Free Terra Incognita by Ruth Downie Page A

manner of magic and mayhem in the name of religion. That’s another reason for keeping a watchful eye on their get-togethers.”
    Ruso decided this was not the time to request a gate pass to allow Tilla in and out of the fort.
    “Not everything you’ll hear about the Stag Man is true,” continued Metellus. “But as you’ll find when you’ve been up here awhile, what’s true is less important than what people believe.”
    “Well, I believe I’ve got a body to examine.”
    Metellus turned to head toward the steps, and waited for a man to lead a mule laden with firewood past before continuing, “So, we don’t want our men putting all that together with the murder and imagining there’s some sort of mad Druid revival going on right outside the gates.”
    “Where their families live.”
    “Exactly. It would cause unnecessary alarm.”
    It would also cause a serious discipline problem. The fine balance of the border would be a distant memory, and so would Metellus’s hopes of making a good impression on the new governor.
    As he followed him back toward the shambles that called itself a medical service, Ruso pondered the man from Rome. Average height, average weight, age somewhere between late twenties and midthirties. Being so unremarkable made him the sort of man who could notice things without himself being noticed. The sort of man who would have had written on his recruitment documents, “no distinguishing features.” An ideal man for special duties.
    “The trouble with the Britons, Doctor,” Metellus continued as they approached the twin gods of the infirmary, “is that you can never quite rely on them. But fortunately for us, the tribes have a long tradition of falling out with each other. In addition to which, some of them don’t take much notice of their own leaders.” Metellus paused. “So the last thing we need is a troublemaker who’s going to unite them.”

11
    R USO HAD ALREADY guessed from the shape what he was going to find when he pulled the sheet back, but it was still a shock. He dragged the sheet down to the end of the table and folded it with unaccustomed neatness while he struggled to control the urge to walk out of the incense-filled mortuary and fill his lungs with fresh air. He had been a fool to open his mouth in the prefect’s office. He should never have got himself involved in something like this. He understood now what the prefect had meant about Metellus helping with his report. This was some sort of ritual killing, and he was being asked to help cover it up.
    The wave of nausea passed. Regaining his composure, he turned to Metellus. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “Security,” said Metellus. “You never know who’s listening.”
    “So,” said Ruso, turning back toward the naked corpse which had been so thoroughly washed that any incidental evidence would be long gone, “Where is his head?”
    “We’re hoping to find it when we get hold of the murderer,” said Metellus. “Just tell us what you can from what you have here.”
    Ruso walked slowly around the table, examining what remained of the body from all angles, and glancing at the polished military belt and dagger that had been laid out beside him. “I’m not going to be able to do much with this,” he said. “Who cleaned him up?”
    “Audax.”
    Centurion Audax had gone to fetch the bowl of water and cloths Ruso had asked for, and which he now realized were superfluous.
    Ruso flipped open a note tablet and reflected that it was just as well Albanus was still some miles back on the road with Postumus and the other men from the Twentieth. The clerk would be deeply offended to find Ruso writing his own notes.
    “The victim’s name is Felix,” prompted Metellus, “And the cause of death is head injuries .”
    Ruso glanced up. “Without a head to examine, that’s rather difficult to prove. For all we know he could have been poisoned. Died of natural causes. Choked on a radish. This could have been done