Medicus

Tilla tightened her grip on the handle and carried on swiveling the top stone back and forth in a half circle over the lower one. "Who?"

"Your Roman. And not as short as most of them."

"No," Tilla agreed, stilling her arm as the girl reached a hand forward to scoop up the speckled flour that was trickling out from between the stones to form little mounds on the cloth.

Sabrann dropped the handful of flour into the bowl. "Are you his slave?"

The stone began to move again. "He thinks so."

"Did you go inside the fort?"

"Yes."

"Is it true what they say about the granary?"

Tilla frowned. "The granary?"

Sabrann nodded. "Everyone says they have a great big building filled with enough corn to stuff themselves for a year."

"It's possible. They like making great big buildings."

"Can you imagine how many families that would feed? And still they take the taxes."

"Is this why your grandmother is angry with Brica?"

"It was bad enough my great-uncle's family chose to trade with the army. Now one of them allows a soldier to father her children." Sabrann paused to watch the stone's movement around and back. "They say," she said, "that most of them have to pay women to lie with them."

"They speak the truth."

"Why would any woman do that? I would never do it."

"If you thought they would kill you," said Tilla slowly, "you might consider it."

The stone ground away and back, away and back before the girl murmured, "Forgive me. Everyone says I speak before I think."

Tilla shook her head. "No need. The goddess was protecting me. The medicus is not like that."

"People are saying you are his woman."

There was a grating sound from the millstones. Tilla let go of the handle and flexed her stiff fingers. "People are wrong."

Sabrann reached into the sack and gave a sudden giggle. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Always."

"Before we sent the corn tax in, we all took turns spitting in it."

Tilla smiled. "This was to wish them luck?"

"Of course." Sabrann cupped her hands to trickle more corn into the opening. "The boys wanted to piss in it, but Da said they would notice the smell. And they'd see it was damp. Spit, you can stir in."

Their eyes met, and both girls grinned.

"Your medicus might be eating spit," observed Sabrann.

"Good luck to him," said Tilla, seizing the handle and scraping the millstone faster back and forth on its half circle.

"My cousin could put a curse on him for you if you ask," Sabrann offered.

"Your cousin has the power of words?" Tilla had no intention of enlisting the cousin's help. If there were any cursing to be done, she would do it herself. Fortunately Sabrann, who was nodding eagerly, did not seem to have noticed that she had dodged the question.

"Not ten days ago," announced Sabrann, "my own cousin made a whole squad of soldiers fall over."

Tilla's hand paused. "How did she do that?"

"She was carrying water up to the house when about a hundred and fifty of them came running past, all squashed up together like they do, and you know how they stare at you?"

Tilla nodded.

"My cousin was tired of being stared at so she spoke a curse. And the moment the words were ended one of the soldiers tripped and all the ones behind him landed on top of him in a big heap. And when they got up one of them couldn't walk and had to be carried away with his leg strapped up. We were all laughing so hard we had to run and hide behind the fence."

"Daughter of Lugh!" It was a man's voice.

Enjoying the tale, they had noticed neither the dog nor the door announce his arrival.

Tilla got to her feet. "I am here."

"I am to take you to the grandmother."

There must have been twenty people gathered around the fire in the big house. The grandmother sat straight-backed in her chair and motioned for Tilla to kneel in front of her.

"Daughter of Lugh," she said, "everyone here has spoken about you. Now I wish to hear you speak for yourself."

Tilla got to her feet, brushing the bracken off her knees. She looked around at all the faces turned toward her, silent in the flickering firelight. She took a deep breath, raised her hands, and began a song.

"She is singing!" shouted a woman in the grandmother's ear.

"I know!" snapped the grandmother. "I can hear it!"

She sang some of the story of her ancestors. She sang a blessing on the grandmother and her family. And she sang a farewell.

69

Even at this distance, Ruso could hear the roar from the amphitheater. The sports must be well under way; some of the Twentieth burning off energy and the others merely reaching a height of excitement that would wash over the town like a wave when the exit gates opened.

At Merula's, they were getting ready for a busy night. Bassus and Stichus were outside nailing the torches into their brackets ("Bastards pinch 'em else"). A few early customers were in, being served by Mariamne. Daphne was lumbering up the stairs with a pile of fresh sheets.

Behind the bar, Merula was tasting the offering from the hot drinks cauldron. She winced. "Not enough cinnamon," she snapped to a girl who was lining up jugs behind the bar.

Ruso reached for his purse as he approached. Merula saw the gesture, and her scowl gave way to a professional smile.

When he had settled his bill he said, "I need a word with Chloe."

The frown returned. "She's not working at the moment."

"I just need to give her a message."

"She's ill."

"I'm a doctor," Ruso pointed out.

The lines around Merula's mouth deepened, but she waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "If you can get her back to work," she said, "I'll be the one paying you."

Unusually, both doors of the kitchen were propped open, but despite the passage of air, the smoke and steam still made Ruso cough. One end of the table was covered in dirty bowls and discarded onion skins, and at the other a pale squad of uncooked pies was lined up ready to march into the oven. None of the staff who were attempting to work and argue at the same time took any notice of him. Ruso suspected that the decision to sell the kitchen slave on the eve of one of the busiest nights of the year had not been a popular one.

He rapped on the side door that led to the room where the girls slept, paused briefly, and then strode into the room.

A figure in one of the lower bunks rolled over to face him. The face was red and wet. The eyes were swollen with weeping.

"Chloe?"

"Don't come near me!"

"Chloe, about Lucco-"

"He's gone! They took him away!"

"I know."

"They promised I could keep him! They promised!" She sniffed violently. "He's all I've got!"

"I've seen him."

Chloe did not appear to have heard. With a sudden movement she swung her feet to the floor and leaped at him. "You did this!" she shrieked, pounding him with her fists. "You did this!"

Ruso made a grab for both arms and held them still. Instead of pulling away, Chloe thrust her distorted face into his. "You couldn't keep your nose out!" she wailed. "You had to show off what you'd found out, didn't you?"

Ruso held her at arm's length and looked her in the eye. "Sit down, Chloe," he ordered, "and listen to me."

"I won't sit down! Lucco is my life! It's your fault he's gone!"

"My fault?"

"Why did you have to interfere?" she shrieked. "Look what happened to Phryne! Everything you do causes trouble!"

"SIT DOWN!" roared Ruso, pushing her roughly onto the bed and narrowly missing banging her head on the top bunk.

She was silent now. Her hands were shaking as she lifted them to cover her face.

"He's gone," she moaned, "my little boy, my little boy, my baby.."