Medicus mi-1

by Ruth Downie

  He was almost there when a female voice shouted, "Doctor!"

  He looked up. A pregnant belly, followed by its owner, also clad in vibrant yellow and blue check, was lurching across the street toward him.

  "Doctor!"

  The woman, who was wearing only one shoe, halted and glanced down at his case again. "Doctor?"

  Ruso closed his eyes briefly and dreamed of a world where women stayed quietly at home and sewed things and understood the value of Modesty and Obedience-not to mention Not Turning Up Dead Under Suspicious Circumstances. When he opened them again, he was still in Britannia. He said, "Do you need help?"

  "Doctor!"

  "Midwife?" he suggested. Perhaps he had an immediate use for Tilla after all.

  A vigorous shake of the head suggested exasperation as well as denial.

  She stabbed a forefinger into his chest, then waved her arm back in the direction he had just come. "Hospital."

  "From the hospital, yes."

  "Hospital!" She turned her head aside and spat in disgust.

  "Ah," said Ruso, feigning understanding and wondering whether her guardians knew she had escaped.

  "Soldier!" The arm waved back toward the fort and then indicated her own large form. "Soldier!" she repeated.

  Ruso shook his head in a manner which he hoped looked suitably regretful, and lied. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "Tell her he'll marry her," prompted a voice from across the street. Ruso looked up to see a veteran seated behind a workbench. "She'll only have to wait twenty-five years."

  "Eyes!" declared the woman, ignoring him.

  It was not the word, but the gesture, that sparked Ruso's sudden attention. "Eyes?" he queried, repeating the gesture so that both hands gradually shaded his vision. He wished he could remember the man's name. "The signaler? You're the signaler's girlfriend?"

  She nodded. "Signaler! Hospital! Pah!"

  Another blob of saliva spattered onto the stones. He turned to the man, who he now realized was mending the woman's other shoe. "Can you speak British?"

  "Not me," replied the man, not looking up from his work. "Time they all learned a civilized language. We've been around here since Nero was in nappies."

  Ruso glanced in both directions, but the only people around seemed to be off-duty soldiers and a slave who was discovering that the street was too narrow for the oxcart he was attempting to lead down it.

  "How near are you to finishing that shoe?"

  The man lifted the shoe to his face, bit through a thread, and held it out. "Done."

  Ruso turned to the woman. "Come with me."

  He knew where to find a translator.

  "Tilla!" Ruso called up to the barred window with the little pot of yellow flowers on the sill.

  Stichus, lounging by the entrance with his arms folded, eyed the large form in vivid check before wrinkling his nose and turning to Ruso.

  "Merula won't want that one, Doc. We got one that shape already."

  "I need to see Tilla," said Ruso, just as her face appeared behind the bars. "Tilla? Come down here."

  Moments later she threaded her way between the tables, ignoring the attention of several occupants who seemed keen to engage her in conversation and one who offered to kiss her arm to make it better.

  Not wishing to entertain Stichus any longer, he led both women away from the bar. By the time they reached the fountain, a rapid and energetic exchange in British had made his first question redundant. Stop!" he ordered. "Now that we know you understand each other, I want to know who she is and what she wants."

  "She is woman of the Cornovii," replied Tilla, seating herself on a bench without asking his permission. Ruso placed himself at a suitable distance and the woman settled on the other side of Tilla and peered around at him.

  "A woman of the who?"

  Tilla reached out her good arm and swept it in an arc to indicate their surroundings. "All around here is Cornovii land. Until the army take it away"

  "I take it that's not what she's come to complain about?"

  "Her man is Catuvellauni. They are a tribe who try to take over-"

  "I know who they are," said Ruso, who had ridden through the pleasantly civilized lands of the Catuvellauni tribe on the way north from Londinium, but was no nearer to understanding what this woman wanted.

  "Her man is here in the legion," continued Tilla, in a tone that suggested this was nothing to be proud of, and adding, "He is soldier whose eyes are fading. She says, Are you the doctor who say he can go to have his eyes mended?"

  "I said we could try. It's a risky procedure. He understood that."

  "She wants to know," said Tilla, "why you change your mind."

  "I haven't changed my mind."

  Tilla conveyed this to the woman, who had plenty to say in response. "She says," was the translation, "that her man tells her the new Doctor sends him to Londinium to mend his eyes and he shows her the letter-"

  Ruso had given the signaler a copy of the referral letter, not because he needed one but because it gave Albanus something else to do.

  "And she has packed all the bags and taken her son to her sister's house and borrowed money to go with him and more money for lodgings and today he goes to collect his…" Tilla frowned. "Something to say he can go on the road?"

  "Travel warrant."

  "He goes to collect the travel warrant, but the officer will not sign because he is not going. So now he is in trouble with his centurion for not saying his eyes are fading and she has two children and a blind man to care for and everything is worse than-" She broke off, interrupted by the woman. For a moment the two of them were trying to talk over each other. Finally Tilla swiveled around to turn her back on the woman. Her mouth was clamped shut. She folded her good arm over the sling.

  "Perhaps," suggested Ruso, " you would be good enough to translate?"

  "She is a very rude person."

  "That is for me to judge."

  "She says things about you. I say you are a good doctor."

  The signaler's girlfriend splayed her knees to accommodate her belly and leaned farther out from her seat. Ruso found himself being glared at by two women. He got to his feet. "Tell her," he said, "that I am going back to the fort and I will have her man report to me immediately."

  Tilla stood and relayed this message with an impressive air of hauteur, then reported, "She says he did not send her and she wants to know what you will say to him."

  "Tell her," replied Ruso, "that what I say to my patients is confidential. And that insulting a Roman officer is a very serious matter. She should learn to curb her tongue."

  The signaler looked pale when he showed up at the hospital. His tone veered between respectful and aggrieved as he explained the mysterious reversal of fortune that had fallen upon him. His centurion was now issuing a request for a medical discharge, but not before he and the comrades who had covered up for him had completed a month of ditch digging fueled by nothing but barley bread and water as punishment. Possibly in an attempt to avert further disaster, he apologized on behalf of his girl. She might, he said, have been "a bit overexcited" due to the circumstances and her condition.

  It was dusk by the time the signaler had gone. Albanus offered to fetch a light, but Ruso told him not to bother and dismissed him for the day. Gathering up his medical case, he wondered what the signaler's girl had actually said, and whether he should insist on a translation, but then dismissed the thought. He was responsible for a mass of family debt, a sick slave, a list of hopeful patients he often didn't know how to help, and now word had got around that he had insulted the second spear by undermining his investigation into the suspicious death of the barmaid. In a moment he was going to have to sort out this business about the travel warrant, and tomorrow he would have to have a quiet word with Decimus. That was not going to be a pleasure for either of them. He had enough to worry about without wasting time on the opinions of hysterical women.

  34

&nb
sp; Contrary to Priscus's own policy, there was a yellow glow from beneath his office door. Ruso, hoping the man's expensive smell had faded during the afternoon, took a deep breath of fresh air before knocking and entering. "Priscus," he said, relieved that the smell was not as bad as he had feared, "I don't know what you want, but I want to talk about cataract surgery."

  Priscus indicated the folding chairs. "Do please sit down, Doctor. I was wondering at what time I might have the pleasure of your company."

  "I recommended a patient for examination by a specialist," said Ruso, snapping open the taller of the two chairs and ignoring the hint that it was his own fault Priscus was being forced to use artificial lighting. "Now I'm told his travel warrant has been refused. Perhaps you could explain."

  "Ah."

  "That was a medical decision."

  "Indeed."

  "We've had this discussion before."

  "Indeed we have, but-"

  "I believe I made my position quite clear."

  "Perfectly. And I made clear to you that I would appreciate being consulted before costly decisions are made."

  "If you had been here," pointed out Ruso, "I would have mentioned it. As it was, nobody could tell me when you'd be back and the surgeon's heading off to Rome at the end of the month. If the auditors don't like it, you can blame me. Now can we stop playing games and get this travel warrant signed?"

  Priscus leaned his elbows on the desk and placed his fingers together at the tips. "I'm afraid this is a rather delicate matter."

  "We can sort the delicacies out after he's gone."

  Priscus sighed. "I realize that the decision was made in my absence, before we had our little talk. I was only made aware of it yesterday when the man's centurion referred the sick leave request back here to confirm your signature. Evidently he had not realized we had a new doctor. Under the circumstances, I would not normally have intervened. Especially since you are particularly sensitive about this sort of thing. However, as you may be aware, I have the honor of supervising the Aesculapian Thanksgiving Fund."

  Ruso grunted. This was no surprise. Priscus seemed to have the honor of supervising everything remotely connected with the hospital.

  "The fund," Priscus continued, "is used to pay for items or services of benefit to the patients that it is not possible to cover within the normal hospital budget."

  "Of course. Is this relevant?"

  "I believe loaning out amounts that are currently surplus to the needs of the fund represents good stewardship."

  "So do I. I borrowed some of them."

  "I was delighted to note," continued Priscus as if his speech had been prepared in advance, "that in my absence you took advantage of the very favorable terms we can arrange."

  "Is that some sort of a problem?"

  "No. No, indeed. Although of course we do have to make sure that should the funds be required for an emergency, they can be swiftly replenished."

  Ruso leaned back in the chair. "Are you telling me," he said, "that you've managed to lend out so much money we can't pay for one man to visit an eye surgeon?"

  "No, no! Of course not. Although, if I had not been away on business, I would have made sure the present level of the fund was checked before the loan was granted."

  Ruso shrugged. "If the auditors pick it up, I'll tell them it wasn't you who handed out the cash. And by the time the bill comes in from the surgeon, we'll be past payday and you'll have your money back."

  "Thank you." Priscus reached for a writing tablet. "I'm afraid I must ask you to sign another voucher. Just a formality, of course, but we do have to show that we have some sort of guarantee."

  "What for? The pay clerks can subtract the money from my bonus."

  Priscus's lips twitched. "Of course," he said. His teeth appeared in a smile. "But in view of the second loan you arranged yesterday, based also on the emperor's bonus, I think it would be wise."

  Ruso blinked. How in the name of all the gods did Priscus know what he had been doing at headquarters yesterday?

  "Rest assured that this is entirely confidential, Ruso."

  Was that smile supposed to be reassuring?

  "But you understand, with such a substantial loan, certain inquiries have to be made. Normally the inquiries would stay within the cashier's office, but since we have now won our battle to keep the Aesculapian fund largely under hospital control-"

  "Priscus, if this is some sort of turf war between the Hospital and HQ-"

  "Of course as your colleague on the hospital staff, I said nothing to the cashier's office that might cause you any difficulty. I thought you might prefer to settle this matter between ourselves. But as you see, that then leaves me in an awkward position. If we are to retain control of the Aesculapian fund for the benefit of the patients, the auditors will want to see that correct procedures are followed and some form of security is agreed for the loans."

  "I see." He saw only too clearly. He saw that Priscus was wondering why he was borrowing large sums of money He saw that he did not have his father's cunning and if he was not careful, his attempts to save the family from the legacy of that cunning would quickly prove disastrous.

  "Of course if you would prefer," Priscus was saying, "we could ask the camp prefect to authorize a suspension of the normal conditions."

  Ruso had to admire the way the threat had been made to sound like an offer of assistance. "As you've no doubt been told," he said, "I'm in the process of replacing my household effects." It struck him that he was starting to talk like Priscus. "But I do have an excellent library of medical texts," he said, "which I think you'll find more than outweigh the value of the loan."

  Priscus hesitated. "There would be a slight difficulty there."

  "Really?"

  "The market for medical texts is a little-restricted. Valuable, of course, but not instantly salable. I'm afraid the auditors would be looking for something that could be turned into ready cash should the need arise."

  "It won't."

  "Of course not. As I said, this is just a formality." Priscus's lips drew back to show his teeth again. "I'm sure we can think of something suitable."

  Ruso could, but he was not going to admit to owning the title to the farm. If he did that, it would only be a matter of time before someone-and Priscus was bright enough, and nosy enough-would put everything together and realize how many layers of loans rested on that one small patch of land in southern Gaul.

  Priscus moved a candle closer and made a show of rereading the loan docket. "We really don't want to trouble the camp prefect if we don't have to, do we?" Still reading, he ran one hand lightly over the top of his head, as if to make sure all was firmly in place, and then glanced up.

  "I believe you do own a girl?"

  "She's a liability."

  "But rather attractive, I hear."

  There seemed to be very little Priscus had not heard.

  "She would fetch a good price."

  "Not immediately."

  "No matter. As you say, the need will not arise." The teeth reappeared. "Shall we say the girl, then, Doctor?"

  Ruso gave Aesculapius an especially careful nod on the way out and hoped, as he often did, that the god did not have the power to see into his thoughts. Was using the girl as a loan guarantee any way to repay the divine being who had kept her alive at his request? On the other hand, perhaps Aesculapius was in charge of the whole business. The god of healing was working beyond his usual field: He had looked ahead and saved the girl for the very purpose of helping Ruso solve his family's cash problems.

  Ruso made sure he was well clear of the hospital before he allowed himself to admit a suspicion that the figure in the hall did not care one way or the other.

  35

  Ruso yawned and put the Concise Guide — which had advanced precisely three lines this evening-away in the trunk. As he turned he caught sight of his purse on the bedside table. It occurred to him that the blue glass bead he had removed from the body was still inside. He had mean
t to leave the bead in the mortuary for the night, but this evening's clash with Priscus had driven the plan from his mind. He was too tired to tramp over there now. The thought that it could bring bad luck had been a superstitious whim and one of which he was faintly ashamed. Fear, he mused, was definitely contagious. And sometimes convenient. He had no doubt that the builders were frightened of the corpse, but they had probably enjoyed the day off work.

  As he rolled onto his side he felt a series of small movements around him. The puppy that had scrambled onto his bed while he was writing must have sneaked under the covers. He stretched one arm out and felt for the latch on the door. The puppy could make its way out later if it wanted. Finally settled, he yawned again and pulled the blankets up over his shoulders. Valens was on call tonight. What a lot of things a man didn't need when he could feel delight at the simple prospect of an uninterrupted night's sleep.

  Ruso had no idea how much time had passed when he found his mind being dragged to a place it didn't want to go by something bouncing around on the bed. He wriggled in annoyance. There was a yelp and a skitter of movement across the floor. Reluctantly his mind registered that whatever it was had gone away. The word puppy drifted past him. Wretched dogs. Moments later he thought: This is one of those dreams where you think you are awake. He must make some notes on it in the morning. Dreams were interesting. Many people claimed to have been healed during dreams.

  This dream was not about healing. It was full of barking dogs. In it he reached up and pulled the pillow around his ears. Dream or no, Valens would deal with it. It was Valens's job to get up, silence the dogs, and put out the-great Jupiter!

  Ruso opened his eyes and scrambled out from under the covers. Fire!" he bellowed, grabbing his pillow and beating at the flames that were shooting up from the

  foot of his straw mattress. "Fire! Valens! Wake up!"

  36

  The tunic was a pleasing color. Blue suited her. Rianorix from the next valley had told her so. Of course she had ignored him and walked on, because she could do better for herself than an apprentice basket maker and because the last time she had smiled at a compliment, the giver had burst out laughing and demanded payment from his friends. Her response had won him his bet. But Rianorix's words had stayed with her. "Blue is a good color for you, daughter of Lugh."