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Albanus had fallen out with his woman. What he wanted to know was where Candidus was, and he wanted to know it before the lad’s uncle arrived and asked the same question. The letter was dated two weeks ago. Albanus could be here at any moment.
    “He’ll turn up,” said Valens. “If he doesn’t, Albanus can look for him. And I’ll see to Pertinax. You’re having a night out tonight.”
    “I know.”
    “You don’t seem very keen.”
    “I’m not.”
    “Stay here, then. We’ll get the food brought in. Invite the lovely Tilla and your, ah . . .” Valens paused. “I’ve never quite known what to call her.”
    “Virana,” Ruso reminded him, although as to what she was . . .  Ah was probably as good a word as any. Virana was neither a slave nor a freedwoman. She was most definitely not a concubine. Nor, at this rate, was she ever going to persuade some hapless legionary to call her his spouse. There was no word for a pregnant stray whom my wife took in without consulting me , and if there was a word for and she is worryingly attractive, which is why I try to avoid being alone with her , he was certainly not going to speak it out loud.
    “Well, we can invite her if you like.”
    “We can’t,” said Ruso, well able to imagine Virana’s excitement at an invitation to dine inside the fort. “I have to go and meet some of Tilla’s people. And I’m late,” he added, knowing he could not put it off any longer.
    Valens shook his head. “No good comes of mixing with the wife’s friends and relations.”
    “I know.”
    “If you’re eating somewhere decent, can you have some sent in for me? I can’t leave the father-in-law.”
    Ruso cleared his throat. “Actually I’m going to the house.”
    Valens’s eyes widened. “A native house? At this hour?”
    “I’ll have Tilla as protection,” Ruso assured him. “We’re staying overnight.”
    Having demonstrated his nonchalance, he paused with one hand on the door latch. A man on a dangerous mission should leave details of his plan with someone back at base. Just in case. “It’s only about half a mile. West on the main road, over the stream, up the hill, and turn left before you get to the camp.”
    Valens looked even more surprised. “I thought the lovely Tilla had barely a soul in this world, and one of them lives just down the road?”
    “I know,” Ruso confessed. “It struck me as a remarkable coincidence too. The old man’s a friend of the family. He saw her at market and mistook her for her mother.”
    “Ah.”
    He had begun now; he might as well edge toward the part that was really worrying him. “Have you heard about the old man who sings to trees?” The moment he had said it, he wished he had not.
    “The crazy man?” Valens was going to be no help at all. He was enjoying this.
    “Tilla says he’s not crazy. He’s just very traditional.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “That’s what I asked. She said, ‘You’ll see.’ ” He paused in the doorway. He could not tell Valens, any more than he could tell Tilla, about his discreet enquiries with Security. The old man was deemed to be harmless, as were two of his sons—one because he had been killed in the troubles a couple of years ago, and the other because he was only nine years old. But the name of Conn, the eldest, turned up in watch lists all over the place. He said, “I’m just not sure why he’s bothering to make such a fuss of her now when they never really knew each other.”
    “Because she’s turned up practically on his doorstep?”
    “Or because he thinks she’ll be useful to him in some way. You’re sure you don’t want to go back to Magnis tonight? I’ll stay here and see to Pertinax.”
    “Absolutely not,” Valens assured him. “I want to hear what happens.”

Chapter 6
    Ruso pulled his hood down over his eyes and strode on, perhaps the only man on the wall who was glad that it was nearly dark and starting to rain yet again. The patrol who had just