway, narrowly missing a collision with a stack of wood as they overtook a lumbering ox wagon. “That chap back there was in my house?”

“He and the stable overseer killed Asper and his brother. Then he did away with the town finance officer and probably Camma as well,” said Ruso. “Not to mention having a crack at us too.”

“Jupiter almighty! So what are we going to do about it?” Valens looked as though he was ready to jump out of the carriage and confront him.

Ruso remembered when he had been that naive too. It seemed a very long time ago. “The plump one is a local bigwig,” he said, “and your burglar’s in charge of the town militia. The procurator won’t care as long as the money’s straight, so …” He stopped.

“But surely we should be able to do something?”

Ruso ran both hands through his hair. “Wait a minute.”

“This is outrageous!” exclaimed Valens, slumping back into his seat. “These people can’t go around murdering Roman citizens!”

“Or the rest of us,” put in Tilla. “What are you thinking, husband?”

Ruso was not ready to put it into words. He needed to go back over what had happened, seeing events through the new window that had just opened in his mind. He got up. “I need to talk to the money changer. Satto saw the money.”

“What are you—”

“Satto saw that money! That was what he showed me!”

“What money? Be careful!”

He had already leapt. He landed unsteadily on the side of the road, calling, “I’ll see you at the cemetery.”

“Where are you going?”

“I think I may have gotten it all wrong!”

71

W
HEN
T
ILLA LOOKED
back on their time in Verulamium, the things she would remember most were not the grand buildings or the busy markets, the sight of Camma nursing the baby beside the kitchen fire, or even the terror of waking in Suite Three to find that someone had tried to suffocate her. What she would remember was the funerals.

This was the last of them: a farewell to the woman who had drawn her into this and become a friend. Now Camma was following her lover to the next world: being sent off by a man who had married her, perhaps out of vanity, but certainly with no malice and perhaps even some hope of good.

A surprising crowd had turned out to watch the baby that still had no name see the flames lit for a second time. She supposed it had to be expected: Camma’s life had ended in scandal, and the number of onlookers, the sound of wailing, and the sight of the official carriages drawn up on the roadside was causing other travelers to stop and see who was being cremated.

There was another, more modest pyre already burning on the other side of the clearing. A little knot of mourners clustered around it defensively as the crowd and the noise swelled. Tilla approached one of them. “This was your child?”

“Six years old,” said the woman. “She had a fever.”

“I am sorry.”

The woman looked at the baby. Tilla was glad she did not try to touch him. You could never tell how bad luck might spread. The woman said, “Treasure that one while you can, sister.”

Six years old. Six years of caring for a child, only to lose her as so many were lost to illness and accidents against which neither midwife nor the Medicus had any power.

She had not yet found the right time to tell him that she had woken late in Serena’s room with a familiar dragging sensation in her lower belly and risen to confirm that the medicine had failed. She would wait until they were well away from this place to break the news that the child who lived only in their hopes was as far away as ever.

Tilla moved back toward the fresh pyre on which the slaves were laying the shrouded form of Camma. On the far side of the clearing, a squad of guards was forcing its way to the front of the crowd, making way for Gallonius, here to be seen yet again paying his respects. As if anyone was likely to care. She recognized Gavo and, behind him, lurking in the third row, Dias.
Even here,
she thought,
he cannot leave us alone
. She wanted to march up to him, wrench the spear from his hand, and shout, “That child over there was six years old! Is there not enough death and misery without men like you dealing out more?”

When the slaves had done their work, Caratius stepped forward and unwrapped the shroud to reveal Camma’s face. Dias was looking across the pyre with a smug expression. Tilla followed his gaze and realized it was aimed at Grata. Grata’s expression was sullen, but what could one woman do? As if he had asked and answered that question himself, Dias gave her a half smile and turned to say something to the man next to him.

The Medicus appeared on the far side of the circle, out of breath and seemingly lost in his thoughts. If he did not do something soon, their final duty in this place would be over. They would be on their way back to Londinium with a shameful tale of fear and deceit, but also with the news that the tax would be paid, which was very likely all anyone would care about. The procurator would accept the tax and then send the money north to pay the army, who were there to keep her own people under the emperor’s thumb.

If there was any honor in this place, it was very well hidden. She would be glad when the Medicus went back to treating the sick.

He was moving now. Striding across the grass to say something to Caratius, who looked surprised and annoyed, and who finally said something brief in return. Then the Medicus stepped aside and Caratius moved forward to stand at Camma’s feet, facing the pyre. The onlookers fell silent. Everyone wanted to know what a man could say to honor a wife who had abandoned him for a tax collector.

“You are Camma of the Iceni,” he announced, “and you were my wife.”

Someone close to Tilla put in, “Till she ran off with a thief!” and several people sniggered. The comedian, a short man with buck teeth, grinned and took a swig from a flagon. Caratius said, “You are beautiful in death as in life.” The comedian surfaced from the flagon and managed to get out, “And you stole our money!” before Tilla snatched the flagon and hurled it onto his foot. His howl mingled with the sounds of mourning from the other pyre.

Caratius was still speaking but nobody seemed to be listening. There was some sort of disturbance behind them. A dozen horses and riders had broken out of the woods and were thundering across the grass toward them. Someone shouted, “The Iceni!” There were screams of “The Iceni! The Iceni have come!” as the crowd scattered, mothers grabbing children and dragging them away in search of safety. Some headed for the slaves’ hut, some tried to hide among the graves, and others rushed back toward the road and the town gates. Valens and Serena had snatched up the twins and were running for the carriage. Dias was yelling orders to the guards, who gathered around Gallonius.

Suddenly Grata was standing beside Tilla, with Albanus firmly in front of them both as if he stood some chance of defending them. Caratius was left unprotected beside the pyre as the riders circled around it. Their eyes were fierce. Their scars spoke of old battles and their long swords of readiness for new ones. All wore rough clothes topped with thick leather jerkins to protect them against weapons, and it was a moment before Tilla realized that a couple of them were women. She stood her ground, trying not to be afraid. These were her friend’s people: the family she had summoned. One of the women had hair like Camma’s, and also like the baby she was clutching against herself in case the Iceni chose to seek revenge on the nearest people they could reach.

The Medicus had not run, either. He was walking around the pyre toward her when a rider with thick fair hair roared in British, “Who is responsible for this?”

Dias gave an order and the town guards raised their spears. They were probably wishing they too had armed themselves with their swords. Well, that was what happened when you groveled to Rome.

“You!” the leader shouted at Caratius. “We trusted her to you, old man.”

Caratius was looking stunned, as if he could not understand what was happening.

Tilla called, “This is not his doing!”

The leader turned to glare at her and gestured with a tattooed hand to Albanus to get out of the way.

Albanus visibly jumped with fright, but he stayed where he was. Tilla put a hand on his shoulder and stepped around him to stand beside the horse. “I am Darlughdacha of the Corionotatae among the Brigantes,” she told the man, using the name he would understand. “Sometimes called Tilla. I am the midwife.” She held up the baby. “And this is your kin.”

He did not bother to look at the baby. “You sent the letter.”

She said, “I had hoped to give you a happier welcome.”

The Medicus was almost beside her now.

“Who is responsible for the death of my sister?” He glanced at the Medicus, swung around, and jabbed the point of the spear against his chest. “You,” he said in Latin. “Keep still. Tell us why my sister is dead.”

From behind the safety of other men’s spears, Gallonius shouted, “Your sister brought shame on you. She deserted her husband and ran off with a thief.”

The Iceni had stopped moving about now. Everyone was listening.

“You’re the thief,” called the Medicus.

Gallonius’s body jolted in sudden outrage, or perhaps fear. “I am the one trying to keep order here!”

Ruso turned to Caratius. “He told me both your grandfathers were craftsmen, sir—they were metalworkers, weren’t they?”

Caratius nodded. “What of it?”

“His meat market is on the site of your grandfather’s workshop, and everyone knew about the buried silver. I think he found it after your own men’s digging disrupted the drainage.”

“Nonsense!” put in Gallonius. “I’ve never seen any silver.”

“You showed some of it to Satto and said it was your savings.” The Medicus turned to Caratius, talking faster and faster, trying to get his story out before he was stopped. “That’s how he knew the old money could be identified, so he started melting it down and making his own, but the forgeries weren’t good enough, so he forced Nico to switch them with the theater fund money—”

“Enough!” roared the Iceni leader, giving the Medicus a poke with the spear that sent him staggering backward.

Dias’s voice was calm as he said, “Your sister was killed by a madwoman. I saw what happened. It was an accident.” He pointed at Tilla. “The Brigante woman is not to be trusted. She’s married to that rambling foreigner and he’s one of the procurator’s men.”

The leader turned to Gallonius. “You! We are not interested in coins and silver. Explain why my sister is dead.”

“It was an accident,” repeated Gallonius.

The Medicus said, “No wonder he wanted all this covered up. He’s been systematically robbing his people and getting the captain of the guard and the stable overseer to do his dirty work. The baby’s father found out what was going on and they killed him. Yesterday they silenced Camma too.”

Now that Valens had stowed his family safely in the carriage, Tilla could see him hurrying toward them across the grass. The mother of the six year old had crept back to keep vigil beside her pyre.

Gallonius began to speak in rapid British, explaining to the Iceni that the procurator’s man had been interfering in local business, jumping to all sorts of conclusions, and demanding money. “You know how men from Rome like to throw their weight about,” he said. “Take no notice of him.”

“We will speak in Latin,” the leader commanded. “Did you order my sister killed?”

“Of course not!”

Dias said, “It was an accident. The old woman pushed her and she fell and hit her head.”

Tilla shouted, “You killed her!”

“I tried to save her,” said Dias.

The Medicus said, “You were the only one who saw what happened. You and an old woman whose mind is gone.”

The Iceni were looking toward their leader, waiting for him to make a decision. It was plain that he did not know whom to believe. That was when Grata saw her chance. “That guard is a liar,” she said, pointing at Dias. “He made me give a false message to lure two men to their deaths. Do not believe him.”

Dias’s handsome face was twisted with anger. “She’s a jealous bitch. Take no notice of her.”

Why was Serena standing in the doorway of the carriage, waving and pointing toward the road south? Why was Valens hurrying back toward her?

Tilla stood on tiptoe to crane past the riders and around the slaves’ hut, but she heard them before she saw them. Everyone did. The rumble of horses at full gallop. Before anyone could move, streams of cavalrymen in glittering armor swept through the cemetery and surrounded the graves, the hut, the mourners, the pyres, and the startled Iceni.