The three cohorts had crossed the river in an orderly fashion, the first men across spreading out in centuries to provide security for those following, although in truth the soldiers were more interested in soaking up the morning’s sunshine than in any unlikely threat, now that they were back on friendly ground. The remaining force on the river’s southern bank had been reduced in strength in an orderly manner under Frontinius’s close control, the withdrawal of each century from the line defending the bridge’s southern end being matched by a contraction of the bridgehead, until at length there were only two centuries left.
‘Take your men across first, Dubnus. Julius and I will follow once your last man’s on the bridge.’
Dubnus saluted the first spear, turning away and barking orders at his chosen man and watch officer.
‘Move your arses, Eighth Century! By tent party, get across that bridge and reform! Smartly, mind you, you’ve got an audience!’
He stalked away towards the river, upbraiding his men for the state of their dress with a vehemence that brought a grim smile to Julius’s face.
‘It sounds like our colleague is about as happy as I feel this morning, sunshine or no bloody sunshine.’
Frontinius grunted his agreement, sweeping the trees around the clearing’s scene of devastation with one last, long stare, then he turned to watch as the 8th Century started to cross the river.
‘We might have been lucky only to have lost two men, you know. It looks to me as if they knew we were coming.’
Julius nodded morosely.
‘But to have lost Marcus of all men. Someone will have to tell his w-’
A man in the front rank of his 5th Century interrupted with a hoarse shout, pointing out into the trees.
‘Man coming in! Looks like one of ours!’
Both officers spun to follow his pointing arm, and Julius’s jaw dropped at the sight of a bedraggled centurion struggling out of the trees. He ran for the clearing’s edge, waving his men forward.
‘ On me! ’
The century sprinted forward in his wake, splitting to either side of the exhausted Marcus as he collapsed into Julius’s arms. Frontinius limped up behind them, bellowing for them to form a line and staring into the trees for any sign of pursuit.
‘Get some shields around him!’
With the 5th Century covering them, Frontinius and Julius lifted their semi-conscious comrade between them and walked him towards the bridge, exchanging unhappy glances as he tottered on his dragging feet despite their support. Julius eyed the river’s width uncertainly, giving Marcus’s bruised face and slitted eyes an appraising stare.
‘He’ll not make the crossing unaided, and if he falls in we’ll lose him.’
Frontinius shook his head.
‘He won’t need to. Look.’
Lugos had cast his war hammer aside and was striding across the bridge, a determined look on his face. He strode up to the two officers and looked down at Marcus, who lifted a weary hand in greeting. Without saying a word the Selgovae warrior bent to examine the Roman’s face, his hands surprisingly gentle as he touched the bruised jaw. Shaking his head he waved the two centurions aside, then squatted onto his haunches in front of Marcus, put his shoulder into the exhausted man’s stomach and straightened his legs, hoisting the Roman and his equipment into the air like a tired infant at bedtime. He turned back towards the bridge without a word, and Frontinius watched him step onto the submerged bridge with exaggerated care, speaking to Julius without taking his eyes off the giant warrior and his burden.
‘We’d best get him on a cart and away to Tungrorum. If that bruising on his face is what it looks like then he’s going to need all his wife’s skill to put that jaw straight again.’
Felicia took one look at her husband as Dubnus and Julius carried him through the surgery door, and pointed to the operating table that dominated the room.
‘Lift him up there, please, gentlemen.’ She examined the swelling bruise that was distending the right side of his face with slow, careful hands. Marcus leaned forward and muttered something in her ear, and she looked round at his colleagues with an expression only a little the right side of distress, shaking her head. ‘He’s clearly concussed, although I don’t suppose you need me to tell you that. His jaw’s badly hurt, from the feel of it. Perhaps not completely broken, but certainly fractured. He won’t be able to eat solid food or speak for at least a fortnight, probably longer. Undress him, please.’
The two centurions pulled Marcus’s armour over his head while he sat and shivered with the pain, his eyes dull and unfocused. Dubnus grinned at him, looking critically at the swelling that had doubled the size of his jaw on one side.
‘We’d better stay for a while, eh? Your woman will need a pair of big strong boys to hold you down if she decides to amputate. And if you die, don’t forget I’m first in line for that pretty sword.’
‘The first person in line for that pretty sword will be me, Centurion, given the amount he spent on it.’ Dubnus bowed to the doctor as she re-entered the surgery with an armful of jars.
‘Of course, ma’am, it’s simply-’
‘Soldiers’ humour. I know. But since my husband is all but unconscious with the pain I’d say the person you’re amusing most is yourself. And it’s hardly you that’s in need of reassurance, is it?’ She put the jars down and bowed her head over them for a moment before turning and taking the abashed centurion’s hand, her eyes wet with tears. ‘Forgive me, Dubnus, no one’s made any greater sacrifice for Marcus and me, and I thank you for it. I’m just…’
The big man raised his hand to silence her apology.
‘I know. Work your magic on him and ignore my prattling. How can we help?’
She turned back to the jars, rapidly dispensing two small quantities of powder into a cup of wine before stirring honey into the mixture, then passing the concoction to Dubnus.
‘Get him to drink this. It may be bitter even with the honey, but I can’t work on the injury until he’s drunk it all. Here — ’ she passed him a thin tube made of glass — ‘he can use this to avoid having to open his mouth for the cup.’
Marcus winced at the mixture’s taste, but saw the look on his wife’s face and lowered his head obediently to sip at it again. Julius leaned over and smelled the cup, wrinkling his nose at the odour.
‘What’s in the drink?’
Felicia replied over her shoulder while she laid out her equipment.
‘It’s a mixture of the dried sap of the poppy and something I’ve been reading about recently: the dried and powdered root of the mandrake plant. The imperial physician Galen recommends its use for the sedation of a patient to whom the treatment must inevitably cause pain. Make sure he drinks it all.’
Waiting until Marcus’s eyes closed, and he failed to respond to a hard pinch of the soft skin on the back of his hand, she took a gentle hold of his jaw and palpated the bruised area with her fingers. When he failed to react she took a firmer grasp, and delicately put pressure on the bone, pressing it with the flat of her hand. Letting out a sigh of relief she nodded to the centurions.
‘As I thought, the bone isn’t shattered. Whatever hit him either only caught him a glancing blow, or, more likely, wasn’t made of iron. A fist, perhaps? I expect that there’s a crack in the bone though, so I shall give him the only three treatments that are available to me. Pass me that thread, please, Dubnus.’ She took the reel of thread from the puzzled centurion. ‘Now hold his mouth open for me, as gently as you can.’ Looping the slender cord around one of her husband’s front teeth, and tying a tight knot to secure it, she wound the thread around the tooth behind it, carefully pulling it tight, then repeated the act with the tooth behind that. ‘Now, this is the important one. I suspect that the crack in the jawbone is between this tooth and the next, so I need to pull it closed by using the teeth as anchor posts for the thread. Open his mouth as wide as you can, please.’ She reached deeper into Marcus’s mouth, slipping a noose around the tooth in question then tugging it tight, with a small smile of triumph. ‘Got it.’