Free Caveat Emptor by Ruth Downie Page B

law-abiding, tax-paying citizen of Rome, a senior magistrate and Elder of the Catuvellauni who breeds the best horses north of the Tamesis.”
    When this did not shame Ruso into apologizing, he turned to Firmus. “The woman is a known liar, sir. Anyone in the town will tell you.”
    Aware of how irritating it sounded, Ruso said, “It’s my job to consider all the possibilities.”
    “While he’s considering, sirs,” chipped in Valens, “my staff will have the body dressed and ready to be taken away in a few minutes.”
    Everyone turned to look at Firmus, who said, “We can’t have a body polluting the Official Residence!”
    “I can’t take him,” said Caratius quickly. “I can lend you my guard and a couple of slaves, but I’m staying with a friend who’s a priest of Jupiter. He can’t be polluted by having a body in the house, either. Besides, the man’s a common thief.”
    “How about the fort?” Firmus suggested.
    “You might be able to order it, sir,” explained Ruso, “but they won’t take any notice of us.”
    Firmus did not look confident that they would take any notice of him, either. He turned to Valens, who insisted that he would be happy to help, “… but we don’t have the facilities, sir. I’m afraid the other patients—”
    “One night won’t hurt, surely?” put in Ruso. “His wife can see to the funeral in the morning.”
    “Hah!” Caratius seemed to find this particularly irritating. “That’s what she calls herself now, is it?”
    Ruso’s patience was wearing thin. “For all we know, the man could have been killed trying to defend your money.”
    The magistrate ignored him and spoke to Firmus instead. “Sir, the province has been the victim of an organized gang of thieves.”
    “Not the whole province,” Firmus reminded him.
    Caratius sighed, as if he was about to say something distressing for both of them. “My people are loyal subjects of the emperor, sir. They handed over their money in good faith—”
    “And now one of your people has pinched it.”
    “Not one of us, sir. A hired man from the Dobunni tribe. We will do everything we can to help, but—”
    “You could have helped by taking the body,” Firmus pointed out, getting to his feet. He turned to Ruso. “I’m going to have to talk to the procurator.”
    “Anything else we can do, sir,” Caratius insisted. “My people are outraged. The province has been robbed.”
    As they were leaving Firmus turned to Ruso and murmured, “Are all the Britons as awkward as this?”
    “I’ve not had many dealings with the Southerners before,” Ruso confessed. “I hope not.”

15
    C AMMA ’ S WHITE FACE was already blotched with tears when Ruso ushered her and Tilla along the landing past the piles of trunks and boxes topped with Valens’s old legionary helmet, still impressively polished.
    The apprentices had done a good job. The limewashed store at the end of the corridor above the surgery had been hastily emptied of junk and cleared of dust and spiders. A lamp stand had been fetched from the dining room to provide a living flame at the foot of the bed, which had been propped up at one end to support the body of Julius Asper. The bed, as Valens had pointed out when he insisted that the tall apprentice surrender it, was not necessary for the comfort of its occupant, but for the consolation of the bereaved.
    Ruso had braced himself for a howl of native grief, but Camma entered the little room in silence.
    With his face washed, his hair tidied, and the damage to his skull out of sight, Julius Asper looked almost peaceful.
    Camma began to speak in British. Her voice failed. She tried again.
    “She is asking for a comb,” translated Tilla, confirming what Ruso thought he had understood. “I will fetch it.”
    When she had gone Camma knelt on the rough boards of the floor and reached out. She flinched as her hand made contact with the cold fingers.
    “He wouldn’t have known what was happening at the end,”