Medicus mi-1

by Ruth Downie

  Perhaps he should leave the bedroom door open, just in case there was some very quiet wailing and cursing going on.

  Perhaps not.

  He had more important things to do than waste his evening wondering what his servant was up to.

  The trouble with women was that no matter what you did, they were never satisfied. Instead of being grateful for the efforts made on their behalf-sometimes quite considerable, and at no small inconvenience-they chose to pick on one small matter that had not been attended to, and complain about it.

  What else was he supposed to have done about that girl? Stride into the bar and demand that Merula hand her over? What Tilla did not seem to understand was that in the absence of an official complaint by someone willing to take up her case-which Ruso certainly wasn't, since the girl was none of his business-no one was obliged to do anything at all about Phryne. Not tonight, not next week, not ever.

  In the meantime, while the medicus to the Twentieth sat in the wavering light, pondering the welfare of local barmaids over a cup of wine and a bellyful of chicken stew, there could be a frightened legionary lying injured out in some dark and distant outpost, unable to summon even a bandager, wishing to the gods that either he or his companions knew something about first aid.

  Ruso straightened his chair, cleared his throat, and began to fill the central leaf with writing.

  He wrote steadily to the foot of the wax, read it through, and was correcting it when he heard the front door open. He and Valens grunted a mutual good night and moments later he heard the other bedroom door shut. There was no sound from the kitchen.

  Ruso flipped the wooden leaf over and began to fill the other side.

  He was surprised when a distant trumpet sounded for the next watch, which told him he had been writing for a couple of hours now.

  The lamp was starting to sputter as he finished the last sentence. He pushed the wick down to conserve the oil, propped the tablet beside the lamp, and reread his work. It was good. He slapped the tablet shut and put it back on the top of the pile. He would get Albanus to make a clean copy in the morning.

  His thoughts returned to Tilla's concern for Phryne. She had a point.

  The girl's situation was not a happy one, and it would doubtless be getting worse with every hour she spent in that place. At least, though, she had the protection of being the daughter of a freeman. The law would-eventually-help her in a way that it would never have helped Saufeia, or Asellina, or the unfortunate Daphne. Neither the law nor the army offered any hope to slaves whose owners expected them to work as prostitutes. Their only choices were to cooperate, kill themselves, or run away. And if the escape went disastrously wrong, there seemed to be few who would care. He hoped the business about the hair had whetted the second spear's appetite for investigation. And that Phryne would not take it into her head to run away tonight.

  Ruso picked up his cup of wine. He blew out the struggling lamp before the flame scorched the dry wick and headed for the door.

  He stood for a moment, breathing in the warm air of the dining room. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he could make out a bundle huddled on the couch, faintly outlined by the dull glow of the dying embers in the fire. He held his breath, but he already knew how quietly she slept. He could hear only a faint crackle of burning and the thud of his own heart. He took a step forward.

  There was the rustle of fabric and the bundle moved. "My Lord?"

  He groped for a taper and knelt to push the end into the embers. "That business this afternoon, Tilla. The near miss."

  "Is not an accident, my Lord."

  "Whatever it was, you did well. That's all. Go back to sleep now."

  "Good night, my Lord."

  The end of the taper caught into a yellow flame. He lifted it out and set it to the candle on the table.

  "My Lord?"

  "Yes?"

  "I know you try to help Phryne."

  He paused, candle in hand, by the kitchen door. "I am sorry if you were hoping for more."

  "I am not hoping for anything, my Lord."

  Ruso poured himself a cup of water in the kitchen. / am not hoping for anything, my Lord. Considering the fortunes of the slaves he had come to know since moving to Deva, that was hardly surprising.

  He paused by the couch on his way back to the bedroom, setting the candle and the water on the table. "Before you sleep, Tilla," he said, "I have something to ask you. No-" he held out a hand, "don't stand up."

  She pulled the blankets around her shoulders, curled her feet in beneath her, and stifled a yawn. The dog must be sleeping on Valens's bed: There was room beside her on the couch. Ruso chose the edge of the table instead. One of his feet brushed against something. He glanced down to see two small boots set in a neat pair. "I have been told more than once," he said, "that Saufeia could read and write."

  "Yes, my Lord."

  "There is something people are not telling me."

  She frowned. "I am telling my Lord everything he asks."

  "I want to know why it matters. Does it have something to do with what happened to her?"

  From outside the house the sound of boots on gravel rose and rapidly faded as the guard relieved from the last watch took a shortcut on their way back to bed.

  "What about the other girl? Do you know anything about that?"

  "Asellina. She ran away."

  "Was she meeting someone?"

  "Her man says it is not him. Nobody knows another man."

  "What do the girls think happened to her?"

  "Nobody knows anything, my Lord."

  "And what about Saufeia? Does anybody know anything about her?"

  She did not answer.

  "Merula isn't going to hurt you, Tilla. She's no fool. She wouldn't dare touch someone else's slave."

  Her hair was loose over her shoulders. She began to twirl a strand around her forefinger.

  "You told me about Phryne, and something will be done about it. If someone would tell the truth about Saufeia, perhaps something could be done about that too."

  "The truth will not bring her back."

  "The truth may save some other girl from the same fate."

  There was a crackle from the grate as the embers shifted and sent up an orange fountain of sparks. The finger stopped twirling. "The truth I know, my Lord," she said, "is not enough. You will ask more questions, and people will hear the questions and know I tell you, and the person who tell me will be very sorry."

  "The person who tell-who told you is Chloe, isn't it?"

  "Whatever you say, my Lord."

  "You are a very stubborn woman."

  "Yes, my Lord. Whatever you say."

  He shrugged. "I'm not staying up to argue. In the morning, I want you to tell me."

  He was almost at the door when he heard her voice, low and urgent. "Nobody knows who Saufeia's letter is to, my Lord. Nobody knows what it says. To ask questions is to dig in a wasps' nest where there is much danger and nothing to eat at the end of it. Saufeia is gone to the other world. Leave her in peace."

  As Ruso pulled up his blankets and pinched out the lamp it occurred to him that he was lucky to be blessed with a sensible friend like Valens. And a strong sense of logic. Otherwise, he might be thinking that the fire had not been an accident or a haunting but the work of someone who did not like him asking questions. Someone who had forced open his ill-fitting shutters and tossed something burning onto his bed.

  57

  "No file copy, sir?" Albanus looked surprised. "Just one for me. I'll have the notes back with it when you've finished."

  Albanus turned over the top leaf of the Concise Guide. "There's quite a lot of work here, sir."

  "I'll see you're rewarded," promised Ruso, reminding himself that it was only three days until payday.

  "Oh, I didn't mean that, sir!" Albanus seemed genuinely shocked. "Three pages is nothing. What I mean is, I wouldn't recommend keeping the only fair copy and the notes together in one place. If there's a fire, or the roof l
eaks over them, you could end up having to start all over again."

  "Are you telling me," said Ruso, incredulous, "that you keep file copies of everything?"

  Albanus shook his head sadly. "No, sir. There isn't room. We have a list of priority items to keep, which end up in HQ-men's records, that sort of thing-and the rest is stored for a time depending on what it is, and then burned."

  Something stirred at the back of Ruso's mind. "And is that just the hospital, or the whole fort?"

  Albanus blinked. "I think that's what everyone does, sir. You simply can't keep everything, there wouldn't be space."

  "So a letter that came in would be kept for-how long?"

  "I don't know, sir. I could find out. I suppose it depends on what it is.

  And obviously there's no control over personal letters to the men."

  "Ah." Of course. Even if Saufeia had addressed her mysterious letter to a legionary boyfriend, she was hardly likely to have been corresponding via the official post. He was not thinking clearly.

  "They just go on the daily lists," added Albanus.

  Ruso stared at him. "Daily lists?" he repeated. "Are you telling me someone sits down with the post sacks and makes a list of every letter received in the fort?"

  Albanus nodded. "Ever since a letter got lost that told the camp prefect his mother had died, sir. There was a bit of a fuss. So now if it comes through the gate, it gets noted down-recipient and sender-and signed for."

  "And who has access to these lists?"

  "The HQ clerks, I suppose, sir. To be honest I don't think anybody looks at them much. It's one of those things you don't need because you've got it."

  Ruso scratched his ear. "And how easy would it be," he asked, "for someone to make a discreet inquiry?"

  "For someone like you, sir? I think the clerks would want to know why you were looking. In case you were going to put in a complaint about them."

  "I see."

  "But you wouldn't need to do it, would you, sir?" Albanus's face brightened. "You've got me."

  58

  Ntilla had deliberately left the baker's for last and now, as she rounded the corner, there was Lucco sweeping the opposite pavement in front of the drawn shutters and the red writing on the wall. The boy sloshed a bucket of gray water across the stones, picked up the broom, and chased trickles of bobbing dirt down crevices toward the street drain.

  Tilla glanced up and down the street and checked that the upstairs window of Merula's was shuttered. "Lucco!"

  The boy gave the broom a final swish and looked up. "You've missed them," he said. "They've gone to the baths."

  The goddess had granted her prayer: Bassus was safely out of the way. She moved closer to Lucco so she would not be overheard, "Do you know if Phryne was with them?"

  The boy shrugged. "Dunno."

  "No," said a voice. Strong fingers clamped around her bandaged arm and Bassus slid out from behind the shutters. He told Lucco to get lost. The boy scuttled into the bar. "Phryne's feeling a bit under the weather this morning," said Bassus.

  Tilla felt a stab of pain as he squeezed her arm.

  "Nice of you to ask, though."

  She dared not move. She had thought the goddess would keep her safe. Now it seemed she was expected to manage on her own.

  "Surprised to see me, are you?" he asked. "Stich took the girls out this morning."

  Two women with baskets were standing chatting at the bakery counter across the street. Tilla announced loudly, "You are hurting my arm!"

  One of them turned.

  "I am not afraid of you!" she added, ashamed that the words were not true.

  Bassus followed her gaze to where everyone had now stopped talking to watch what he was doing.

  "If you hurt me," added Tilla, struggling to keep her voice level, "my master will have you punish with the law!"

  There was a sharper stab as he pulled her against his chest. " 'Round here, girl," he hissed, "I am the law."

  Before she could decide whether to scream, Bassus burst into laughter and released her. "It's all right, ladies," he called to the audience across the street, holding up both hands in mock surrender. "Just a lovers' tiff."

  He turned back to Tilla. "Cheer up, gorgeous. You're worth too much to damage. Me and your doctor friend done a deal, did you know that?"

  "You are lying."

  "Am I? I'm going to introduce him to some people I know. We should get a good price for you."

  She stared at the man's heavy, seamed face. She took a deep breath.

  "My master will never deal with a man like you!"

  Bassus shrugged. "Ask him yourself." He cocked his head to one side and examined her face. "What's the matter?" He smiled and shook his head. "Oh dear, oh dear. Gone soft on him, eh? You thought he was going to keep you, didn't you?"

  59

  "Here you are!" declared Valens, settling himself on the wooden lid of the row opposite Ruso in the hospital latrine. "I'll tell them I haven't seen you."

  "Who?"

  "Apparently the second spear wants your balls roasted on a spit."

  Ruso washed the sponge out in the water-channel, shook it, and tossed it back into the bowl. "Any particular reason?"

  "Seems he spent a whole afternoon looking for a kidnapped girl."

  Ruso pulled his tunic straight and adjusted his belt. "Good. So what's the problem?"

  "The problem, Ruso, is that when they found her she insisted she wasn't kidnapped at all."

  Before he could reply, an orderly appeared in the doorway and exclaimed, "There you are, sir!" as if he too thought Ruso had reason to hide.

  Ruso sighed and waited for what he knew must be coming. But instead of an urgent summons to report to the second spear, he was told there was a veteran waiting to see him at the east gate.

  "Tell them to take a message," said Ruso.

  "They said he wants to see you personally, sir."

  "I'm busy. If he wants to see me he'll have to come back after the tenth hour."

  The orderly disappeared. Ruso dipped his hands in the basin, shook off the water, and headed for the surgery.

  Albanus handed him the record for the first patient and returned to perch on his stool by the door. Ruso surveyed the notes from the recruiting panel. Under "Lucius Eprius Saenus, age twenty, height five feet eight inches, medium build, distinguishing features, scar on left temple," the scribe of the recruiting panel had written: "general physique satisfactory, eyesight good, hearing good, teeth-three missing in upper jaw, two in lower, genitals normal, no sign of disease, feet not flat." The examining doctors at the recruitment panel had already done most of the work. Ruso's job was merely to prod Lucius Eprius Saenus in places he didn't wish to be prodded again, look at places he still wouldn't want looked at, and generally confirm that his health had not deteriorated since he had been confirmed fit to join the army. This performance would have to be repeated for the other twenty-two stubble-headed recruits lined up on the benches in the hall, all of whom would resent him by the end of the afternoon, but not as much as they would loathe and dread their centurions by the end of the week. Almost as much, in fact, as Ruso was dreading his next encounter with the second spear.

  "Right," said Ruso, opening his case and extracting a tongue depressor. "Let's get started."

  Albanus leaned out the door and said something to someone. An orderly who was evidently afraid the recruits had gone deaf bellowed,

  "FIRST MAN TO SEE THE DOCTOR!"

  A pale and skinny youth in a loincloth appeared in the doorway and stood to attention.

  "Come in," suggested Ruso. "I can't see much of you from out there."

  The youth entered and stood to attention before the desk. His flesh was goosepimpled. His eyes roved over the array of instruments in Ruso's case.

  "Lucius Eprius Saenus," said Ruso, closing the case. "Strip."

  The youth looked at him as if he didn't understand the instruction.

  Ruso gestured toward the loincloth. "The army
needs to see all of you, Saenus."

  "Yes, sir," agreed the youth, not moving.

  "That's an order."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, what are you waiting for?"

  The youth swallowed. "I'm not Lucius Eprius Saenus, sir."

  Ruso glanced at Albanus. "You're not?"

  "No, sir."

  "Well why didn't you say that in the first place?"

  "You didn't ask."

  Ruso got to his feet and walked in a slow circle around the youth, who was clearly a couple of inches short of five feet eight. There was no sign of a scar on the temple. "Who are you, then?"

  "Quintus Antonius Vindex, sir."

  Albanus bent down and began to scrabble through the records box.

  "Quintus Antonius Vindex," continued Ruso, "have you ever heard the expression, rhetorical question?"

  "No, sir."

  "No. Well, the correct answer to Why didn't you say so in the first place? was, Sorry, sir."

  "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

  Albanus had given up scrabbling and was now kneeling in front of the box, pulling the records out and heaping them onto the floor.

  "Go and find Saenus," Ruso suggested to the youth. "I'll call you in when I'm ready."

  They must have realized the mistake outside, because Ruso was still returning to his seat when the next man entered.

  "Lucius Eprius Saenus?" inquired Ruso, rereading the description carefully and taking no chances this time.

  "Do I look like it?" demanded a familiar voice.

  Albanus leaped to his feet with the eagerness of a man seeing a chance to redeem himself. "You can't come in here!" he cried. "The doctor's busy!"

  "I can go where I like 'round here, mate," retorted Bassus. "Know a lot of people, don't I?"