Medicus

'Mariamne?'

'He might have made her feel sick,' continued Chloe, winding the thongs of a sandal up her calf, 'but not the other way around. There's nothing wrong with the wine, and other people have had the apple pie.'

Ruso pondered the possibilities as he checked the limited movement of the bandaged hand. He was paying no attention to Chloe groveling for something under one of the bunks, which was why when he turned to find her hidden behind a golden cavalry mask and brandishing a sword, it was a shock.

Chloe raised the mask. 'It's blunt,' she assured him, lifting the sword toward the fading light from the window before sliding it back into its scabbard. 'You wouldn't believe what rubbish you have to put on here just so the customers can look at you taking it off again. Want to come and see the show?'

'I'm sure it'll be very, uh…' Ruso paused, looking for a word. 'Artistic.'

' 'Course it will,' said Chloe. 'That's why they come to watch.'

When she had gone he turned to his patient. 'Tilla, tell me what you know about Claudius Innocens.'

'He is a patch of slime.'

'Yes, but do you know what he was doing in Deva before I met him?'

Tilla shrugged. 'He stays at an inn. He leaves me locked up there when he goes to do business. He tells me he will fetch a healer but I never see one.'

'And some of his business was here with Merula?'

'I do not know, my Lord. If you ask him, he will lie to you.'

'Did he ever mention any other girls?'

'He says I am the most ungrateful girl he has ever met.'

'Hm. So he doesn't lie all the time, then. Tell me one more thing. Do you know why he is ill?'

The eyes that reminded him of the sea were wide with innocence. 'Perhaps he is cursed, my Lord.'

'What would make you think that?'

'Perhaps your medicine will make him better.'

'Perhaps.'

There was a pause, then she said, 'What medicine do you give?'

Ruso looked at the door to the kitchen, which was closed. He looked at Tilla, and at the complex bandaging that covered the very best work he had been able to do, but which even now would probably not return her the full use of her arm. He said, 'I gave him medicines that are recommended by several authorities.'

She raised her eyebrows, waiting.

He took a deep breath and said, 'Some of my colleagues recommend chewing several cloves of raw garlic.' Although not necessarily to cure vomiting. 'And then to sweeten the breath, the patient should take honey containing ashes of burned mouse droppings.'

Her eyes widened. 'And this is what you give for sickness of the stomach?'

'There are men who recommend these things,' he responded, wondering what had possessed him to administer this ludicrous and disgusting treatment in which he had no faith at all, and scarcely able to believe that he had just admitted this weak-but oh, so enjoyable! — moment to a slave.

From somewhere in the yard outside the window came the sound of retching. Tilla said, 'I think it did not work.'

'No,' agreed Ruso solemnly. 'Perhaps he is cursed.'

40

Ruso's thoughts as he lined up with the First Century on the damp parade ground were a mixture of apprehension and annoyance. The apprehension was such as any man who has not recently undertaken serious physical training might feel at the prospect of a ten-mile run. The annoyance was partly with Valens, who could surely have found a more sensible way to impress the second spear. It was also with himself for rising to the challenge of Valens's 'I would have signed you up too, but after a summer off I don't suppose you'd be up to it.'

Pride had prevented him from asking exactly what he would be signed up for. Valens was obviously out to create an impression of being Enthusiastic and Committed, and it would not do to be seen as less enthusiastic or less committed than his rival in the race for promotion. So when Valens had asked him which of them should go first while the other remained on duty, he had volunteered. Now, standing on the parade ground surrounded by the fittest, fastest, fiercest, and best-trained unit in the legion, he knew he should have listened to his common sense rather than his vanity

A centurion was bawling orders. The second spear was nowhere to be seen. It occurred to Ruso that a more suspicious mind might have described his friend and colleague as a devious bastard. It also occurred to him that there had been no need for him to do this run, but now he was here he had to finish it or risk public humiliation and serious damage to his hopes of promotion.

When the men first set off the shock to his system was as bad as he had feared, but once he had forced his thoughts away from the prospect of the next ten miles, his body settled back surprisingly quickly into the familiar anonymity of the training run. He was no longer an individual. He was part of a many-legged creature moving forward over the relentless crunch of boots on gravel. His lungs shared the heavy breathing of men keeping step. His own sweat mingled with the smell of others wafting through the afternoon drizzle as they passed the competing stinks of laundry and tannery. As they followed the East road out between the green fields that were the territory of the Cornovii, his mind was free to wander.

It wandered back to the cheering sight of the signaler waving at him from the departing wagon to Londinium that morning. Tonight, if his legs were still capable of holding him up, Ruso would stand before the healing God and offer up a prayer for courage for the signaler, steady hands for the surgeon, and the large measure of luck that was needed for successful cataract surgery. And a prayer that for all their sakes, the girlfriend would not deliver while they were on the road.

The thought of the woman led his mind down darker paths: back to the moment when he had realized that Claudius Innocens was supplying slaves to Merula's and might have been around when both of the dead girls disappeared. The thought that his own Tilla had narrowly escaped being offloaded to the highest-bidding bar owner had filled him with fury. That fury had led him over a boundary he had never imagined he would cross. Until yesterday, he had honestly been able to claim that, no matter how unlovely or annoying they were, he had always done his best to help his patients. Now he felt-not shame exactly, but a sense of being stained by the dirt of others.

He had not harmed Innocens. To his relief and Tilla's probable disappointment, the man had recovered overnight and had sent a message of thanks to the hospital this morning. Perhaps the purveyors of mouse droppings had a point after all.

Mouse droppings? There was another boundary he had never imagined he would cross. Not to mention his newfound doubts about ghosts and his sudden rush of faith in Trajan. Ruso wiped a drip of drizzle off the end of his nose. Perhaps the damp climate was making him soft in the head.

He must concentrate on what was important. His duty to his family was no less just because they were far away, but with all the distractions here-slave girls, house fires, arguments with Priscus-he had given them scant thought recently. He must organize himself. He must adopt a logical approach. Observation, diagnosis, treatment.

Observations

No cash Short-term extra costs of long-term investment (Tilla) Large debts in Gaul Small debts in Brittania

Grim (and dangerous?) living quarters No housekeeper

Increasingly distracted, impulsive, and unprofessional behavior. He was constantly finding his mind wandering away from whatever he was supposed to be doing. As if Tilla were not enough of a diversion, this morning he had found himself wondering if the two girls' deaths were not connected at all, and whether Decimus had lied to him. He only had the man's word for it that there had been no contact from Asellina. What if the porter really had received a message that his girlfriend had run away to join him? Would it have been welcome? His dreams of a