posting with the governor?'
'Not as far as I know. Now push off. I've got work to do, and I suppose there is a faint chance that you have as well.'
'Sir?'
'What now?'
'You don't happen to know when he's coming back?'
'I haven't a clue,' said Ruso. 'Go and make sure the room lists are up to date in case he turns up this afternoon.'
Ruso shut the door of the records room and sat down again. Just as he picked up the pen, the latch clicked and Valens strolled in. He helped himself to the spare chair before enquiring whether Ruso had seen the younger sister of a recently appointed centurion. 'She is stunning.'
'Even more stunning than the second spear's daughter?'
Valens grinned. 'That's a long-term project.' He settled himself in the chair. 'I heard you had a problem?'
Ruso gave him a short run-down of the afternoon's events, leaving out the dog.
'Not good,' summarized Valens, putting his feet up on the desk and treating his friend to a display of gleaming hobnails surrounded by dried mud. 'By the way, I dropped in on your Tilla just now. Since you were too busy.'
Ruso frowned. 'My what?'
'Tilla,' repeated Valens. When there was no reply he shook his head sadly. 'Gods above, Ruso, you are hopeless. What have I told you? First rule with women: Get the name right. Anyway, it looks as though you've got away with that arm. Too early to say whether it'll be of any use, of course.'
'Are you sure she's called Tilla?' persisted Ruso. 'It doesn't look anything like that on the note of sale.'
Valens shrugged. 'She said that's what you called her.'
'I didn't call her anything. I can't pronounce her name. It's got about fifteen syllables stuffed with g's and h's in odd places.'
'She seems to think you told her she'd be Tilla from now on. She seemed quite cheerful about it.'
'Did she?' There was no justice in the ways of the world. Ruso, who had saved the girl's life, was rewarded with weeping and 'Let me die.' Valens, who would have fixed her broken arm with a sharp saw, was granted a pleasant chat.
'Well, she was smiling.'
'Good,' said Ruso, with as much grace as he could muster.
He should have guessed that Valens's idea of a medical checkup would include an attempt to charm the patient with his boyish good looks and his smooth bedside manner. He would probably smarm his way into the CMO's job in the same fashion. Even without any combat experience. Ruso folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. 'I had an interesting conversation myself just now,' he said. 'Did you tell the staff they could keep that dog?'
Valens scratched his head. 'I may have said it didn't bother me. I can't remember.'
'Thanks very much. You're not the CMO yet, you know.'
'I did tell them what you'd said.'
'Only I hadn't, you had. And anyway they completely ignored it. Do we really want animals running around the hospital?'
'Don't be miserable, Ruso. It's only a dog. Which reminds me'- Valens thrust out one foot and kicked the door shut before leaning closer-'speaking of miseries, have you heard this rumor about Priscus getting a posting with the governor?'
'Just now. Is it true?'
'You'd better hope so. Then he might not find out you've demolished his linen closet.'
'Gods above, he's only a pen-pusher! Who runs this place?'
Valens pondered that for a moment and then said, 'He doesn't interfere with the medical decisions.'
Outside, there was a clank of buckets. Someone called out something about stocking up dressings and footsteps trod down the wooden boards of the corridor.
'Utilis, said Ruso suddenly. 'Useful. Her Latin's a bit shaky. She got into a bit of a state last night. Thought she was never going to get bet ter and wanted to be off with the ancestors, or something. I told her she'd be utilis to me.'
'Well, that must have been a big comfort. So you aren't going to sell her, then?'
'Of course I am. I don't need her.'
'She's cleaned up rather well, don't you think? A bit skinny, but surprisingly good teeth. Why don't we hold on till she's mended and give her a try?'
'No.'
'So how is she going to be useful to you?'
'How much would you say an attractive female slave would fetch here?'
Valens's face betrayed his amusement. 'Claudia would never have approved of this line of business, you know.'
'One of childbearing age?' persisted Ruso.
Valens shrugged. 'Two thousand, if you can find the right buyer. Three or four maybe, if she can actually do something.'
'Exactly,' said Ruso, and dipped the pen in the inkwell.
Finally alone, Ruso started the Fatality Report. The first stroke of the first letter slid down the sheet and ended in a quivering black blob. He rested the pen on the edge of the desk while he blotted the page with a soft rag. A glance at the shelf told him there were no spare sheets. Of course not. The chief administrator had probably taken the key to the stationery cupboard too. Ruso held the sliver of wood over the lamp flame to hurry the drying of the blot and wondered what the girl'ssmile was like.
The blot was obliterated by a scorch mark. He swore.
This time the stroke started well enough, but the ink began to falter halfway down. He pressed harder. The nib scraped the wood, leaving a blank indentation like a dry riverbed. The dead cavalryman deserved better than this. He dipped the pen in the inkpot and tapped it against the edge.
Gods above, Ruso, you are hopeless.
He wasn't completely hopeless. He'd managed three years of marriage. Whereas Valens was still single at thirty-two and any woman willing to marry him would need her sanity examined. So would the second spear, if he gave his permission.
A fine neat stroke this time, cutting across the sepia edge of the scorch mark. That was better. He was making progress now.
The pen jolted between his fingers and stopped working. A second attempt at the stroke made an ink less scratch. Ruso lifted the pen to eye level and squinted at the nib. It was bent at an impossible angle. He flung it into the corner where it made a splash of black as it bounced off the plaster, missed the wastebasket, and rolled across the floor.
Claudia would never have approved of this line of business, you know. He must stop showing an interest in slave girls. He would become a source of amusement.
The next pen had a nib that wobbled about. The third proved to be an inky stick with no nib at all.
Ruso sent the stool crashing back onto the floorboards, wrenched open the door, and roared, 'Can't anybody get anything organized in this bloody place?' to an empty corridor.
14
Athrush was singing its early song in the hospital garden. The girl who had decided they could call her Tilla lay with her eyes closed, letting the music lift her above the dull ache in her arm. The bed was comfortable. She felt clean for the first time in weeks. It occurred to her that she was happy.
The feeling was followed by a flush of shame. She had no right to be happy. This white room with the square window was only a temporary resting place.
