"Saufeia could read and write."
"Indeed," said Ruso. "Even women can learn."
"Saufeia is dead."
He scratched his ear. This was the sort of illogical leap that made women so difficult to deal with. "Saufeia wasn't murdered because she could read and write."
"If you say, my Lord."
"She was murdered because she met a bad man."
"She was stupid. I am not stupid like Saufeia."
"Wandering off into the woods by yourself is hardly clever, Tilla.
Especially at the moment. Did anyone suggest you go there?"
"No, my Lord."
"You found the place by yourself? Nobody helpfully told you where to find a nice stream?"
"No, my Lord."
"Even so. If I could follow you, so could someone else. Now explain to me about the medicine."
No reply.
"I have to know. I can't leave a servant I can't trust in charge of my house."
The loose thread on the bandage began to unravel. She wound it around her forefinger.
"The medicine, Tilla."
Finally she said, "Is for someone else."
"Who?"
The end of her forefinger was turning pink.
Ruso sighed. "I don't want to have to punish you, Tilla," he said, wondering what sort of doctor contemplated beating his patients. Besides, he was not sure where to hit her. On the back? On the legs? Across her one usable hand? "I also assume," he said, buying time, "that you stole my firewood."
"No, my Lord. I took from a pile by the hospital."
"Oh, marvelous. You stole the hospital's firewood." Priscus had probably counted the logs and was in the process of billing him for them.
"Now. Tell me about the medicine."
The finger tugged more thread loose and then jerked to a stop as the unraveling reached the knot where the bandage was tied. "Is the goddess!" she said suddenly "The goddess tell me to do it!"
"Who did the goddess tell you to give it to?"
"I cannot say."
Slowly, Ruso pushed back his chair and stood up. He put both hands on the buckle of his belt. "I don't want to do this, Tilla," he said.
"Tell me."
She shook her head. "I cannot."
He sighed again and unfastened the belt. He had spoken the truth: He did not want to do this. Discipline was like surgery: unpleasant but necessary. He wrapped the heavy buckle end around his right hand, making sure the studded straps were safely clutched in his palm and would not flail about. He did not want to injure her. But neither could he allow any suspicion that his servant might be poisoning people at the whim of some mad native god.
He grasped the loose end of the belt in his left hand and stretched it out so she could see it. The belt was supple with age. He knew, from years of polishing, every scar in the deep brown of the leather; every scratch on the silver of the trim. He had never before considered using it to inflict pain. Now he snapped it taut and stepped out from behind the desk. "Tell me," he said, seeing the color fade from her cheeks. "Now."
She bowed her head.
Someone was knocking at the door.
Ruso felt his voice rise to a shout. "Not now, Albanus!"
"Sir, a message from Officer Priscus!"
"In a minute!"
"Right-oh, sir! Sorry, sir!"
Ruso closed his eyes for a moment and attempted to compose himself. He heard the whisper'of fabric. When he opened his eyes she was kneeling at his feet with her head still bowed, as if pleading for mercy.
He was beginning to feel exasperated. He had put up with far more than most owners would tolerate. Now, because he had tried to treat her fairly, this wretched girl had assumed she could get away with whatever she liked and he found himself having to fill a role he found deeply distasteful.
He took a long breath. "You have been collecting poisonous plants," he said. "If there is an innocent explanation, you must give it to me. Otherwise, I will have to report you. I have already told you about the questioners. You will beg for mercy, and they will not listen."
In the silence that followed, he prayed she was not going to tell him something he would have to report anyway. The cursing would not go down well if it were made public. If the questioners got hold of her, the best she could hope for was a swift end.
A dark tear splash appeared on the floorboards in front of her. A second fell beside it. Ruso clenched his fists. This was not fair. She was doing it on purpose to avoid answering questions. Sooner or later, this was the trick they all resorted to. Gods, how he hated having to deal with women! It was as if they sensed that he wouldn't know what to do.
Tilla sniffed and lifted both fists, still held together by the thread of bandage, to wipe her eyes.
"Oh, for pity's sake!" He turned and flung the belt at the desk. It skidded across the top and sent the whetstone and the scalpel clattering onto the floor. "Get up!" he snapped. "Sit on a chair and stop fiddling with that bandage."
Tilla sniffed again and scrambled up onto the nearest stool.
Ruso retrieved the scalpel from under a chair, lifted her hands, and stroked apart the thread that held them together. The limp forefinger lifted as he unraveled the binding, then fell back into her lap. The white indentation that ran around it gradually turned pink.
Tilla said flatly, "I have failed."
This so accurately mirrored his own feeling that he paused before asking, "At what?"
"If I speak," she said, not looking up, "I will be punished. If I do not speak I will be punished."
Ruso sat on his desk and folded his arms. He was almost sure she was telling the truth about Innocens. She could not have picked anything more dangerous than a dandelion around Merula's and anyway the girls never went out without the protective supervision of one of the doormen. So what on earth could she have to confess? As gently as he could he said, "Then you may as well tell me now."
"If I tell," she said, "my tongue will be cut out."
Ruso frowned. "Is this some Druid nonsense? The Druids are finished, Tilla. We're in charge here now."
"Is not Druids!" she blurted in exasperation. "Is Merula!"
Ruso felt his shoulders drop. "Merula?"
"You have seen Daphne!"
He stared at her. "The pregnant one?" He tried to grasp the connection. "Are you telling me Merula cut out her tongue?"
"Daphne asks a customer to help her run away. He says he will help, then he tells Merula. You see what happens to slaves who talk!"
He slid off the desk, crouched in front of her and gripped her by the shoulders. "Tell me," he insisted. "Tell me exactly what's going on. I'm going to put a stop to this nonsense right-" There was another knock at the door. "I said, not now, Albanus! Is this life or death?"
"Yes, sir! No, sir!"
"Which?"
"Yes, not now, sir, no it's not life or death, sir." There was a pause, then the clerk's voice said uncertainly, "Shall I come back in a minute, sir?"
"Don't bother," said Ruso. "I'll come and find you."
He returned his attention to his servant. "Quickly," he urged.
52
"So," said Ruso, scratching one ear and trying to make sense of what his servant had just told him. "This new girl at Merula's, Phryne-"
"Is not her real name."
"Well, just pretend it is for the moment. This is a girl from your own tribe who accepted a lift from Innocens and then found herself kidnapped and sold to Merula."
"She is not a slave. She is freeborn. Her father is carpenter."
"These are serious allegations, Tilla."
"Yes, my Lord."
"And are you saying that Merula knows her history?"
"She tell her."
"These are very serious allegations."
"Yes, my Lord. Merula-"
"Threatened to have your tongue cut out if you talked. I know. How was she going to explain that to me?"