Medicus mi-1

by Ruth Downie

  Ruso nodded. "I'll wait."

  The girl's room was much the same as before except that a stool had been brought in and set by the window. On the seat was a faded red cushion with a patched cover. Ruso wondered if Merula had supplied this comfort so his patient could sit and gaze out between the window bars, or whether the girl had slipped out and helped herself.

  Ruso glanced out at the street. The only people around were the woman at the bakery counter, a girl carrying a basket of eggs nested in bracken, and a small boy leading a goat. There was no sign of Merula's staff returning from their escorted bathing trip.

  Ruso settled himself on the rough bench and took out the Concise Guide. He persisted in carrying this one writing tablet, despite having his own clerk following him around like a lost dog.

  It had been a pity about that dog at the hospital, he thought. He should have been firmer in the first place. Made them give it away. Instead, it had fallen victim to the tidying urges of a man who seemed to have everything under control except his own bald patch. To be fair, the place was a lot cleaner since Priscus had returned. The hospital baths were neat, tidy, and hot. The wards were swept every morning.

  Buckets were filled, candles replaced, shelves stocked, and spills instantly swooped on by men clutching mops. In the drive to root out inefficiency, two more clerks had taken up residence in the records room and now the medical staff had to ask to see patients' files and wait to have them fetched. It was all very impressive, and Ruso supposed he ought to be pleased about it.

  He opened the tablet, slid the stylus out of its holder, and yawned. Glancing around at the bare walls, he wondered what the girl did in here all day. She did not seem to know anyone who would visit, which was unfortunate but not surprising. The ill-named Innocens must have traveled long distances with his trade. He could have picked her up anywhere in the province. Gazing out the window was all very well, but if she became idle and dispirited, it would slow her recovery. Fresh air and a short stroll to the baths three times a week would do her good, but in between times, he needed to find something useful to occupy her.

  What did women do?

  Claudia, as far as he knew, spent a few minutes each day giving orders to the servants and then went shopping, or sat exchanging mindless gossip with other wives, or tried a new hairstyle. When this became too tiring she retired to a couch with a selection of honey cakes and a scroll of trashy poetry. Since this girl had no servants, no money, and no friends, Claudia's example was not much help. With only one arm working she would not be able to fiddle with her hair, and the only use she would have for a scroll would be to light the fire with it.

  The little he knew about useful but sedentary tasks like spinning and darning suggested that they too needed both hands. After a moment of staring at the cracks in the plaster, Ruso realized that he did not have a clue what a servant would do all day if she were unable to work.

  He glanced back down at the blank sheet of wax. It was surprisingly quiet in here. Bassus, while he might have other unappealing habits, was not a whistler, and the crashing din of the construction sites had barely started. Most of the builders would still be at daily training with their units.

  Ruso yawned again and tried to remember what should come next in the Concise Guide. It was difficult to think concisely when one had not had more than three hours' uninterrupted sleep in the past three days. He put the stylus and the tablet down on the bench. He would just have a quick doze to refresh his mind before pressing on with his work.

  The blankets were folded neatly on the mattress. When he pulled them back, two apples tumbled out and rolled across the floor.

  The mattress was no less comfortable than his own, which was scant recommendation. He pulled a blanket up over his shoulders and closed his eyes.

  He was just drifting into a blissful sleep when he was pulled back into the room by the sound of something scuffling close by. He resolved to have a good look at the floor later. If he found any mouse droppings, he would demand a discount.

  A flurry of wings and frantic cheeping told him the noise was not mice. He opened his eyes. Small birds were squabbling outside the window. When he sat up they flew away. Rising to close the shutters, he noticed a torn scrap of crust and a scatter of breadcrumbs on the wooden sill. He reached through the bars and flicked the crust down into the street, then bent to blow the crumbs away before pulling the shutters across and latching them firmly against the bright morning.

  Before long he felt the peaceful floating sensation of a man vaguely and happily aware that he is falling asleep.

  He was dreaming in a world suffused with a gentle scent. In the dim light of the dream he could make out a woman sitting in front of him. She was wrapped in a dark blue shawl, and holding a splash of bright yellow flowers against a long blue tunic. She had blond wispy curls pinned back to frame a pretty face, and her eyes were closed. She seemed familiar, as strangers often do in dreams. Then he noticed that under the shawl, the hand holding the flowers was in a white sling.

  Ruso flung back the blanket, sprang to his feet, and clapped the shutters apart. The girl's eyes opened.

  "I was just waiting for you," he told her. "I need to check your dressings."

  In the improved light he observed that her color seemed better than yesterday. When she removed the shawl he also noted with approval that the tunic-which he supposed he would have to pay for-was not new but patched at the elbows.

  She reached through the bars to place the flowers on the empty windowsill before seating herself.

  The splints seemed to be undisturbed and the sling was providing even support all along the length of the lower arm and not cutting into the wrist. Whoever had retied it for her at the baths had evidently used some common sense. He said, "Where did you get the clothes?"

  She pointed at the floorboards.

  "Merula?"

  The curls bounced as she nodded.

  "I expect you to speak when I ask you a question, Tilla."

  She cleared her throat. "Yes."

  "Yes, sir, or yes, my Lord, or yes, Master."

  "Yes."

  Ruso sighed. He knew she knew better, but he could not be bothered to argue. Standing beside her, he began the list of daily observations.

  Hands and feet: cold-and the feet were far from clean. "Did you wear shoes to go to the baths?"

  The curls swayed sideways this time. "No."

  He would definitely need to explain some rules to Merula. He didn't need her all decorated until she was healthy. The money wasted on perfume and hairpins could have been usefully put toward a pair of winter boots, and the draft from the window suggested that she would need a cloak before long. Would he be expected to pay extra for a brazier in the room? He didn't know. What he did know was that owning a sick slave was just one expense after another.

  "Eating well?"

  "Yes."

  The color of the hand was normal. He took it between his palms.

  "Move your fingers for me."

  He felt them twitch more strongly than before and would have returned her flicker of a smile had it not been inappropriate. Instead, he said, "Very good," made a mental note to point out his patient's progress to Valens, and put her through the usual questions about bowels and urine and sleep and pain. Finally he said, "Right, let's take a look," and reached behind her neck to untie the sling.

  She began to roll back the sleeve of the tunic with her good hand.

  The woolen sleeve of the tunic was clinging to the surface of the bandaging. He moved closer to help. "If it's all doing well under here," he said, concentrating on unwinding the grubby outer bandage and careful not to be distracted when he accidentally brushed his arm against her breast, "we should be able to take the splints off in about twenty days."

  The outer bandage was removed. There was still no sign of infection.

  The smell was only of the cerate he had used in the dressing. The alignment of the splints was good. "So," he said, reaching into his case for
a fresh bandage, "before your arm was broken, what work could you do?"

  Again there was the flicker of a smile. "I grow wheat and beans," she replied with surprising eagerness. "I milk cows and goats. I make butter and cheese. I spin wool. I help when my mother brings out babies."

  "Anything else?"

  She hesitated. "I make blessings."

  He said, "Claudius Innocens… " and saw her eyes widen at the mention of her former owner, "said you were an excellent cook."

  The eyes met his. "Yes, my Lord."

  "Good!" he said, because he did not know anyone who wanted their garden tended or their cows and goats blessed, but an attractive and respectful girl with midwifery skills who was a good cook… He was glad, after all, that she had not seized her chance to run away. If he could get that arm fully functional, and if Bassus's judgment was sound, maybe Innocens's claim of four thousand denarii would not sound so ridiculous after all.

  32

  He was on the way to frighten Albanus again by arriving earlier than expected at the hospital when a voice called across the street, "Ruso! Just the man!" One of Valens's friends emerged from a side street, hurried up to him, and seized him by the arm. "You've got to help me, Ruso. We've got a bit of a problem."

  Ruso, who had already done this officer's job for him once by breaking bad news to Merula, offered only a cautious, "What sort of problem?"

  The man moved closer and breathed in his ear, "You know that derelict building over where they're putting the new shops up-the one that had the fire?"

  Ruso nodded. He had just left his purchase from that particular row of shops sitting in the drab little room at Merula's.

  "Well. A demolition gang went in yesterday and started pulling it down. When they were packing up to go home for the day one of them was looking around what's left of the back room and noticed an odd shape in the corner."

  "I see."

  "It's not an odd shape when you know what it is. It's a body."

  Ruso remained carefully impassive. To his relief, the man let go of his arm.

  "I don't know why this sort of thing always happens when it's me on duty," the man grumbled. "Now they want me to find some way to get rid of it."

  "Why didn't someone deal with it last night?"

  The officer scowled. "Because the idiots wanted to get back for their dinner instead of hanging around answering questions. So they decided not to report it till this morning." He glanced toward the street behind him. "I hope they had nightmares."

  "Well, it's a nuisance, but I don't see what it's got to do with me. Or you, in fact."

  "Ruso, it's Trajan's birthday. The town council are organizing some sort of do this afternoon. Priests in fancy dress parading about and slicing up animals. The legate's inviting important people to dinner. This isn't the day to announce that there's an unburied body lurking in the back streets, is it?"

  Ruso scratched his ear. The man was right. The news that a departed spirit was wandering loose in the town would cause an upset: the fact that its corpse had turned up during the honoring of a recently deceased emperor would be seen as a terrible omen. "Can't they wait a day and find it tomorrow?"

  The man shifted uneasily "How much do you know about ghosts?"

  "Nothing."

  "But would you want to annoy one?"

  "I wouldn't want to annoy whatever's left of Trajan either."

  "Exactly. We need to get out of this without upsetting anybody-or the ghost, if there is one-and the only way I can see is to give the body a decent send-off right away."

  "Fine."

  "Only we can't get anyone to do it because no one's allowed to know it's there."

  "What about the builders? They should be good at digging."

  "They're refusing to go near the place. They think it's bad luck."

  "The mortuary's no use," put in Ruso swiftly before the man could suggest it. "It's not private enough." Besides, admitting another unknown corpse would mean a fresh encounter with Priscus.

  "I thought if we could find out who it was," continued the officer,

  "we could ask a couple of its family or friends to come and shift it quietly, and then get the priests to purify the place first thing tomorrow morning so the builders can go back in. We just need to find out who it is without telling anyone it's there."

  "We?"

  "I've made a start. The family who used to rent the place are all alive and well and HQ's got nobody reported missing."

  "I don't see what else you can do."

  "It doesn't narrow it down much, I know. You see my problem."

  "Yes, but I don't see how I can help you with it."

  The liaison officer cleared his throat. "Neither do I," he admitted, "but you're the one who knows about this sort of thing. Even the builders told me to fetch the doctor from the hospital who investigates suspicious deaths."

  "I don't! And I'm supposed to be at the hospital by the seventh hour."

  "Oh come on, Ruso-don't be modest!"

  "Really. I'm not the least bit interested in investigating suspicious deaths."

  "But everyone thinks you are. Come on, man. Don't leave me on my own with this. We've all got to do our best for Trajan's birthday, haven't we?"

  Any faint hopes of being able to identify the body were dispelled as soon as Ruso's boots crunched across the debris-strewn site of the burned building. At first glance it was difficult to distinguish the human form, which was the same color as the blackened timbers in which it lay curled. He glanced back through the gap that had once been a doorway to see the liaison officer standing at a safe distance. "You didn't tell me it died in the fire!"

  The liaison officer winced. "Keep your voice down!"

  "How long ago was that?"

  "Sometime in late spring. The building was already boarded up ready for demolition so they didn't bother trying to save it. Just pulled down the one next door to stop the fire spreading and left it to burn. "

  Ruso glanced around him. The undemolished remains formed a chaotic jumble that reminded him of the collapsed houses of Antioch. This would have been one of the old single-story buildings: mostly wood with rough plaster, probably straw or dried bracken on the floor, and a thatched roof. It would have gone up like a torch. Anyone caught inside would have had to move fast, and whoever this was hadn'tmoved fast enough.

  He picked his way across the wreckage, testing the charred timbers to ensure they would take his weight, and crouched to take a closer look from a different angle. He was not sure what he was supposed to be looking for. Yes, it was a body. Yes, it was dead. No, there was no way even its own mother would recognize it. Ruso murmured a quiet assurance to its spirit that he came as a friend. Just in case.

  The liaison officer had untied his neckerchief to hold over his nose. He was making no effort to approach. Ruso scrutinized him for a moment, thinking. Then he unsheathed his knife and dug away a loose flake of charcoal. The fire had been fiercely destructive of human flesh but surely something must have survived that would give a clue to the identity of the body. A knife, a belt buckle, a cloak pin… maybe nails from the boots… All of these were things that could have been found by anybody prepared to make the effort. All were things that Ruso should be finding, and wasn't.

  "Any ideas?"

  Ruso shook his head. "I really haven't got much to go on here." He straightened. "And I haven't the faintest idea whether it's suspicious.›You'll have to…" His voice trailed into silence. He bent down again and poked at something with the point of his knife, then reached forward and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. Then he dropped it into his palm, spit on it, and tried to rub away the soot.

  "What have you got?"

  Ruso sheathed his knife and made his way over to the liaison officer. "I can't tell you who it is," he said, glancing around to make sure no one in the street could hear him, "but I think it's a female."

  "Another one? Gods, that's the second one found this month. And you've no idea at all who it is?"r />
  "I'm a doctor, not a fortune-teller," said Ruso, skirting the question rather than admit a tentative thought that he would be investigating tomorrow. "Whatever they tell you, I don't investigate deaths, suspicious or otherwise. You'll have to start asking around in the morning."

  "Damn. It's going to have to stay here till then, isn't it?"

  "Unless you have a better idea," said Ruso. Unable to resist, he added, "Good luck finding somebody to guard it."

  33

  Ruso nodded to Aesculapius and then to Decimus the porter on his way into the hospital. He was going to have to talk to Decimus, but not now.

  Albanus seemed relieved to see him. It was now well past the seventh hour, and the clerk seemed to think the patients lining up along the benches were blaming him for the delay.

  Ruso had strapped a broken finger and dismissed its owner with instructions to send in the next patient when an expensive smell wafted into the surgery. He looked up. "Priscus! Are you ill?"

  "Fortunately, no," was the reply. "But I do need to see you."

  "I'm busy."

  "Of course. Perhaps you would be good enough to drop by my office when it's convenient?"

  "Later," said Ruso, not specifying a time.

  Priscus closed the door. Ruso pictured him gliding away down the corridor, perfuming the rest of the hospital.

  He was occupied with patients for most of the afternoon, but a discreet inquiry as he slipped out of the fort-avoiding Priscus-suggested that the public celebration of Trajan's birthday had been a success. No rumors of ill omens seemed to have reached the men on duty at the east gatehouse. If the liaison officer had bothered to mount a guard, it must have been very discreet.

  Relieved that he would not have to face questions about a cover-up, he hurried down the street toward Merula's. It occurred to him as he strode through the scatter of bruised petals, fallen leaves, and animal droppings, which marked the course of Trajan's birthday parade, that he would not normally visit a broken arm twice in one day. On the other hand, neither would he normally lodge a female convalescent above a disreputable bar guarded by two ex-legionaries intent on a quick profit.