Tilla, who in low moments long ago had considered trying to join her lost family in the next world, decided she was glad she had stayed in this one.
The blackbird was still singing outside. Over in the fort, the sacrifice to Jupiter would be complete. It was a good morning to make a new start. Then perhaps the dream would go away.
Chapter 19
Ruso yawned and made his way across to the hospital to shed his gear and see what fate had decreed for Austalis, owner of the wounded arm. As he approached, the acrid smell of burning filled his nostrils. A couple of bonfires were alight in the middle of one of the unused streets. The Twentieth were clearing out their rubbish and preparing to leave.
The room opposite the office had a different and worrying stink, and Ruso was annoyed to see that nobody had opened the shutters. He was not fooled by We didn’t want to wake him, sir. When had hospital staff ever shied away from waking their patients?
The light revealed a figure whose sunken eyes were too bright. Sweat-darkened hair lay flat against his scalp, and the sheets were damp with perspiration. When Ruso spoke, he tried to reply but seemed unable to form the sounds into words. His pulse was still fast and faint. Ruso turned to the man who was hovering at the door.
“I left orders for someone to call me if there was any change.”
The only response was a meaningless “Yes, sir!”
As Ruso suspected, nobody had checked the catheter. Another food bowl, this time of thin gruel, had gone almost cold beside the bed. Apparently Austalis had been fed a couple of spoonfuls earlier and had vomited. So much for not wanting to wake him.
Ruso gave a few terse orders and the dressings tray finally appeared in the hands of the chalk-faced youth, who seemed to be the one given the jobs nobody else wanted and now looked as though he might faint at any moment. He was followed by a porter, who delivered a jug of clean water and a smaller jug of vinegar inside an empty bucket and then hurried out as if he was afraid he might be asked to assist. Ruso called him back and ordered him to summon all the staff to the office at the start of the next watch.
The chalk-faced youth seemed to have some idea of what to do, but Ruso was forced to stamp on his toe as the bandages were unwrapped. It was not until the wound had been cleaned out and redressed with a poultice of ground pine needles and they were splashing water over their hands down in the latrines that he could explain.
“Looking at a wound and saying “Ugh” is hardly going to boost the patient’s confidence, is it?”
“Sorry, sir,” said the youth. “I didn’t think he could hear me.”
“That belief has been the downfall of many great men.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ruso found the driest corner of a towel that someone should have changed this morning. “Apart from that, you did well.”
“Thank you, sir.” A little color appeared in the youth’s cheeks as he ventured, “I haven’t done anything like that before, sir.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Ruso promised him, wondering if that sounded more like a threat.
“He will be all right, won’t he, sir?”
Ruso handed the towel over. “If we keep on with the treatment, there’s a slim chance he might get better by himself and still have two arms.”
“What if he doesn’t, sir?”
“Taking the arm off might save the rest of him. But the longer we wait and the weaker he gets, the worse his chances are.”
The color in the cheeks drained away again. “I can’t believe any man would do that to himself, sir.”
Ruso said, “I doubt he intended it to end up this bad. Any idea what drove him to it?”
The youth looked around him, but the wooden rows of latrine seats provided no inspiration. He said, “You could try asking Centurion Geminus, sir.”
Geminus, the man who seemed to know the answer to every question. The man with two shadows.
By the time the trumpet sounded the next watch, Ruso had been relieved to find that Austalis was the only neglected patient. He had discharged a couple of men who looked sorry to be leaving; admitted another who arrived doubled over with stomach cramps; and been almost certain that the recruit who claimed to have walked into a door was the man who had been marched away by Geminus’s shadows. He checked on the wrist and the injured foot from yesterday, and looked in on Austalis again. When all the staff on duty had crowded into the office, he chose the most sensible-looking orderly to be responsible for Austalis. “I want him kept clean and comfortable, and I want to be told straightaway if anything changes. And I want it made known that he’s allowed a visitor. Just one friend, and very briefly. I don’t want him worn out.”
The orderly raised a hand. “Sir, he’s supposed to be in isolation.”
“I take it his centurion wants to put the others off trying the same trick?”
If any men in the room had dared to guess at the centurion’s intentions, they were not fool enough to admit it.
“I’ll square it with Geminus,” he assured them. “And given the condition of the patient, I think we can count on his visitor to spread the word about the stupidity of self-inflicted injuries.”
Chapter 20
The mansio slave’s directions were good. It was barely two hundred paces upstream along the muddy path from the wharf to where the old willow bent to dip its leaves into the glittering silver of the river. She raised one arm, counted to three, and flung the coin. The small splash was washed away in the flow. While the gift was sinking, she said a prayer to the river and to the goddess to look kindly on her husband and keep him safe. Then she asked for a blessing on her new start, and for courage, because the decision that had seemed so clear this morning had faded in the sunlight.
Who has ever heard of a woman being a medicus?
What will your husband say?
You can hardly read Latin, and nearly all the recipes for medicines are written in Greek. You cannot even understand Greek, let alone read it …
Who will do all the work you do now?
Do you really want another woman in the house?
What if you get the wrong sort of slave-one who needs constant watching, or one like Minna? That would be even worse. What if …
Something white caught her eye. Two swans, a cob and a pen, were gliding downstream. She watched as they drifted past the fort walls, smoothly changed direction to pass behind the approaching ferry, and disappeared beyond the warehouses. It was a sign. She let out a long breath and whispered a prayer of thanks, remembering the wounded Brigante warriors she had tended with stolen bandages and medicines during the troubles. None of them had complained about her being a woman.
All will be well. All will be-
“There you are! They told me you were here! What are you doing? Can I help?”
She turned, startled and not pleased. The pink dress was no cleaner than yesterday. “Good morning, Virana.”
“Are you looking for plants for healing?”
“Not this morning.”
Virana parted the fronds of the willow as if she hoped there might be something interesting beyond them, then let them fall. “This is where Sulio came to pray for the soul of Dannicus.”
“Is this where he drowned?”
“No, farther down by the ford. Sulio tried to save him but he couldn’t, and then the Centurion had to get Sulio out too.”
“It must have been frightening.”
“I suppose so. I was at home with my family.” She hauled the beads out of her cleavage and hung them down the front of the pink dress. “They were all being horrible to me, as usual. Did you hear the trumpets this morning? They don’t usually sound like that. Was it because of the sacrifice?”
“Sulio must have been a brave man.”