Scortius grasped his forehead with his hand as though his head pounded.
“Easy?”
Scortius stared at her.
“I never expected it to be easy, Catilina. At best, I’ll find release when I go to the Gods, but some things must be done, no matter how much it hurts. If it gives you any satisfaction, what I have done causes me great personal pain. I loved Varro like a brother. We had been through more than most siblings ever do before you’d ever even met him. No, this was far from easy.”
Catilina stopped for a moment. The deep emotion behind the man’s words spoke of a deep and painful story. She frowned and scrutinised the man before her for a moment before hardening herself again. She’d almost fallen into sympathy and she was damned if she was going to let that happen.
“Then tell me why, doctor.”
She growled. “You claim to have loved him so much, so tell me why you killed him!”
She leaned back once more and folded her arms.
Scortius sighed.
“You should count your blessings, really, Catilina.”
She laughed a hollow laugh.
“Yes, I feel truly blessed!”
“If I were a cruel man, it would be you lying in the priests’ tent now, waiting to be burned, and not Varro. He’d be here with me, bemoaning your fate and crying on my shoulder.”
“What?” Catilina stared at him.
“I am not as cruel as Varro, though.”
As Catilina continued to blink at him in astonishment at the casual tone in which the doctor delivered such brutal words, he relaxed and leaned back in his chair again.
“I dealt justice on Varro rather than revenge. The great playwrights tell tales of vengeance where deal and pain is traded, like for like. If I had revenged myself on Varro, I would have taken you from him, you see.”
He sighed.
“But no… I merely executed him for his actions. I could have been much more vicious.”
Once more the doctor slumped, the strength leaving him to be replaced once again with grief and pain.
”Varro took from me the thing I loved more than anything else in the world; the thing I loved more than life itself. You see? If I were a vengeful man, I would have deprived him of you.”
Catilina blinked.
“Varro took my son.” Scortius mumbled, fresh tears streaking down his cheeks as he shuddered with sobs.
“My son!” he wailed.
Catilina shook her head, trying to make sense of all of this.
“Varro killed your son?” she demanded incredulously. “Never! He was a good man; a good soldier. Honourable and loving.”
Scortius nodded, wiping away his tears again.
“ My son… Terentius. A detachment of the cohort were on campaign in the mountains during that year when there was drought and a food shortage. Things became desperate. Even at the fort where we had the granaries men’s bellies grumbled and moaned. But up there at Fallowford, there was no hope. Only the meagrest of iron rations.”
He sighed. “Terentius and two of his companions snapped in desperation and stole food from the stores, but they were caught. Varro was their commander, you see. Terentius took all the responsibility for their actions. Brave and foolish.”
He broke down again for a moment, sobbing and shaking.
“Terentius…”
Catilina cleared her throat.
“I’ve heard the story. The theft; the punishment. It’s a story that’s still used to illustrate the need for discipline. And that was your son? The ringleader?”
Scortius nodded again sadly.
“The boy was executed for insurrection” she said plainly, standing and gesturing at him.
“It’s harsh, Scortius, but that’s regulations. You know how a commander has to deal with insurrection and theft!”
She waved her hand expansively. “Would you have expected Varro to go easy on him just because he was your son? What message would that send to other potential rebels? If he’d not carried out that punishment, his own superiors would have broken him in the ranks.”
“But the other two lived!” Scortius bellowed.
“Not Terentius though. Oh, no… he had to suffer. Not a quick, honourable death either, but beaten to death by his friends. Beaten to death!”
Catilina sighed.
“Varro did what he had to do. What he should have done. It’s Terentius that was at fault, you idiot. It is a sad story, Scortius, but not something that justifies premeditated murder!”
Scortius growled.
“How would you know?”
She sighed and stood slowly.
“Truly.”
She backed away towards the door.
“Truly, I may just be hypocritical…”
“What?” Scortius frowned at her through his tears. “What are you talking about?”
Catilina sighed.
“I could say I’m sorry, Scortius, but the truth is I’m not. And I may be as bad as you or even worse. You say you dealt out justice, not revenge. I think you’re just deluding yourself, but I don’t even claim such high morals.”
“What?”
The doctor’s expression, through the blur of tears, was one of confusion.
“The wine…” she said, pointing at the jug.
Scortius’ tears stopped as incredulity swept them away.
“The wine?” he repeated in confusion.
Catilina nodded. “A friend of mine came in and added a little pep to it before you returned. I think you’ll find it has a bit of a kick now. I don’t have a medical background, you see. I don’t know what proportions of ironroot are required for any particular level of effect.”
She laughed.
“So we just used it all. I don’t think you’ll have as long as Varro, though. You see we used everything you had left over, and I think that’s rather a lot. And one of the interesting things I found out from Mercurias’ investigation is that those medicines of yours were infused with wine, because something in wine disguises both the scent and taste of ironroot.”
“Catilina…”
Scortius’ eyes were wide and staring now as his gaze flashed back and forth between the cold-faced lady before him and the empty jug nearby.
“I don’t think you’ll have to keep dosing to make it lethal, Scortius, but perhaps you can tell me. The amount you had left? Would that be fatal, d’you think?”
Scortius’ eyes bulged in panic and he forced his finger down his throat, leaning over the arm of the chair and retching.
Catilina gave him an unpleasant smile.
“I shall take that as a yes then. And you know that’s a waste of time. You started that jug an hour ago. I know, because I’ve been waiting outside to make sure you finished it. And that means that by now, with the tremendous quantity you’ve absorbed this afternoon, it’s already deep in your system.”
She reached across the table and collected the jug, turning it upside down and smiling at the single drip that slowly collected on the inverted rim and then fell to the table. She replaced the jug and stretched.
“Goodbye, doctor.”
Turning her back on the stricken man, she strode from the tent, a strange mix of emotions coursing through her: pity, satisfaction and disgust. She sighed as she looked around herself in the bright morning sun.
Not regret though. Never regret.
Salonius leaned against the outside of the doctor’s tent, a long piece of grass hanging from the corner of his mouth where he chewed absently. He raised an eyebrow as the lady appeared outside.
Catilina took a deep, cleansing breath and rolled her shoulders.
“Now we’re done, Salonius.”
The young man looked at her curiously.
“I don’t think so.”
“What?” she enquired of him. “Why?”
Salonius shrugged.
“Because we are better than him; both of us. You know that.”
Giving her a sad smile, he patted her on the shoulder gently and affectionately and slipped past her, through the tent flap.
In the dim interior, Scortius was busy searching desperately through the various drawers and shelves of his cabinet, his face white.