Buried Too Deep

by Jane Finnis

  Timaeus nodded. “Yes, Phokas, it will. Of course it’s flattering that people are coming to see me from so far away, but usually it would be better for the sick folk to get help nearer home.”

  Well perhaps, but I didn’t blame people for beating a path to Timaeus’ door. There wasn’t another healer like him for many miles around. “Can you do anything for him?”

  “We’ll do what we can.” He turned to his two assistants, who were both young, but as different in appearance as chalk from cheese. The elder, Phokas, was a slave whom Timaeus was training, about eighteen, stocky and strong, with broad shoulders, powerful hands, and intelligent brown eyes which missed nothing. The younger boy was Timaeus’ son Spurius, a slim, handsome lad of only eight. With his fair curls and fine-cut features, he looked too delicate for the hard physical work of a doctor, but he was determined to follow his father’s profession, and had a child’s callous lack of squeamishness concerning blood and gore.

  “Well, boys,” Timaeus said, “this is the second bad wound I’ve had to treat today, and it’s serious because the patient is unconscious, and has clearly lost a lot of blood already. Let’s see how much you’ve learned. Phokas, what’s the first thing we need to do?”

  “Find out if the bone is broken,” the dark lad answered promptly, “because how you treat the wound will be different if you’re dealing with a fracture at the same time.”

  “Quite right. And then?”

  “Wash the cut with vinegar, to get rid of dirt and dried blood.” The thought of how painful that would be made my stomach tighten, and I was glad Belinus wasn’t conscious.

  “Good,” Timaeus agreed. “What next?”

  Spurius said, “Cut away any of his leg that’s in—in…”

  “Inflamed,” Phokas supplied. “Especially any flesh that’s dried up, which might mean gangrene.”

  “Yes, inflamed,” the boy agreed. “Inflamed flesh is bad and will stop the good flesh healing up. Clean it all again, then stitch the edges of the cut together with wool thread, like you did that man’s arm this morning.”

  “No, not stitch,” Phokas objected, “the cut’s too big. We must use some of the little metal clamps to fasten it. But I don’t think we should clamp the wound tonight. It’s sure to need cleaning again in the morning, and there might be more gangrene. We should make a temporary dressing of lint, then bandage it but not too tightly. And bandage those ribs too, and try to make him drink something to give him calm sleep. Look, he’s started tossing about like a ship in a storm.”

  Timaeus smiled. “That last suggestion will be easier said than done, but otherwise you’re quite right. If we fasten up a bad wound permanently straight away, we run the risk that there may be tiny pieces of dirt, or even bone, or perhaps a blood clot left in there still, which will fester overnight and poison his whole body.”

  Spurius asked, “Papa, do you really think that’s a sword cut? How did he get it?”

  “Let’s not worry about that now. Get busy, both of you, fetch everything I need onto the table. A bowl of vinegar, a sponge, clean cloth, lint, bandages, a small hook, a knife…and what do I rub into the bandages? Spurius?”

  “Honey. And you want a spatula to spread it.”

  Timaeus turned to me, smiling. “See what a useful pair of apprentices I’ve got, Aurelia? Soon they won’t need me at all.”

  I smiled back, trying hard not to show how queasy all this was making me feel. Yet at the same time, a part of me was fascinated by the doctor’s skill. I knew he wasn’t callous about his patient, just detached and professional. I also knew that if anyone could save Belinus, Timaeus could.

  I watched as the boys collected what they needed. All the instruments and medicines were neatly ranged on stout wooden shelves around two walls of the room. There were the medicines themselves, clay flasks of liquid and alabaster jars of ointments and powders, each one neatly labelled, along with a variety of cups, bowls, dishes, spoons and small jugs. There were rolls of bandage and pieces of lint, balls of wool, piles of cloths, and trays of small instruments, clean and ready for use. The larger tools, mostly fearsome in appearance, hung on the third wall. I recognised knives, hooks, forceps, a bone-saw and a drill. I couldn’t identify all of them, and preferred not to try.

  “Timaeus, I don’t want to be under your feet while you’re working, but there’s something I need to tell you. The young man who brought him in said his name’s Belinus, and before he lost his senses, he asked to speak to me. Made quite a point of it apparently, although I can’t think why, because I’m sure I’ve never seen him before. But I promised I’ll talk to him, so if and when he wakes up, could you let me know, and I’ll come straight here.”

  “Of course. The lad said much the same to me, so it must be something important. But I don’t see Belinus regaining his wits any time soon. What if it’s in the middle of the night when he wakes?”

  “Send for me anyway. I don’t want to miss…I mean if there’s only one chance to talk.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  “Will you watch by his bedside?”

  “Probably, if his fever doesn’t improve. Phokas and I will take turns. Ah, good, you’ve got everything ready, boys. Then we’ll begin.”

  They began. I left.

  Back in the bar-room I helped myself to a beaker of red wine without adding any water, to quieten my quaking stomach. The party was now cheerfully noisy, with toasts to the birthday boy, and to practically everyone else in the room. As the night wore on, they even drank to me, so of course I had to return the compliment, but by then I was adding water, and plenty of it. It was all very respectable really. Here in the wilds of Britannia we don’t go in for the exotic orgies they claim to have in Rome. They spent enough, and drank enough, to make it a good birthday, and about midnight we shepherded the locals off home, and our own guests across the courtyard into the guest wing.

  There was still no message from the doctor, and as I got ready for bed, I sent a quick prayer to Apollo to give Belinus a restful night’s sleep.

  Chapter II

  He must have had a reasonable one, because nobody came to summon me to his bedside. I rose at dawn as usual, and I strolled outside as I always do to savour the peaceful early morning. As I went to stand under the oak tree in the forecourt, I noticed with pleasure how it was coming into leaf. Oaks are always among the last trees to wake after the dead months of winter, but once they do, you can be sure that spring is here to stay.

  I looked in at Timaeus’ house and found him on watch beside Belinus’ bed.

  “No change in our patient, Aurelia,” he greeted me. “He’s slept the night through, if you can call it sleep, but it doesn’t seem to have done him much good. He’s still very feverish.”

  I looked down at him, as he tossed and turned on the bed. “That wounded leg looks more swollen than before. Is the bone broken?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Timaeus sighed. “We found the beginnings of gangrene last night. There’ll be more diseased flesh by now, I expect. I hope I don’t have to amputate, but it may come to that. When Phokas wakes up, what I’ll do…”

  “Thanks, I’m happy to leave the details to you and Phokas. I haven’t had my breakfast yet.”

  He grinned. “Sorry. Nor have I, now you mention it. Could you tell Margarita I’ll be over for something to eat as soon as Phokas relieves me here?”

  “Better still, why don’t I ask her to send you something on a tray? I’m sure you could do with it.”

  His face lit up. “Thank you, yes, I could. But won’t she be busy with all the guests?”

  “I doubt if they’ve surfaced yet, after the amount they all put away last night.”

  I was right there. Margarita was in the kitchen as usual, and the breakfasts were ready, but nobody had appeared to eat them yet. She was brisk and cheerful as always, but there were dark circles under her eyes. Perhaps she had helped her husband nurse Belinus? I really couldn’t object to t
hat, as long as she didn’t become so tired it affected her work as housekeeper. All the same, it made me slightly uneasy.

  “Good morning, Margarita. You know, I could have sworn we had some overnight guests staying. Don’t say they’ve left without their food?”

  “Still sleeping off their hangovers. It was a good evening, wasn’t it?”

  “It was. I’ve just looked in on Belinus, and Timaeus asks if you can send him over a bite of breakfast, so he doesn’t have to leave the bedside.”

  “I will. I’m afraid it’s touch-and-go for poor Belinus.”

  “He’s in the best possible hands. Now, can I do anything to help?”

  “Yes please, if you’ve time. There’s a fair bit of clearing up to do in the bar-room after the party last night. If you’ll keep an eye on things in here and the dining-room, I can be getting on with that. Everything’s ready to go, I think. Plenty of fresh bread, goat’s cheese, cold sausage, and the usual Rhodian wine.”

  The bread was still warm from the bakehouse, and the smell of it made me hungry, so I took the chance to snatch a bite or two myself. I’d just finished the last mouthful of cheese when footsteps and voices in the dining-room next door announced that it was time to serve breakfast.

  I went to bid them good morning while the maids brought in the food. They looked remarkably fresh, all things considered, apart from the birthday boy. He refused food and wine and asked for a beaker of water, but with a smile. “Good wine you serve here. I just wish I hadn’t had quite so much of it.”

  I said I hoped they’d all slept well, and everyone nodded, except the joker Curtius. “I’d have slept better,” he answered, “if it hadn’t been for the bed bugs.”

  “The bed bugs?” I almost dropped the jug of wine I was handing round.

  “That’s right. There weren’t any. I felt so lonely, I’d a job to sleep at all!”

  We all laughed, though I privately hoped the next bed he slept in would contain bugs the size of mice. But he became serious when they started comparing their travel plans, and soon one of the others mentioned rumours of trouble on the roads further east, towards the coast. There were raiders, he’d heard, based near the shore and picking off travellers who hadn’t got enough men to protect themselves.

  I couldn’t help thinking that any raiders who robbed Curtius of his cheap merchandise might feel they’d wasted their time. But it seemed unlikely they’d try, because he assured everyone he was well prepared, with four strapping bodyguards to protect him and his mules. All the same I noticed he became thoughtful and didn’t crack any more jokes till the meal was over. Of course I don’t approve of raiders on the roads, but it just shows they can occasionally be good for something.

  The younger of the soldiers, the one who hadn’t celebrated his birthday, turned to me. “You’re the one with the local knowledge, Aurelia. What do you think, should we be worried, or are these just rumours?”

  Yesterday, I’d have said bluntly that I thought the stories were just the kind of over-embroidered tales that seasoned travellers use to scare one another, like children in the night telling stories of horrible giants and monsters. But for a heartbeat, I heard in my head the young carter’s words of the evening before: “The way things are now, I don’t like to be gone from the farm for long, especially at night. You never know what’s going to go wrong when your back’s turned.”

  “I’ve heard some very vague rumours too,” I admitted, “but nothing substantial, and none of our customers have reported any problem on the roads. It never hurts to take care, but I’m sure you’ll have no trouble. I visit the wolds quite often, and it’s quiet country, peaceful and safe.”

  Which just shows how easy it is to give wrong information even though you’re trying your best to be helpful.

  The guests went their various ways, and I strolled outside and did my morning rounds. This is an old habit of mine, because I like to keep a personal eye on the outside work. The stables hardly need it, because my stable-master Secundus is an ex-soldier and likes to keep everything “fair and square and cavalry fashion.” But there’s our farm as well, and my farm manager Ursulus is competent, but sometimes inclined to cut corners. And, well, I just wouldn’t feel the day had started properly if I hadn’t had a walk round outside.

  The stable yard was as busy as a beehive. The horse-boys were hard at work feeding and mucking-out the animals that we kept in the stables at night, except for two who were cleaning tack, and one who was taking grain out to the big paddock, where several of the brood mares were receiving extra rations. Secundus was in the smaller paddock, examining a mule’s hoof. He let it drop as I approached, and stepped smartly back as the animal aimed a kick at him before trotting away, limping slightly.

  “Pesky brute,” he grunted. “It’s a bit lame, which has made it even worse tempered than usual.”

  “Anything serious?”

  He shook his head. “Just a bruise. I’ve had me eye on it since it came in yesterday. I’ll see to it.”

  “Good. All the others look in good shape.”

  He smiled. “They are. We should have a grand crop of foals this year.” Our herd of good black riding-horses is my pride and joy, my own special contribution to the farm. We’ve gained quite a reputation in the district, particularly among settlers, who want to ride something a bit livelier than the little native ponies.

  “That reminds me, Secundus. Isn’t it today that one of the new settlers from the wolds is coming over to buy a couple of yearlings?”

  He nodded. “Ostorius Magnus. He’s due sometime before noon. Do you want to show him what we’ve got for sale, or shall I do it?”

  “I’ll give him a beaker of wine and have a chat with him, then hand him over to you. It’s always useful to meet other Romans in the area. I gather he’s just taken over a place near my sister and her husband. You’re clear on the prices, aren’t you?”

  “I am. But before you go, I had some news yesterday about our Victor.”

  “Good. How is the lad?” His son Victor, known to all of us as Titch, was a favourite with everyone. He was in the army, a cavalryman as Secundus had been, so we only heard from him now and then. “Has he got his posting to Germania? I know he’s anxious to see service outside Britannia.”

  “No. He’s coming home.”

  “Really? He’s done well to get leave at this time of year. Mostly they’re all out on manoeuvres if they’re not actually fighting. When’s he arriving?”

  “I don’t rightly know.” He sighed. “Could be any day.”

  There was something wrong here. I expected Secundus to be overjoyed at the prospect of seeing his son, yet his expression was strained and unhappy.

  “What is it, Secundus? Is it bad news?”

  “Aye, very bad. The letter I got was from Victor’s commanding officer, saying the boy’s taken a serious wound in his left arm. A real bad one. The doctors have patched him up, and he’s well in himself, but he’s lost the use of his hand. He’s going to have to leave the army.”

  “Oh, Secundus, no! That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

  We looked at one another, sharing the sadness of it. Ever since Titch first came to work for me years ago as a young horse-boy, his ambition had always been to join the cavalry. He’d enlisted as soon as he was old enough, and by all accounts had made an excellent trooper, quick-thinking and brave. He’d been commended on a battlefield by a general, and had already been rewarded with promotion beyond most young men of his age. He’d done, in fact, just what we’d all expected of him. If he had to leave his chosen career, it didn’t bear thinking about.

  I searched for something helpful to say. “Maybe Timaeus can find the right treatment for him.”

  “I doubt it, if the army doctors can’t. They’re the best medics in the Empire.”

  “They are, but none of them are better than Timaeus. We mustn’t give up hope. Was he wounded in battle?”

  “Aye, in a scrap with so
me barbarians north of the frontier. Apparently his unit was ambushed, and the standard-bearer was killed by an arrow. Victor saw the standard fall on the ground. He galloped over to it, and had to dismount and drop his shield to pick it up, and while he was down two native horsemen came at him. He’s been trained to fight on foot of course, we all are. But you’re easy meat for mounted men when that happens, especially with no shield. He was knocked unconscious, still hanging onto the standard though, and two of his mates came and got him away, standard and all. Only by that time someone’s horse had trampled on his shield-arm, above the elbow.”

  “Broke it, presumably?”

  “Well and truly. And damaged the nerves, they think, because although the bone’s mended nicely, he’s got no use in his left hand now. He can’t hardly move the fingers of it. That’s what his commander says.”

  “If he saved the standard, he’s a real hero. You must be proud of him.”

  “I am, very proud. But sad too, mind.”

  “So am I. Well, you know there’s a job for Victor here, for as long as he likes. It won’t be what he wants, I realise that, but perhaps it’ll give him a breathing-space while he…” I trailed off. While he what? Got better? Or didn’t get better, but came to terms with being a civilian? “…while he finds something else,” I finished lamely.

  “Thanks, that’s a start, I suppose. But you’re right, it won’t be what he really wants. I hate to think what this’ll do to him. His officer says he’s taken it hard.”

  “He’s tough, though. Tough and smart.”

  “Often it’s worse for the strong ones.” Secundus had a faraway look, perhaps remembering injured comrades from his own army days. “Well, we must all do what we can to help.”

  “You can count on it.”

  I finished my rounds and went into my study to do some paperwork, but I found I was restless and couldn’t settle to it. In all truth it doesn’t take much to distract me from dealing with bills and orders, but the bad news about Titch, and the odd request by Timaeus’ patient to talk to me, gave me food for thought. I was relieved when a knock at my door gave me an excuse to put down my stylus.