'Think Hadrian'll try and take the North back?' asked Valens.
'Why not?' Ruso said. 'He'll be wanting to make an impression.
Britannia's big enough to count, but remote enough not to matter.'
'He'll have to send more legions if he's serious about it. We're spread pretty thin here.'
'He might not go for it. He's Trajan's man. He might just carry on the Divine Trajan's policies.' Ruso glanced at the orderly. 'No doubt the kitchen staff will let us know. Here it comes… ' He lifted off the rag and dropped it into the wastebasket.
Both men leaned forward to peer at the swollen and blood-caked mess that had once been an arm.
Valens brought one hand down over his own elbow with a chopping motion and raised his eyebrows in question.
Ruso shook his head. 'It looks clean. The wrist's intact.'
Valens strolled around the table, looking at the injury from a different angle. 'I wouldn't,' he murmured. 'You'll only make a worse mess and end up taking it off anyway.'
'It might work. If you broke your arm-'
'I'd pray I didn't get some would-be hero like you.'
'I think we should try.'
There was a pause.
'She's my patient,' added Ruso.
Valens shrugged. 'Fine. She's your patient. So, do we know how much Hadrian values his loyal troops?'
'He'll be doubling the usual bonus, apparently.'
'How much is that?'
'Not a clue.'
As they began to clean the wound, the girl gasped. Her face twisted into a grimace of pain.
'Try and lie still,' said the orderly, tightening his grip and glancing to check that all the straps were fastened.
'We'll be very quick,' promised Ruso, wishing he could make patients believe it the way Valens did.
'My friend's famous for being quick,' added Valens. 'Ask all the girls.' He glanced at Ruso. 'What's she called?'
'I don't know.'
'Ruso, only you could round up two women and not know the names of either of them.'
'Next time,' said Ruso, 'I'll tell them my friend would like to be introduced.' He picked out a stray thread of rag with the tweezers. The girl gave a low moan.
'Shush now,' said the orderly.
Ruso hoped she wouldn't be a whimperer. Whimperers were worse than screamers. Screamers made him cross, which made him work faster. The sound of a whimperer trying to be brave was a distraction.
The girl didn't whimper. She clenched her teeth and didn't make another sound.
There was a rap at the door.
'What?' snapped Ruso. A very young soldier appeared, swallowed, and announced, 'Urgent message for Gaius Petreius Ruso.'
'That's me.'
'Sir, there's a man at the east gatehouse. He says you promised to pay fifty-four denarii first thing this morning.'
'It was fifty,' said Ruso, not looking up. 'And I'm busy.'
The youth did not reply. He was staring at the operating table.
'Tell him I'll be down later,' said Ruso.
The youth swallowed again. 'He said to tell you the extra is the tax and the cost of drawing up the documents, sir.'
Ruso nodded toward the mangled mass of the girl's arm. 'If you don't get out right away, I shall do this to you too.'
The youth fled.
Ruso aimed the tweezers at the wastebasket, missed, and said, 'I think that's clean.'
Valens laid a hand on the girl's forehead. 'We like this arm so much, young woman, we're going to put it back together for you.'
The orderly leaned down until his face was almost touching the girl's.
'Breathe deeply now,' he ordered. 'Ready? In, out-In, out…'
Ruso had rehearsed his speech all the way down to the gatehouse, but when he got there he found his time had been wasted. Instead of the wool trader, the guards presented him with an elderly slave with no teeth who made it clear that if he failed to return to his master with the right money, his life would not be worth living. Ruso, who had neither the time nor the inclination to get in line at the tax office, paid up. He also sent a message to say that if Claudius Innocens ever showed his face in Deva again he would be instantly arrested, but he doubted the slave would have the courage to deliver it.
The clerk of the Aesculapian Thanksgiving Fund gave him a receipt for the two and a half denarii that Valens had borrowed from someone who had borrowed them from someone else who had very possibly borrowed them from the Aesculapian Thanksgiving Fund in the first place.
Ruso went to thank the god personally. Standing in front of the statue, he fingered the two receipts tucked into his belt. One said that in gratitude and fulfillment of a vow, Gaius Petreius Ruso had paid the Aesculapian Thanksgiving Fund two and a half denarii. The other confirmed Gaius Petreius Ruso as the new owner of an injured and sickly girl with indescribable eyes and a name that seemed to be a series of spelling mistakes.
Ruso gazed up at the statue of the god who had answered his prayer. For the first time he noticed that the painter had not just performed the usual touch-up over the rough spots. The god had been completely repainted. Ruso stood to take a closer look, and as he gazed into the brown eyes of Aesculapius he had the distinct impression that the god of healing was looking back at him, and laughing.
5
Ruso lay on the borrowed bed and stared into the gloom that hid the cracks in the ceiling plaster, reflecting that Socrates was a wise man. Surveying the goods on a market stall, the great one was said to have remarked, 'What a lot of things a man doesn't need!'
What a lot of things a man doesn't need. That thought had comforted Ruso over the last few months. The more you own, he had told himself, the more you have to worry about. Possessions are a burden.
The kind of possessions which needed to be regularly fed were a double burden. They were only worth having if they earned their keep by doing the laundry, or barking at burglars, or catching mice, or carrying you somewhere, or chirping in a way that your ex-wife used to find entertaining. It was a pity Socrates hadn't thought to add, Which is why I never shop after drinking on an empty stomach.
'As far as I'm concerned,' Valens had said, carefully lowering the lid back onto the beer barrel so as not to tip the stack of dirty dishes that had been there when Ruso moved in, 'If there's no one waiting for the room and you're not using much staff time to nurse her, you can leave her there.'
Ruso took the dripping cup of beer and wondered whether to clear up the dishes, or whether to wait and see how long it would be before Valens did. 'She'll need proper nursing for a few days.'
'Fair enough. But the other one's got to be out of the mortuary tomorrow, claimed or not.' Valens tossed a broken fishing rod into the corner to clear himself space on the couch. As he sat down, three puppies scuttled out from underneath. The puppies were a legacy from the previous occupant, whose lone and portly terrier bitch Valens had agreed to look after while the man was temporarily assigned elsewhere. 'Gods, I'll be glad when Marius gets back to pick this stuff up. It's not all my mess in here, you know.'
Ruso, who had shared quarters with Valens before, made no comment. The offer of free accommodation had been too good to turn down, but he had known there would be a price to pay.
'To tell you the truth,' said Valens, 'I thought you'd be bringing a servant or two. You used to have lots.'
