“Don’t worry, Doctor. I see what you’re trying to say. I’ll keep looking. Somebody will have her, I’m sure. Now, come with me, and I’ll introduce you to my daughter.”
Whatever either man might have hoped for in a meeting between Ruso and Aemilia, both were disappointed. Aemilia had retreated into her room and barricaded the door. Her father’s insistence that a very important officer had come to see her only produced a howl of, “Go away!”
Catavignus explained to Ruso that his daughter was not well, and less politely to Aemilia that she was shaming the whole family.
“Go away!”
Ruso asked for a chance to try on his own. When her father had retreated he said quietly, “Aemilia, this is important. I know about the ring you were given by-”
“Go away!”
“Aemilia, I’m a medicus. Perhaps I could help-”
“Go away!”
“Please just let me-”
“Go away!”
“Aemilia, I know you saw Felix on the night-”
This time “Go away!” was preceded by a loud scream and followed by the dull boom of fists hitting the back of the door.
Catavignus appeared in the corridor, yelled at his daughter that she was a disgrace, that if she didn’t open the door this minute she would be beaten.
Not surprisingly, this did not entice her out.
“Don’t worry,” said Ruso. “I’m used to this. Don’t bother with the beating. I’ll just come back later.”
60
All the way back to the infirmary Ruso was running over his alarming conversation with Catavignus.
My people have many kinds of marriage.
Of course there were many kinds of marriage. There were at least three. There was his brother’s sort: the kind where the couple liked each other from the start. There was the sort contracted by the rich and powerful, where the couple didn’t like each other-if they had even met- and probably never would, but the marriage cemented some form of political or financial alliance. Finally there was the sort where each found the other vaguely attractive-well, not unattractive-and where the families of both assured the candidates that they were eminently suited and it really was time that each of them married, so why not each other? After all, how long were they going to wait around being particular? Then they spent the next three years finding out that they didn’t like each other at all, and wondering how much longer they would have to wait for the development of-well, if not affection, at least mutual comprehension. Then, after yet another misunderstanding, the wife sent a long letter home detailing all the husband’s shortcomings. Instead of telling his daughter to pull herself together, the wife’s father scribbled a terse note to the husband demanding that he shape up. After that, it was only a matter of time before the wife packed her many bags-or rather, had her slaves pack them for her-and booked a passage home at the husband’s expense.
None of these seemed to be the sort of marriage Catavignus was suggesting. Certainly none of them covered the relationship he had enjoyed with Tilla before he had made the fatal error of bringing her home.
He exchanged a nod of greeting with the man from We Sell Everything, and made his way back through the gates to discover that Valens had commandeered his chair in the treatment room.
“Ruso! Where have you been? Come and sit down. Gambax, get him a cup, there’s a good man.”
When Gambax had gone Ruso frowned. “I’m trying to get the beer drinking under control here.”
“Really? Gambax told me you and he had a drink together when you first got here. Then you asked specially to be put in the room with the barrel. I hope you’re not falling into bad ways, Ruso. Beer’s not good for you, you know. Bad for the membranes, makes you bulge, and produces flatulence. Dioscorides says so.”
“Then why are you drinking it?”
“To be sociable, of course. Actually they seem to be a friendly lot here. I met some chap in the baths yesterday who invited me to dinner tomorrow. And another man dropped by just now to ask if you wanted to go out hunting.”
“Metellus?”
“I thought about telling him I was your brother, but nobody would believe I was related to a miserable toad like you, so I told him the truth and swore him to silence. He seems like the sort of chap who can keep a secret.”
“Oh, he is,” agreed Ruso. “Secrets are his business. I hope you told him I was too busy?”
Valens’s handsome face clouded over. “Actually, he seemed to think you’d enjoy it. So I said I’d cover for you here. You’d better hurry, they’ll be going any minute.”
“I’ve already told him at least twice that I won’t go. And it’s raining.”
“Oh, don’t be miserable, Ruso. A little rain won’t hurt you. I’m doing you a favor-ah, Gambax. The doctor doesn’t want a beer after all. He’s assigned me to cover the infirmary for him while he goes off stag hunting.”
61
Ruso’s previous experience of hunting was limited, but even he knew that late morning was not the time to start and that this was a bizarrely equipped expedition. The mounted company he intercepted on its way to the east gate consisted of Metellus, a dozen fully armed cavalrymen, and six hounds in the charge of a mounted servant. A couple of riders had rolled hunting nets strapped to the backs of their horses as if this had been an afterthought.
“Are you expecting the stag to put up a fight?”
Metellus smiled down from beneath the brim of his helmet. Already the drizzle had started to coalesce on the metal surface and trickle down to drip on his cloak. “You can never tell with these British beasts,” he said. “Hurry and get ready, Ruso. They’re waiting for you over at the stables.”
“I’ve told you several times-”
“You will want to join this hunt. Trust me.”
Ruso reflected that if he had to count off on the fingers of one hand the names of people he trusted least in the world, Metellus would be among them. But his curiosity had been piqued. Valens could cover his duties at the infirmary. Thessalus was asleep. He did not know what to do with Tilla-even if he could find her-and Aemilia was probably still barricaded inside her room.
He went back to the infirmary to get changed.
The party rode out in silence along the north road for about a mile, then branched off onto a narrower road leading up into the eastern hills. The fort was out of sight now. They were following the course of what seemed to be a tributary valley. To their right, the pasture sloped away gently into a wooded glen. To their left was a patch of high flat land with a few animals grazing around the dark clumps of marsh grass. Just past the marsh they passed some foundation trenches that had been abandoned halfway through digging. A dog began to bark as they approached a ramshackle round house. The man in charge of the hounds ordered them to heel. A woman shouted at the house dog to shut up.
Farther along they paused outside a smaller round house that was in better repair. Two men in rough tunics and armed with hunting knives emerged and saluted Metellus. He dismounted and there was a brief exchange before Metellus beckoned to the dog handler, who took his animals into the house. Metellus turned back to talk to the two guards. They led him around to the back of the house. The dogs and the handler emerged and headed for the gate.
Curious, Ruso dismounted and slipped in through the doorway.
