Winding the thread tooth by tooth back to the original anchoring point, she tied it off and stood back from her unconscious husband, reaching behind her for another jar. Pulling out the container’s stopper she dipped a finger into the off-white paste inside and rubbed it gently along the line of Marcus’s swollen jaw.
‘This is knitbone, a flowering herb that has been boiled in water and then ground into a paste and incorporated into this salve. Rubbing this ointment on his face twice a day will help the bone to knit more quickly. And now…’ She selected a long bandage and looped it around Marcus’s head, tying it loosely across his jaw. ‘Tight enough to provide some support to the bone, not tight enough to force the crack open again. And that, gentlemen, is the limit of my abilities. All we can do now is leave him to sleep off the treatment, and offer whatever prayers we feel might help the gods to smile favourably on his recovery. I believe there’s an arrow wound for me to deal with, now we’ve done all we can for this officer, and after that there’s a case of frostbite?’
‘There’s little enough to tell, Tribune. We rode west until the snow started, fortunately close enough to a farm to take shelter in their barn, and waited it out overnight. Anyone stuck out on the road will have had a miserable time of it. Once the snow lifted we rode straight back here to find out what had become of your raid into the forest.’
Seeing Julius and Dubnus standing in the doorway of the administration building, Caninus stopped his account of the last day’s events, and Scaurus, turning to find his centurions waiting for permission to enter, waved them in impatiently.
‘Gentlemen, you have news of our colleague?’
Both men marched in and came to attention, and Julius saluted before speaking.
‘The centurion has a fractured jaw, Tribune, and will require at least two weeks before returning to duty. Possibly longer.’
The tribune nodded.
‘We can be grateful for small mercies, then. Mithras was watching over him, no doubt about that. I’ve seen broken jaws before, teeth smashed and the man in question left with a deformed face for the rest of his life, invalided out of the service in extreme cases. So who’s to lead his century, First Spear?’
Frontinius cocked an eyebrow at Julius. His senior centurion spoke without hesitation.
‘His chosen man is a good man. Very good, as it happens. He’s been a bit morose of late though, which is a bit of a concern. I’m just wondering if he’s the right man to pick up Centurion Corvus’s lads, given their devotion to their officer. He’s been a temporary centurion before, of course, when the Hamians were shipped into Arab Town, but never led a century in combat.’
Frontinius nodded decisively.
‘It’s make or break, then. If Tribune Scaurus is in agreement you can inform Chosen Man Qadir that he’s appointed to lead the Ninth Century until Centurion Corvus is fit for duty. And you can impress upon him the fact that I’ll be watching him very closely. After all, we still need to rebuild the Sixth, once we can find another eighty men to reconstitute it, He might well be the right man to build a new century, if he can hold his men together for the next few days. Tribune?’
Scaurus nodded his agreement.
‘As ever, First Spear, I’ll defer to your judgement when it comes to managing your people.’ The two centurions saluted and turned to leave. ‘Centurion Julius, I’d like you to stay and take part in our discussion as to what happened in the Arduenna. I don’t believe we can determine our next steps until we work out just what it was that went so badly wrong. Whether it was betrayal or divine intervention, I’ll not put my men back into that forest until I know I can take the fight to this Obduro character without fear of finding an arrow protruding from between my shoulder blades.’
Marcus awoke to find himself lying in a hospital bed, still bone-weary from whatever it was that had been done to him while he was under the influence of Felicia’s potion. Content to lie in silence with his eyes closed as his mind surfaced from its long, deep dive into darkness, he gradually became aware of his surroundings: the scratchy feel of a blanket laid across his naked body and the hard frame of the bed beneath its thin mattress. A man groaned close by, and Marcus forced his eyes open, blinking painfully at the light of a lamp placed by his bed. Whoever it was alongside him was muttering quietly to himself, his stream of invective and profanity apparently inexhaustible.
‘Fifteen years! Fucking bandits! Fifteen bloody years keeping the bluenoses in their place and never anything more than a scratch, then some robbing, whoremongering, goat-fucking deserter puts an arrow through my bloody knee.’ The soldier was attempting to struggle to his feet with his back to the recumbent centurion, his left leg swathed in heavy bandages from thigh to calf and splinted to remove any mobility from the knee joint. He subsided onto the bed, his back still towards the now more or less wakened Marcus, and he was looking down at the wounded leg with evident disgust, to judge from his tone of voice. ‘If I could just get this fucking stick off, then I could bend the bastard enough to walk on it.’
You’ll be sorry if you try that, Marcus mused, knowing the doctor and her temper as well as I do. He tried to speak, but the combination of bandage and pain prevented him from making any sound other than a grunt.
The soldier turned as best he could, whipping up a hand in salute.
‘Sorry, Centurion, I didn’t realise you was awake! I suggested you might be better off in your own room, but Centurion Dubnus reckoned you’d be happier with some company. Here, I’ll get the orderly. Orderly! ’ He bellowed the summons at the top of his voice, and quick footsteps hurried down the corridor. Felicia appeared at the door, taking in the scene in an instant.
‘Get back in your bed, Soldier Sanga! And if I see you out of it without an orderly in attendance at any time before I give you permission to get up, I’ll have your centurion put you on punishment duty once you’re fit and well. And keep your hands off that splint; it’s there to stop you bending the leg and undoing all my good work in getting the arrow out without having to cut lumps out of your knee.’ Sanga raised a hand, and the doctor shook her head in further admonishment. ‘I’m not your centurion, Sanga, so you don’t have to raise a hand to speak to me. What is it?’
‘Need the latrine, ma’am.’
‘Is that all? Manius!’ The orderly put his head round the door, clearly as much in awe of the new doctor as the abashed Sanga. ‘This man needs to use the latrine. Front or back?’
‘Eh? Oh. Front, ma’am.’
She nodded to the orderly, who came into the room and pulled out a pan from beneath the bed. He helped Sanga to roll over until he could direct his urine into the pan, and the soldier emitted a long sigh of relief as he emptied his full bladder. Manius took a long hard look at the contents, then put his nose close to the surface and inhaled deeply, ignoring Sanga’s surprised expression. He passed the pan across the recumbent soldier’s body to the waiting doctor, and Felicia repeated the routine.
‘This seems healthy enough. Thank you, Manius.’ She passed the pan back to the orderly, and he carried it away down the corridor to the latrine, for disposal. ‘So now, Soldier Sanga, with your bladder safely emptied, you can lie quietly while I attend to the centurion here.’ With a practised eye she bent across Marcus and examined the swelling along the line of his jaw, then gently rubbed some more of the knitbone salve into the bruised flesh. ‘You mustn’t try to speak, or even open and close your mouth, until I tell you it’s safe to do so. We’ll feed you with soup through a tube, and you can use this to communicate.’