Tilla said, “What did they do to him?”
“I can’t discuss it.” He was still puzzled by the nature of Regulus’s injuries, but leaving a naked man hanging upside down in a tree was an insult that could not be ignored.
She said, “What is his name?”
“His name? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Do you know it?”
“Regulus.”
To his surprise, his wife bowed her head and covered her face with her hands. “No, no!” she was saying. “I told them to wait; I told them-”
A wave of guilty relief swept over him. “You knew they were planning this?”
She looked up. “Of course not! But I know of this man. His woman is my patient. They argued. He knocked her down-this is not the first time-and kicked her and stamped on her fingers. I told her to leave him. I told the family to put in an official complaint to his centurion.”
“And did they?” He very much hoped not, because he could not imagine Fabius doing anything useful about it. Already he was seeing Regulus’s injuries from a new perspective.
“I do not know.”
“I don’t remember you telling me about this patient.”
Tilla pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I did not tell you.”
That was good. He was afraid it might have been another of those times where he wasn’t really listening.
“I did not tell you because when I tried to help that family who had their goat stolen, you told me you are not a messenger boy for disgruntled natives.”
He took a long breath. Valens was right: Women’s memories really did have a special place for storing up phrases they might want to fling back at you later. He said, “Well, you did the right thing.”
“I have told Senecio you will apologize.”
“I see.”
“It is a great insult, master!” repeated Virana. “If you do not make things right, there might be no wedding blessing!”
It was a tempting prospect. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
Virana, as usual, had an answer. “Everybody has gone home early. Because of the curfew.”
Reminded, he said, “You should both get inside. I’ll walk you back to the bar.”
Tilla turned her back on him. “We can find our own way. It is only a hundred paces.”
He was not going to leave it like that. He called to the guards that he would be back in a moment. As he said it a late delivery cart rolled up, so the men had something more useful to do than grumble behind his back about officers who couldn’t make their minds up.
Meanwhile, Tilla’s frosty silence made the hundred paces seem more like a thousand. He made an unwise effort to break it with, “What was I supposed to do, tell them not to go to that particular farm because I’ve eaten there?” But if she knew the answer to that, she chose not to divulge it.
Chapter 15
Ruso lifted his medical case to shield the lamp flame from the draft as he carried it down the corridor. He wished Valens were here. It was always easier to frighten a patient when there were two of you.
After this he would have to tackle Fabius, which put him in mind of trying to stand a jellyfish up on end. As Fabius would no doubt point out, the search for the missing man had achieved nothing except to annoy the locals. Tomorrow he was going to have to go and apologize to Senecio and his family. That was going to be even trickier than he had expected, because not only had a curfew been imposed but an order had been issued forbidding any man to venture onto native property alone.
When young Candidus finally turned up after all this fuss-as he surely must-Ruso was going to make him one very sorry clerk.
He placed the extra lamp on the side table in Regulus’s room, next to the open medical case. The reflection of the flame glittered on the polished rows of scalpels and probes and clamps, and threw a shadow from the pleasing curve of the bronze catheter. Satisfied with the effect, he picked out a medium-sized hook. Then he sat down on the end of the bed, positioning himself so that whenever Regulus looked at him, the instrument case would be visible just beyond. He raised the hook into view between them and eyed his patient while casually rolling the bronze instrument between finger and thumb. “Ready?”
Regulus paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth.
“We had the mythical version earlier. Now tell me what really happened.”
“Sir?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand. You’ve wasted enough of my time already. One of my men is missing, so I’m not in a good mood.”
Regulus glanced toward the door, as if he hoped someone might come in and rescue him. He put his spoon down in his bowl.
Ruso examined the hook, rubbing off a speck of imaginary dirt with one finger and then polishing the instrument on his tunic. The bed squeaked in protest as Regulus burrowed back against the wall. Ruso looked up. “Don’t worry, I know how not to kill you. I’m a doctor.”
Regulus said, “You’re supposed to help me!”
“Exactly,” said Ruso. “So if you scream, nobody will take any notice.”
“Please, sir, I don’t-”
“Feel well?” Ruso finished for him. “Too much dinner.” He gestured toward the bowl. “How did you get hold of that, Regulus? It was left out of your reach on the window ledge.”
Regulus gulped. “I’m feeling a little bit better now, sir.”
“Excellent!” said Ruso. “Soon you’ll be well enough to start beating up your girlfriend again.”
“Sir, I never-”
“What did I say about wasting my time?”
“It’s not my fault, sir!”
How Ruso missed Valens. He would have turned to Valens and explained, It wasn’t his fault, it was hers, and Valens would have given a suitably dramatic sigh, shaken his head, and said, Women, eh?
But Regulus was keen to talk even without being outnumbered. “They wanted money, sir! They were all in on it. Her parents and her brothers and sisters and all the other hangers-on. That’s what they’re like round here. The natives. They all just want to see what they can get out of you.” He paused as if expecting sympathy.
“Carry on.”
“She wanted it all right, sir. She never said she didn’t. Then they started saying I had to pay them money and marry her.” He squared his shoulders as if he had committed an act of bravery. “I told them it was against regulations for a man of my rank, sir.”
“So when you hit her,” said Ruso, recognizing the curious British expectation that a man should pay for his bride, “was that before they asked for money, or after?”
Regulus stuck out his chin. “She was already my girl! We had an agreement! And then she acted like she didn’t want to know me.”
“So you thought if you kicked her and broke her fingers, that would help.”
“A man’s got to be master in his own house, sir!”
“Absolutely,” said Ruso, who agreed with the principle but had never found out how this happy state of affairs could be achieved in practice. “Remind me again: Whose house was it?”
“I know I went a bit too far, sir.” Regulus scratched one hand with the other. “But I told her I was sorry. I promised I won’t do it again. She said it was all right.”
According to Tilla’s account, there had been more than one beating. Ruso let it pass, strangely fascinated by this tale of self-justification.
“But they still went and put in a complaint,” Regulus continued, “and I got hauled up in front of Fab-” He caught Ruso’s look. “Centurion Fabius,” he corrected. “And he told me to pay compensation to the family, and that’s not fair, is it? I wasn’t even on duty when it happened!”
“And were you ordered to stay away from her?” Ruso asked, glad that Fabius had at least attempted some discipline.
“He never said that, sir. He just said I had to pay them five denarii.” Regulus was indignant. “I don’t suppose five denarii means a lot to you, sir, but to an ordinary man like me with a poor old widowed mother back home, it’s a fortune.”