“I did warn you.”
“Never mind, sir. I’ve brought some good long books to read.”
“You’ve been lugging books around as well as all your kit?”
“Just a couple, sir.”
Ruso shook his head. The last thing the average legionary would do was think of concealing lengthy and expensive scrolls among the already considerable weight of equipment he was required to carry. No wonder Albanus had been looking weary.
“Don’t read when you’re on duty,” he warned. “Or somebody will find you something else to do. You don’t want to be scraping bandages and emptying bedpans.”
Albanus looked alarmed.
“Now tell me what’s happened to Tilla.”
Unfortunately all Albanus knew was that Centurion Postumus had interviewed Tilla earlier that afternoon about something he seemed to think was serious, but Albanus did not know what it was. No, she was not under arrest and no, Albanus did not know where she had gone. As if in an attempt to redeem himself, the clerk added, “But I’ve located all your luggage, sir. They’ll be bringing it along any moment.”
At last: a cheering thought. The fort might be small, the natives vicious, the infirmary badly run, and the restoration of his new colleague’s mind unlikely, but a lone legionary officer here at the request of the prefect would be assigned decent quarters. While Tilla was practicing her unconventional approach to cookery, that officer would be able to retreat to his room, relax in his favorite chair, and think deep thoughts with no danger of Valens wandering in and distracting him with wine and gossip.
“They might as well take it straight to my quarters,” said Ruso. “You don’t happen to know where they are, do you?”
“There was a letter waiting for you, as well, sir,” continued Albanus, a little too brightly. “Here.”
Whoever it was had gone to the trouble of writing out several sheets that were now tied and sealed together in an offering of ominous width. Ruso took it and tucked it into his belt. “Albanus, what are you trying not to tell me?”
Albanus looked apologetic. “I asked about the medic’s quarters, sir, but some other doctor’s in them and they said you wouldn’t want to share.”
“He’s ill.”
“You’ll be very close to your work, sir.”
“Everywhere here is close to my work. Everywhere’s close to everything. What’s the problem?”
Albanus cleared his throat. “They said you’ll have to bed down in the infirmary, sir.”
“What?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“But there aren’t any empty rooms! I’m not sharing with the patients. And I’m not bloody sleeping in the treatment room. I’d rather camp outside in a tent.”
“They said one of the storerooms could be cleared out, sir.”
“Has anybody from headquarters actually been into the infirmary recently?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
Ruso shook his head. “No, of course you don’t. Rhetorical question. Well. The infirmary it is, then.”
When Ruso returned to the office, Gambax had lit a fire in the hearth and was standing by the pharmacy table weighing out a pile of torn leaves.
“Tell me,” said Ruso, “when Felix’s body was brought in, who was on duty?”
“Me, sir.”
“So you and the other staff helped to lay it out?”
“Audax did it, sir, all by himself,” said Gambax, confirming what the centurion had said. “Wouldn’t even let us in there to pay our respects. We offered to help, but he thinks medics are a waste of time. If you’re not happy, you need to talk to him.”
“I will,” said Ruso. Fortuitously, it seemed the infirmary staff had thought they were being kept away from the body because of Audax’s prejudices rather than any more sinister reason. “Tonight I want you to organize a roster.”
Gambax’s eyes registered alarm.
“By the time the lamps are lit tomorrow, I want every patient to have had a wash. All over. I want the wards properly aired, every floor and wall scrubbed, every mattress replaced with one that’s got a clean cover and fresh straw, and clean bedding on every bed.”
Gambax’s jaw dropped even farther than normal.
“You don’t have to do it all yourself,” explained Ruso. “Just organize the staff. And if those four malingerers are still here in the morning, they can clean out the latrine.”
“Me and the staff will see what we can do, sir.”
“Good,” said Ruso. “If anybody needs me, I’m going across to visit Doctor Thessalus, then I’m heading for a quick cleanup at the baths. Then I’ll come back here to see my amputee before I go to Felix’s funeral.”
“Right you are, sir,” agreed Gambax. “You take your time. Don’t worry about us. We’ll keep an eye on everything while you’re gone. I’ll see if I can find a pen in a minute and make a start on that roster you want.”
“If there’s any change with the amputee, call me right away. And did you know about the billeting arrangement?”
The deputy poured a measure of cold water on top of the leaves. “Billeting arrangement, sir?”
“I’ll be sleeping here. So while I’m out, you’ll need to get the smaller storeroom cleared out and a clean bed put in there too.”
Gambax reached down to balance the pot on the iron grid by the hearth. “I’ll get a room ready for you, sir.”
“The smaller one,” insisted Ruso. “And leave the barrel where it is.”
Gambax’s “Yes, sir,” was not heartfelt, and Ruso knew why. The smaller storeroom was the one housing the infirmary’s beer supply.
14
'Good afternoon! ” the young man’s cheerful smile belied both the gravity of his situation and the pallor of his thin face. Ruso guessed that the smell filling the gloomy little entrance room was rising from the hair oil glistening on his dark curls.
“Very good of you to call,” the man continued. “I’m Thessalus. I expect you know that. The guard tells me you’re called Ruso. Odd sort of name. Did you bring the fish?”
“I’m a doctor,” explained Ruso, who had been mistaken for many things before but never a cook. “Gambax will be bringing your dinner later.”
“Yes, I know. So did you bring the fish?”
Ruso glanced at the guard, hoping for some guidance, but the man did not seem to feel his duties extended beyond announcing the visitor and standing at attention by the door. “I didn’t know I had to bring a fish,” said Ruso, wondering why Gambax had failed to warn him. “Was it any particular sort of fish?”
“Well, of course it was a particular sort of fish!” exclaimed Thessalus, ushering him through a doorway to where the very little light edging around a cloth nailed over the window revealed the domestic confusion of a single man not expecting visitors. “You can’t get much use out of a salmon, can you? Or a trout? They would just lie there and flop about a bit.”
“I’ll see about a fish next time,” Ruso promised, making a mental note to ask Gambax what on earth the man was talking about. “How are you feeling today?”
“In need of a fish. A fish around the head. A fish on a dish around the head until it’s dead.” Thessalus giggled, then clamped a hand over his mouth before indicating a chair and saying with exaggerated politeness, “Do sit down, Doctor.”
Ruso cleared away a scatter of scroll cases, upon some of which he could just make out the names of
