Prophecy: Death of an Empire: Book Two (Prophecy Trilogy)

by M. K. Hume

  ‘We are servants of Lord Cleoxenes, master healer. He has an ailment which requires your urgent attention, and has asked that you attend him.’

  The servant who spoke sparked a dim memory of two men armed with similar iron-tipped staves who had acted as Cleoxenes’s bodyguards in Massilia. Myrddion nodded and fetched his satchel, which he always kept ready for emergencies.

  ‘So your master hasn’t yet departed from Rome? I had expected that he would have set sail for Constantinople by now.’

  The guard merely shrugged, for the minds of the great men they served were of no interest to those who worked in the dangerous but simple trade of guarding their bodies.

  In silence, the three men entered the street and began to walk, but Myrddion soon lost all sense of direction in the confusing alleyways and long intersecting streets that were both ordered and haphazard in their planning. As he hurried in the wake of the bodyguards, Myrddion realised that the streets were becoming cleaner and better lit, and guessed that they were approaching the Palatine. Larger single houses lined the streets and foot traffic was much reduced. Only those men and women who belonged in this district, and their anonymous servants, dared to venture into the sacred heart of Rome. Before an imposing villa lit with torches on its portico, the bodyguards relinquished the care of the healer into the hands of a superior servant dressed in a tunic of bleached light wool who was clean, well fed and autocratic.

  ‘I am Myrddion Emrys, summoned by Lord Cleoxenes to treat him,’ Myrddion began, but the servant simply gestured imperiously and entered the mansion on silent feet. Myrddion had no choice but to follow.

  The villa was palatial, two-storeyed and profusely decorated with frescoes and mosaics of great naturalness and beauty. Myrddion tried hard not to gape like a bucolic at walls painted to resemble olive and orange groves, at living trees growing tall within the atrium and a fountain that pumped a delicate mist of water over a profusion of herbs and flowering shrubs in the very centre of the structure. The scent of fine oils, nard and cleanliness wafted through the echoing rooms.

  The servant led Myrddion to a sleeping chamber of some opulence. It boasted a small balcony that overlooked the atrium and was linked to the corridor by long shuttered doors. More shuttered windows permitted the entry of the evening breeze. A low wooden bed, uncarved but polished with oil that emitted a strong citrus smell, dominated a room that was sparsely but elegantly furnished with several clothes chests and carved wooden stools softened with cushions. Myrddion noticed that the whole house was bare of the household gods that usually occupied niches in the walls. Cleoxenes sat on a wool-stuffed pallet, cradling his arm, which was bandaged from elbow to wrist.

  ‘Greetings, my lord. I had not hoped to see you again so soon, for I understood you were leaving for Constantinople. How may I serve you?’

  ‘Be seated, Myrddion. Pincus will fetch wine for us.’

  As the servant turned to leave, Myrddion stopped him with a glance. ‘I don’t wish to insult your hospitality, Lord Cleoxenes, but I would prefer water. The wines of Rome are far too sweet and heavy for my taste.’

  Cleoxenes grinned, and then winced as he moved his arm after momentarily forgetting his injury. ‘Most assuredly. I will also have water, Pincus. No doubt it will be better for me.’

  As soon as the servant had removed himself, closing the inner shutters in his wake, Myrddion approached the bed and laid his satchel on the timber floor beside the coverlet.

  ‘Now, my lord, what have you done to yourself? I’m surprised that you called for me when Rome is reputed to have some of the finest healers in the world.’

  ‘Perhaps. One such healer, at exorbitant cost, suggested I should wash my arm in the waters of holy Mother Tiber. I’d as soon drink the water as immerse myself in it. The cut began as a trifling injury sustained a week ago and was treated immediately, but it won’t heal and now I’m beginning to feel feverish and unwell.’

  Myrddion sighed. Summer in Rome was a particularly dangerous season for open cuts, whether the sufferer was patrician or plebeian. Myrddion carefully unwrapped the linen bandages but the cloth had adhered to the weeping wound, and his gentle attempt to peel the last layers away caused Cleoxenes to bite his lip until a spot of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Relax, Cleoxenes, I’ll not hurt you further.’

  Pincus returned bearing a tray on which two fine goblets and a jug rested. The metal jug was beaded with condensation, and as the servant poured water into the goblets Myrddion heard the distinctive clink of ice. His eyebrows rose involuntarily.

  ‘The ice comes from the Alpes Maritimi in wagons filled with straw and is then stored in underground icehouses so we can enjoy pure, cold water,’ Cleoxenes explained, although his lips and face were pale with strain.

  ‘Pincus!’ Myrddion ordered, and Cleoxenes smiled at the autocratic tone in the healer’s voice. ‘I require two bowls of water, one at room temperature and one that has boiled and is still hot to the touch. Do you understand me?’ Affronted, the servant nodded. ‘And I need an open flame – an oil lamp will do – and a quantity of clean cloth torn into strips. Don’t bring me anything that has been used, because I won’t accept it. The cloth must be clean, boiled in hot water and then dried in sunlight. Can this house supply my requirements?’

  ‘Of course!’ Pincus’s voice was almost sharp, but years of service had taught him to keep his feelings to himself.

  ‘Please bring them at speed then, for your master is suffering.’

  Pincus vanished soundlessly, and Myrddion assisted Cleoxenes to drink the chilled water. ‘Don’t use your arm, my friend,’ he warned him. ‘I’m going to soak the bandage away from the wound so I can see exactly what is wrong. There’s no need to fret, Cleoxenes, for I’ll not do anything to you without explaining it first. You can trust my judgement.’

  ‘I do, Myrddion. That’s exactly why I sent for you when I became ill.’

  The healer took a sip of cold water and marvelled privately that a city of such sophistication could still be so terrible and unfair in its contrasts.

  ‘Let’s talk of other matters while we wait for Pincus,’ Cleoxenes whispered, trying to smile. ‘Have the people in the subura heard the latest news of the war?’

  Myrddion realised that the envoy was very frightened. Cleoxenes’s elegant feet tapped the floor with a nervous tic, while his good hand flexed and unflexed unconsciously.

  ‘The people of the subura hardly mention Attila. Their enemies are starvation and disease, which can be just as fatal as a Hun arrow. No, I don’t know anything about the progress of the war. For the five weeks I’ve been in Rome, I could be as far from the battlefront as Segontium for all I’ve been told.’

  ‘Then they’ll not be alarmed to know that Attila is massing his troops for a single fast cavalry strike across the Padus river to the very doorstep of Rome. He’s demanded the hand of Honoria in marriage in the misguided belief that Valentinian’s silly sister will hand him Rome on a plate. It seems that Honoria is less than pleased with her brother’s choice of an elderly Roman senator for a husband.’

  Myrddion was shocked. Had untold thousands died because the emperor’s sister disliked her future husband? His amazement must have shown on his face because Cleoxenes laughed naturally, his arm momentarily forgotten again.

  ‘Yes, this whole mess stems from a fractious female and Attila’s hurt feelings over the gift of a dwarf. Ridiculous!’

  Pincus chose this moment to usher in three servants carrying Myrddion’s medical requirements. Drawing the stool up to the bed and discarding its cushion, Myrddion ordered the cooler basin to be placed on its flat top so that Cleoxenes could soak his forearm in the water.

  Pale again, Cleoxenes continued to speak as Myrddion laved the soothing water over the hidden wound, bandages and all.

  ‘Pope Leo has decided that only God can save the city. He is determined to lead a delegation of prominent citizens to the north, in order to persuade Attila that
his ambitions concerning Honoria are pointless. As I represent the Eastern Empire, I have been summoned to attend on Attila along with Consul Avienus, Prefect Trigetius and several wealthy patricians. We are meant to leave in two days for Mantua on the Padus river – so I cannot afford to be ill, Myrddion. There is simply too much at stake.’

  ‘Don’t fret, Cleoxenes.’ Myrddion’s voice was calm and confident. ‘Incidentally, I enjoyed the Odyssey. Homer writes with such vividness and spirit, even if most of the story is sheer nonsense. Still, the constancy of Penelope affected me deeply and I regretted the death of the faithful dog.’

  ‘The animal was old and it had lived to see the fulfilment of its greatest desire – the return of its master. They say that Homer was blind, you know.’

  Myrddion’s hands were busy easing the wet bandages away from the angry red flesh, but his voice never wavered in its soothing, competent tones. ‘Then he wasn’t born so, I’d lay a substantial wager. He writes with such compelling imagery that I can see the one-eyed Cyclops and hear the voice of Circe as she enticed the travellers to their doom.’

  ‘Isn’t it amazing, Myrddion? Even a thousand years and more after his death, Homer still lives on through the magic of his words.’

  The wound was now completely uncovered, and conversation ceased as both men looked down at a livid, suppurating gash that ran from just above the wrist almost to the elbow.

  ‘Ah!’ Cleoxenes sighed. ‘I thought that Roman healer was a charlatan. I just didn’t expect to discover how poor his skills were in this fashion.’

  A red line of infection ran up the arm almost to the shoulder. Myrddion clicked his tongue and lifted Cleoxenes’s arm out of the water, supporting it carefully from underneath.

  ‘Pincus,’ he said quietly. ‘Remove the bowl and the bandages. Throw the cloth away and try not to touch it in case you become infected. Immerse the basin in boiling water and then clean it and return it to me, filled with warm water.’

  The wound was swollen, but not gaping. Myrddion’s heart sank. Normally, he would consider amputation as a last resort, and he would do so for his friend, but only when every other avenue had failed.

  ‘I’ll not lie to you, Cleoxenes. This wound is septic and it’s poisoning your body. Perhaps it’s too late already to save the limb, but we’ll not give up just yet. I must send for Cadoc and Finn. To ease any difficulty, please instruct Pincus to obey me as he would you – and trust me, my friend, for I’ll do everything I can to save you, I swear.’

  ‘I cannot lose my arm until after the deputation meets Attila. My duty to my emperor is more important than my life, and I would be shamed forever if I put my personal safety before my orders.’

  Myrddion shook his head with irritation. ‘Your life is worth more than being a part of this delegation, but as it is so important to you I’ll do my part.’

  Pincus returned to the sleeping chamber and set the basin on the stool. Myrddion had already placed his tools in the basin of boiled water to sterilise them, and now he asked Pincus to lower his master’s arm into the new bowl. Somewhat gingerly, the servant obeyed.

  ‘Pincus, as the healer might have to drug me, I want you to obey any instructions he gives you as if I had given the order myself. You will obey me?’

  ‘Of course, master.’ The servant’s face revealed very little, leaving Myrddion to marvel at the reserve and dignity of slaves when, so often, their masters were crass and ignorant. Pincus was thin and ascetic in appearance, and his face was almost featureless in its smooth blankness. Only his hazel eyes expressed any emotion, and then only fleetingly, before he mastered his dislike of Myrddion. In fact, Pincus showed more nobility than most Romans Myrddion had encountered. The young healer smiled with as much charm as he could muster, which was considerable, gave Pincus his instructions and then thanked the servant unreservedly. At the doors, he lowered his voice so that Cleoxenes couldn’t hear him, to whisper conspiratorially to this reserved, self-contained man.

  ‘Pincus, your master is gravely ill, so we must both be very careful. I have no doubt that he is a kind master. I have known him well for some time now and acknowledge he is ever considerate to all men, regardless of their station. If he seems sharp in his manner at the moment, it is because he is fearful that he will fail in his service to the Emperor Valentinian and Pope Leo, so we must do everything in our power to ease his mind. I depend on you, Pincus, to continue to run the household with the efficiency I see around me.’

  Pincus unbent sufficiently to smile rather sourly, and Myrddion hoped that he hadn’t overdone the flattery. This servant was nobody’s fool.

  ‘I’ll send those idle bodyguards back to your lodgings to bring your assistants here, along with any supplies you might need. Those hulking bags of wind have nothing better to do than dicing and drinking, so they might as well be put to some use. Lord Cleoxenes only rents this establishment, but I’ll own that he is a generous master and never punishes his slaves. Yes, I can assure you that I’ll do whatever I can to make him comfortable.’

  Well pleased with the result of his stratagem, Myrddion returned to his patient and explained that he was using the heat in the water to draw out the poisons. Cleoxenes was in no particular pain, but his forehead was hot and he eagerly gulped several goblets of the ice water as if he was parched with thirst.

  When Cadoc and Finn arrived, the practised calm of a team effort swung into action, relaxing Cleoxenes with its deftness and expertise. Not by a flicker of an eyelash did the apprentices reveal their concern at the condition of the wound. Without being instructed, Finn mixed a sleeping draught so that Myrddion could open the wound and ascertain how far the infection had spread. As soon as Cleoxenes began to drowse, his legs were swung onto the bed and the battlefield table was set up beside it so that Cadoc could cover the wooden surface with a clean cloth and lay the infected arm along its length.

  ‘It looks very bad, master.’ Cadoc spoke quietly and with regret. ‘Lord Cleoxenes has permitted the infection to go too far.’ Like Myrddion, he had seen many such infections before and knew that they were difficult to check. Amputation or death was the most common outcome. ‘We might save his life if we removed his arm.’

  Myrddion shook his head briskly. ‘He’ll not permit me, for he plans to ride north in two days.’

  ‘Then he’ll join his ancestors soon after.’ Finn added his opinion. ‘No jaunt is worth dying for!’

  ‘Cleoxenes is adamant that he must accompany this delegation, so we’ll try to save both his life and his arm, even if I have to go north as well, with him travelling on a litter. So let’s be at it.’ Myrddion expected no answer, for Cadoc had already cleansed the scalpels over the flame of the oil lamp and had a number of clean cloths ready to staunch any bleeding. ‘I’ll need to cauterise the clean flesh once I’ve cut away any corruption. Believe it or not, a healer treated this wound – and didn’t even stitch it. He must have introduced the infection into the wound when he was playing with it. Sometimes I wonder just how the Roman Empire has survived for twelve centuries.’

  Cadoc heated a special scalpel in the flame until it started to glow cherry red, and then, while Finn stood at the ready across from his master, Myrddion made a deep, clean incision the full length of the ragged gash. Just as neatly, he trimmed the edges of the wound as he went, removing flesh that was an unhealthy colour. Periodically, Finn soaked away blood and pus with clean cloths, although there were fewer obvious signs of infection than Myrddion would normally have expected.

  Suddenly, his blade struck something hard within the part of the gash where the wound was deepest.

  ‘Cadoc, I need you! Finn, clean out the blood! I can feel a strange object in here.’

  While Cadoc sterilised a long probe with a curved scoop at the end, Myrddion cut around the foreign object. A sudden rush of pus obscured his vision.

  ‘Turn the arm and let it drain directly onto scrap rag,’ he ordered. As the pus began to stain the cloth, the absence of clean blood warned
the healers that they still had much work to do. Wielding the probe carefully, Myrddion extracted a long silver of wood that had been driven deep into the flesh until it lay against the bone.

  ‘How did Cleoxenes suffer this injury?’ Finn asked as Myrddion continued to cut away dying flesh, leaving an ugly hole that exposed part of the long bone of the lower arm. ‘Was it a hunting accident?’

  ‘Cadoc? Summon Pincus, but don’t touch anything. Your hands must remain clean at all costs. And be polite to the man because we need his co-operation.’

  Cadoc summoned the servant by shouting through the shutters until he roused another house slave. Pincus opened the shutters and closed his eyes momentarily when he saw the blood-soaked cloths that had been discarded on the floor.

  ‘How may I assist you, master?’

  Myrddion turned away from Cleoxenes’s bloody arm and Pincus paled at the sight of the healer’s bloodstained hands and leather apron.

  ‘How did your master come by this wound, Pincus?’

  ‘He told me he fell down a set of wooden stairs during a business transaction. The staircase must have been weakened in some way and a slice of timber tore his arm open.’

  The healers exchanged knowing glances.

  ‘Have you ever heard of a Jewish healer called Isaac? I’m worried that my efforts will not be sufficient to save your master. This Isaac is said to be a healer of uncommon skill.’

  ‘My old master used the Jew when he caught an unpleasant disease from a prostitute,’ Pincus responded, making a little moue of disapproval. ‘I don’t know where Isaac might now be found, but I can consult the steward of the Tullius household. Tullius Triagula advised my old master to see the Jew to ease his symptoms.’

  Myrddion sighed with relief. ‘If you could oblige me in this matter, Master Cleoxenes would be very grateful, and would pay any fees in compensation to other persons involved in gaining access to Isaac.’

  Pincus eased himself out of the sleeping room and Myrddion continued to remove flesh until he was satisfied that the wound was as clean as he could make it. Finally, he used his supply of spirits to give it one final wash.