Tabula Rasa by Ruth Downie Read Free Book Online Page B

how to place, took it and brought it across to him. Ruso nodded his thanks. As he drank he could hear Virana whispering, “Why don’t they want to learn Latin?”
    Tilla murmured, “I think they already know some.”
    “Then why will they not speak it to the master?”
    It was Tilla’s turn with the beer. When the cup had gone back to the old man, Ruso heard, “Because they want to stay Corionotatae.”
    “But they are Corionotatae.”
    “They don’t want the children to forget where they come from.”
    “But how will they get by without—”
    Tilla’s “Sh!” almost covered the sound of Senecio’s announcement that it was time to eat and that their guest should be served first.
    Enica stepped forward again.
    Virana hauled herself up from the bench. “I’ll do it!”
    Enica paused, ladle in hand, and looked to the old man for instruction.
    Tilla seized Virana by the wrist. “Sit down!”
    “But you said I was to help!”
    “Enica will do it.”
    Virana pushed her hair out of her eyes and slumped back down. “I never know what helping I’m supposed to do and what other people are there for.”
    Moments later Enica had done her duty and Ruso had realized that she must be the old man’s wife, and Branan’s mother, and that was perhaps why she was less than thrilled at her husband inviting the daughter of his old flame to eat with them. By the time he had worked this out he found himself with his own beer and nursing a thick wooden bowl filled with stew at the temperature of molten lava.
    He had assumed the woman would go on to serve everyone else, but instead she served only Senecio and then stepped back. Senecio gestured to him to begin. Evidently the foreign guest was expected to eat first.
    Ruso glanced around. He had attended all manner of dinner parties, most of them reluctantly, but never before had he been expected to put on a display of eating for the rest of the diners. Tentatively, he licked the bottom of the spoon.
    A child’s voice declared, “He doesn’t like it.”
    Someone said, “Sh!”
    “Give him a chance!” hissed Branan.
    He glanced at Tilla. She made a small scooping motion with one hand. Was this some sort of a test? Tilla had urged him to eat. He must not let her down. He lifted the spoon again.
    There was a soft shuffle of feet and fabric as his audience shifted to get a better view, and he was struck by the thought that they might be trying to poison him.
    The edge of the spoon seemed cooler now.
    There was a brief moment between the tasting and the burning, a further brief moment in which he thought that a gulp of air would help, and then the pain in his mouth was gnawing its way down his throat and into his chest.
    “It’s very good!” he gasped. “Very—” He must have snatched at his beer, because much of it seemed to miss his mouth and course down his chin.
    “Very good!” he repeated, wondering if the Britons knew the story of the Roman prisoner who had died after being force-fed with molten gold.
    “He likes it!” declared someone.
    He saw smiling faces at last. The child who said, “He made a mess!” was ignored, and Enica busied herself serving everyone else. So he probably hadn’t been poisoned, then. But if he thought the difficult part was over, he was wrong. Senecio had been softening him up.
    “We hear, healer, that you are a friend of the emperor.”
    Gods above, how had that rumor reached the ears of an old man in a mud hut? It was the last thing Tilla would have told anyone, even if it were true. And it was the last thing he wanted these people to believe. Ruso emerged from another swig of beer and said, “Not exactly, sir. We have met.”
    “I have another fine and handsome son waiting for me in the next world, sent there by the emperor’s men during the troubles.”
    “I am sorry to hear that, sir,” said Ruso, who was not supposed to have seen the security report.
    “My family and I would like to know,” said Senecio, “why the