by Ruth Downie
All three occupants of the room looked up as he burst in: the naked, sweating, and breathless woman squatting on the floor and the people either side of her, holding her by the arms.
"You'll be all right," one of them assured her. "The doctor's here."
In reply the naked woman grimaced, flung her head back, and gave a terrible groan of pain. It was the pain of a woman in labor. Instead of Tilla, Ruso had found Daphne. He glanced around the room, mystified. "What are you doing here?"
"She can't give birth in the bar, can she?" retorted one of the girls supporting Daphne. "So they've dumped us back here, out of the way. We don't know what to do."
"It's stuck," added Phryne, who was holding Daphne's other arm.
Ruso stared at Daphne. He was an army surgeon. He was a medic.
He was a man. A man who knew the limits of his knowledge, and a difficult delivery might well be beyond them, even if he had his case with him. "Where's the midwife?"
"On another call," explained the girl grimly.
Ruso lifted a candle from its stand and squatted in front of Daphne. "I'm just going to take a quick look and see what's going on," he explained.
It was worse than he had feared. It was not even a breech. What he could see of the child was not a head nor a pair of buttocks, but a tiny hand. The baby was wedged sideways. There was no way to bring it out at this angle. If it would not turn, he would have to improvise a scalpel with the knife slung at his belt. And someone would have to decide which should be allowed to live: the mother or the child.
Before he could say anything, the cords in Daphne's neck tightened, her mouth opened, and she let out another long and piercing shriek, as if all the pain and horror of her mutilation were finally being released to reverberate around the room.
There was a brief silence as Daphne paused for breath. He put his hand on her arm. "Try not to push," he urged. "I'm going to get help." He had no idea how much Tilla knew about delivering babies. He prayed that it was more than he did.
He realized where he was on the way back to find Priscus. They had put Daphne in one of the rooms that looked out onto Merula's narrow back yard: the private living quarters that joined onto the building behind. The bedrooms used by Merula and the doormen.
It was becoming clear to Ruso that he had underestimated Priscus. The man's tentacles stretched far beyond the hospital. It seemed that the administrator employed the doormen at Merula's. Quite possibly he controlled Merula herself. What had the civilian liaison officer said? Invest in a bar by all means, but don't get involved in running it. It won't go down too well higher up. With the help of his builder, Priscus had contrived a private entrance through which his every appetite could be indulged while his respectable front door remained unsullied by the taint of the bar trade.
Ruso heard the administrator before he saw him. The man was still protesting, the pitch of his voice rising with fear. Bassus, not distracted by Daphne's screams, had him pinned against the wall of the living room. Priscus peered around as Ruso approached. "Ruso! Help me! He's gone mad! He'll kill me!"
Ruso addressed himself to Bassus. "If we don't get Tilla in there in the next few minutes," he said, "Daphne will be dead and so will the baby. That's not going to help your retirement fund."
"See?" grunted Bassus, making a sudden movement that resulted in a howl of pain from the administrator. "He's not going to help you. He's on my side. Where is she?"
With something like a sob, Priscus said, "She's quite safe. I promise. Let me go."
Bassus tightened his grip. Priscus gasped.
"Where?" demanded Bassus.
Priscus seemed to be having trouble getting the words out. "In the-in the storeroom. Behind the shop-" The sentence ended with a shriek.
"Which shop?"
"Next door!" screamed Priscus. "The basket maker's!" He twisted awkwardly to look across the room. "That key on the hook."
73
Tilla had sat exhausted on the floor of the little storeroom for some time, wondering what to do next. She did not understand why the officer with the many long words and the odd hair had ignored her requests to send a message to the medicus. Nor did she understand why he had brought her to this place outside the fort. She knew where she was. Even if she had not recognized the route from the glimpses afforded by a badly tied blindfold, she would have guessed from the rattle of the brittle willow wands that rolled away beneath her as she sat down.
It must be dark outside now. The shop had fallen silent. She had heard the shutters being dragged across and the clank of the lock. It seemed no one would come for her until morning.
Then, not long ago, there had been shouting and banging nearby. She thought she recognized the voice of the medicus. She had leaped up and begun hammering on the door. "My Lord! It is Tilla! I am here, my Lord! Help me!"
From somewhere outside there was a loud crash, and then the voices faded. No one came. Perhaps it was not him. Perhaps he would not have helped her anyway
Not long after that came the sound of voices raised in anger. The words were muffled by the stone of the wall. She could not make out what was happening.
Her captors had left her necklace in place. She ran a forefinger along the smooth curve of one of the acorns. She would not taste the poison yet. But if she could escape no other way, it was ready.
The willow wands rattled as she stood up. The officer had ordered the man in the shop to help him drag something heavy across the door after she was shut in. Tilla felt around for the latch, running her fingers around the cold metal shapes and trying to understand how the mechanism worked. The latch was the kind that could be opened from both sides. It seemed the officer had not bothered to wedge it shut, relying on the weight of whatever they had put against the door to hold it closed. She bent down and snapped the end off a willow wand, then poked it under the latch to hold it up. She cleared the rest of the wands back to make a space for her feet. Then she braced herself with her back against the door and the boots the medicus had bought her planted firmly on the floor, and pushed.
Nothing happened.
Tilla relaxed, took a deep breath, and heaved again. Something behind her moved a fraction, then fell back into place as her strength gave out. She stood up, shrugged her bruised shoulders to loosen them, shook each leg in turn, then braced herself a third time, took a deep breath, pursed her lips, and heaved. The door moved farther, but not far enough. The fourth attempt was worse than the first. She was sliding down in despair when she heard someone jangling the lock on the shutters. A man was shouting her name. A man she had once hoped she could trust. She held her breath.
"Are you in there? Tilla, it's me! Ruso! Can you hear me?" And then, to someone else, "Can you see how this damned thing works?"
The medicus had planned to sell her. But he was a better prospect than the one with the odd hair, who reminded her of a dead spider. "I am here, my Lord!" she cried, banging on the door again. "Help me!"
Moments later she was almost knocked backward by the enthusiasm of his embrace. "Tilla! Thank the gods! Where have you been? Are you all right?" He drew back. "What's the matter?"
She shook her head. She must remember why he was pleased to see her. It would be so easy to be deceived again. "It is nothing, my Lord." If she explained how the cavalrymen had left her bruised and stiff, he would pretend to care.
"I was afraid you were dead." The dark eyes were searching hers. "Where have you been?"
She swallowed. "You would sell me."
"What? No, you don't understand-I never wanted to-"
From somewhere back in the shop, Bassus's voice cut him short."You never wanted to? Are you joking? We had a deal!"
"Nobody will be selling her," put in another voice. "That slave is the legal property of the Aesculapian Thanksgiving Fund."
The medicus turned and demanded to know how long she had been locked up here. "Until the deadline ran out, I suppose?"
They both ignored the torrent of words that followed.
"So," sh
e said to him, "it is true. You would sell me."
She tried not to flinch as the medicus took her by the shoulders. He looked as he must look when he was trying not to tell a patient bad news. "No," he said. "I mean, I didn't…"
She raised one hand to her throat.
"Well, yes…" Ruso stumbled on, correcting himself. "But I didn't-what are you doing?"
She put the acorn up to her mouth. "Why should I live as a slave in this world when I can be free in the next?"
His grip on her shoulders tightened. "What are you talking about?"
Her lips brushed against the curve of the acorn as she made the words. "Let me go, or I will take the poison."
"Tilla, for pity's sake!" He was looking at the acorn, trying to decide whether he could grab it before she put it between her teeth. He would not be fast enough. They both knew it.
"You are as bad as the others," she told him. "You are worse. You pretend to have honor."
For a moment he said nothing. Then he raised his head. "Daphne needs you, Tilla. The baby is coming and she's in trouble. I think she's going to die."
"Go and help her yourself," she told him. "You are the medicus."
"That's how I know," he said.
"You lie to me. You are lying now about Daphne."
"Daphne will die," he urged. "I'm begging you, Tilla. If you know how to help her, come now."
She knew what he was thinking. He was wondering if she had lied about bringing out babies just as she had lied about being able to cook.
"Why do you care for Daphne? She is a slave. You are a medicus to the soldiers."
"If you can't help," he said, "say so now and I'll go and do my best." He was afraid, but not for himself. He was afraid for Daphne.
"You will make it worse," she told him. "Let go of me and show me where she is." She raised her voice so the other men could hear. "If anyone comes near, I will go to the next world."
The medicus turned to the men. "Stand back," he ordered. "Let her pass."
74
By the time they reached Daphne, she seemed barely conscious of what was going on. Her head was hung down, her hair plastered flat with sweat. The girls holding her looked weary and frightened. Merula was standing over them, hands on hips. She looked relieved to see Ruso. "Doctor! Do something, will you? The customers can hear her in the bar!"
Ruso knelt beside the pale form and put one hand over hers.
"Daphne, it's the medicus. Can you hear me?"
The girl's eyelids flickered and fell still again. "Daphne, Tilla's here.
We're going to help you. Just hold on."
Daphne's head lifted for a second. Her lips parted but instead of a cry of pain a misshapen vowel sound emerged.
"That's the spirit!" urged the older girl.
Ruso glanced up. "What did she say?"
The girl grinned. "She said piss off."
"Take no notice!" ordered Merula, turning to glare at Tilla. "What's she doing here?"
Tilla stepped forward and knelt by Daphne, talking in her own tongue as she examined her. Without looking up, Daphne stretched out a trembling hand and Tilla grasped it.
"You need to wait outside," Ruso said to Merula.
Beyond folding her arms, Merula failed to move. "Of all the nights," she remarked, eyeing the unfortunate Daphne. "Three girls out of action back here while we're rushed off our feet in the bar. And now the door staff are playing up. We've even had to borrow a servant from one of the neighbors. Not that he's much help."
This, Ruso supposed, explained why Priscus's man had not been at home. It was hard to imagine the timid house slave being much use as a security guard. "Go back to work," he urged. "We'll manage here."
"It's too late now. Madam here's made so much fuss she's frightened all the customers away."
Tilla turned. "You must all get out."
Ruso said, "I'll stay in case you need any-"
"Out!"
"Who do you think you are?" demanded Merula. "He is a doctor, and this is my room!"
Tilla put her hand to her throat. "There is poison inside," she explained, fingering the acorns as she glanced between Ruso and Merula. "If anyone comes near, I will eat it. I will die. And her," she pointed at Daphne, "and the child. Understand?"
Ruso grasped Merula's arm and forced her out into the corridor. "We understand," he said, and closed the door behind them.
"She's bluffing," said Merula.
"No, she isn't," said Ruso. "She knows about poisons."
They heard the thud of the bar dropping on the other side of the door. "Bitch!" muttered Bassus, who had apparently been lurking outside with Priscus. "We'll sort her out later." He glanced at Merula. "Busy night, was it?"
"Yes. No thanks to you, or to madam back there. Stichus is closing up. You might think of helping him."
"He can work for free if he wants," retorted Bassus, heading off down the corridor. "I'm going to pick up a bit of what's owed to me."
"Don't you dare touch that money!" shouted Merula, running after him. "It isn't yours. I have to take out costs, pay the bills…!"
Priscus turned to Ruso. "I don't think we need you now."
Ruso hesitated just long enough to bid his promotion a silent and sad good-bye, and to wonder how many night duties he would owe Valens because of this. Then he said, "I'm not leaving here without Tilla."
"The girl belongs to a legionary welfare fund. If you attempt to remove her, you will be put on a charge and she will be taken from you."
Ruso was about to argue when there was a roar of, "Bastard!" from somewhere at the far end of the corridor.
He asked, "What time did they find her?" but Priscus was already hurrying toward the sound, calling over his shoulder, "I have the documents, Ruso!"
Ruso followed him along the corridor, through the empty kitchen, and into the brighter light of the bar.
Bassus was still shouting. "Bastard! Thieving sniveling ginger bastard!" The top of his head was visible as he rummaged behind the counter. Everyone except he and Merula seemed to have gone.
Merula flung herself across the counter, elegant bottom in the air, arms flailing, reaching for something. As Ruso watched she slid back to the floor. In her hand was the box in which the earnings were kept secure behind the bar. She upended it above her head. A sprinkle of dust and a small brown feather drifted to the floor. She gave a howl of despair. "The entire payday money!"
Priscus was saying, "But who-?" when Bassus rose from behind the bar and hurled a jug across the room. "Him and that cheap tart!" The jug hit the wall opposite with a dull crack and shattered on the floor. A couple of late-night customers who had crept in around the unlocked shutters made a hasty retreat.
"But who-?"
"Stichus and Chloe, of course!" exclaimed Merula. "I should never have trusted him once that little vixen got ahold of him."
Ruso closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. He had been relying on Stichus to give him back the money to pay the Aesculapian fund. Instead, it was clear the man had stolen the bar takings and fled. Without the money to cover the loan, even if Tilla were released tonight, Ruso would have to hand her back to Priscus tomorrow.
There was a scrape of wood on tile and a clatter of tumbling cups as Priscus shoved a table aside. "They won't get away with this!" he announced, peering around the shutters into the dark street. "We'll have them followed."
"In the middle of the night?" snapped Merula.
"This is your fault!" said Bassus to Priscus. "If it weren't for you and your tight-fisted money-saving schemes, none of this would have happened."
Priscus glared at him. "You were supposed to be at the door!"
"And you're supposed to be the one with the brains!"
Priscus sighed and lowered himself onto a bench. "Merula. Find me something to drink."
"The good wine's in the kitchen," said Merula, heading toward it.
"And two cups!" shouted Bassus after her. He seated himself beside Priscus. "I've had e
nough of this. I want my money" He slid along the bench until he was pressed against the administrator, who visibly braced himself to avoid being pushed off the end and onto the floor. "So until you come up with it…" Bassus gave a smile that was truly frightening, "you got the pleasure of my company. Give me the girl and we'll call it even."
"The girl isn't his to give," put in Ruso, stepping forward.
The two men looked up at him. "As I have explained, Ruso," said Priscus, "she is not yours either."
Ruso, hoping neither of them knew that he had lent his money to the vanished Stichus, said, "Give her back to me, Priscus. Women aren't safe with you. You don't want someone tracking down Saufeia's family and telling them how she died, do you?"
"Saufeia?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
"Nobody knows how that girl died!" snapped Priscus. "She was just a slave who ran away. Tilla is a slave who is signed over as guarantee for a loan. The two are not connected."
"Both were bought on the cheap without asking too many questions."
Priscus shrugged. "I have no idea what you mean, Ruso. Nor do I know how you can justify wasting time here when you should be on duty at the hospital."
Ruso did not know the answer to that one himself. Instead he said, "How much did you know about Saufeia when you bought her?"
Priscus frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. I am not responsible for buying bar staff."
"Of course you are. It's your bar."
"Merely a business investment. I arrange the finances. I employ a manager to do everything else."
"Including the deals with cockroaches like Claudius Innocens? Or do you do those yourself?"
"I have quite enough responsibilities at the hospital without taking on any more."
"Where do you think those girls come from, Priscus? Don't you stop to wonder why the prices are so low?"
Bassus rammed an elbow into Priscus's ribs. "See? What did I tell you?"
"Hold your tongue!" ordered Priscus, moving to another seat and bending to rub the bruised side of his chest. "You should never listen to malicious gossip, Ruso. Merula's bar is a respectable business."