operating table. “We’re about to examine him in the hope of confirming what’s happened,” he explained. “Then if the magistrate could fill me in on—”
“Will that help you find the money?” interrupted Caratius.
“Possibly.” Ruso nodded to Valens to get on with it. He was about to usher the spectators to a position where they were no longer obstructing the medics and blocking the light when he caught the expression on Firmus’s face. He grabbed him by one arm and swung him around toward the internal door. “I think we’re a bit in the way here,” he announced, struggling to pull the pin out of the latch and wondering if his spare hand would have been better employed holding a bowl in front of the assistant procurator.
Behind him he heard Valens giving orders and the magistrate saying, “I think we should watch.”
“It’s very tedious, sir,” Ruso assured him, putting one knee to the door and jolting the pin out of place. He dragged Firmus through the lobby into the fresh air of the hallway. “If you could just keep your voices down, gentlemen, there are patients asleep upstairs …” Finally, with the door of Valens’s dining room safely closed, he continued, “Perhaps you could brief me about what’s been going on in Verulamium?”
Sipping a cup of Ruso’s wedding-present wine, Caratius sat very upright on one end of Valens’s uncomfortable couch and began to explain that he had been on the Council for many years just like his father before him, a man who was a respected leader of his people, eager to blend local tradition with modern ways, and whose own father had been educated in Rome …
Ruso supposed that explained the fluent Latin. Firmus, who must have heard this tedious preamble once already, sat on the other end of the couch and appeared to be more interested in keeping his lunch down.
Ruso tried to look as though he cared about the size of the Town Forum and the Council’s plans to build a theater and wondered how soon an investigator was allowed to interrupt a man who was the modern equivalent of a tribal chief. He was bracing himself to steer Caratius back to the point when he turned toward it by himself. It seemed the new men on the Council had refused to listen to the voice of experience when they voted to give Julius Asper the contract to collect the town’s taxes. They had allowed themselves to be dazzled by Asper’s glowing references, which were obviously forged, and—
“You mean that was obvious at the time?” interrupted Firmus, “or just after he’d disappeared?”
“Some of us never trusted him from the start.”
Ruso said, “When was the last time anybody saw him alive?”
Caratius’s account confirmed much of what Ruso already knew, except that his version of events included Asper removing the tax money from the town strong room before he set out. He had then collected a vehicle from the stables and headed south. The following morning the carriage had been found abandoned and there was no sign of either collector or cash. After the local inquiries had led nowhere, Caratius had come to the procurator’s office in the hope of hearing that the tax bill had been paid. “But I was right!” he announced, sounding more satisfied than stricken. “The man’s tried to make off with the province’s money.”
“Verulamium’s money,” Firmus corrected him.
Ruso said, “Isn’t it more likely that he was robbed on the way here? I can’t see why he would bother to steal from you. He must have been making a good living.”
Caratius gave Ruso a look that he had probably honed on rash young newcomers at Council meetings. “You didn’t know him as I did. I knew something was wrong as I soon as I heard he hadn’t taken any guards with him.”
“There was the brother.”
“Bericus was only his clerk.” Caratius indicated the chain-mailed native who was standing in the corner looking bored. “Normally he asked for three or four of our trained men
“Will that help you find the money?” interrupted Caratius.
“Possibly.” Ruso nodded to Valens to get on with it. He was about to usher the spectators to a position where they were no longer obstructing the medics and blocking the light when he caught the expression on Firmus’s face. He grabbed him by one arm and swung him around toward the internal door. “I think we’re a bit in the way here,” he announced, struggling to pull the pin out of the latch and wondering if his spare hand would have been better employed holding a bowl in front of the assistant procurator.
Behind him he heard Valens giving orders and the magistrate saying, “I think we should watch.”
“It’s very tedious, sir,” Ruso assured him, putting one knee to the door and jolting the pin out of place. He dragged Firmus through the lobby into the fresh air of the hallway. “If you could just keep your voices down, gentlemen, there are patients asleep upstairs …” Finally, with the door of Valens’s dining room safely closed, he continued, “Perhaps you could brief me about what’s been going on in Verulamium?”
Sipping a cup of Ruso’s wedding-present wine, Caratius sat very upright on one end of Valens’s uncomfortable couch and began to explain that he had been on the Council for many years just like his father before him, a man who was a respected leader of his people, eager to blend local tradition with modern ways, and whose own father had been educated in Rome …
Ruso supposed that explained the fluent Latin. Firmus, who must have heard this tedious preamble once already, sat on the other end of the couch and appeared to be more interested in keeping his lunch down.
Ruso tried to look as though he cared about the size of the Town Forum and the Council’s plans to build a theater and wondered how soon an investigator was allowed to interrupt a man who was the modern equivalent of a tribal chief. He was bracing himself to steer Caratius back to the point when he turned toward it by himself. It seemed the new men on the Council had refused to listen to the voice of experience when they voted to give Julius Asper the contract to collect the town’s taxes. They had allowed themselves to be dazzled by Asper’s glowing references, which were obviously forged, and—
“You mean that was obvious at the time?” interrupted Firmus, “or just after he’d disappeared?”
“Some of us never trusted him from the start.”
Ruso said, “When was the last time anybody saw him alive?”
Caratius’s account confirmed much of what Ruso already knew, except that his version of events included Asper removing the tax money from the town strong room before he set out. He had then collected a vehicle from the stables and headed south. The following morning the carriage had been found abandoned and there was no sign of either collector or cash. After the local inquiries had led nowhere, Caratius had come to the procurator’s office in the hope of hearing that the tax bill had been paid. “But I was right!” he announced, sounding more satisfied than stricken. “The man’s tried to make off with the province’s money.”
“Verulamium’s money,” Firmus corrected him.
Ruso said, “Isn’t it more likely that he was robbed on the way here? I can’t see why he would bother to steal from you. He must have been making a good living.”
Caratius gave Ruso a look that he had probably honed on rash young newcomers at Council meetings. “You didn’t know him as I did. I knew something was wrong as I soon as I heard he hadn’t taken any guards with him.”
“There was the brother.”
“Bericus was only his clerk.” Caratius indicated the chain-mailed native who was standing in the corner looking bored. “Normally he asked for three or four of our trained men
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