Severus cleared his throat, spat on the floor and said, ‘First I want an apology to the wife.’
Ruso blinked. ‘You want me to apologize to Claudia?’ That would be interesting. He could imagine what tales Claudia had told about him.
‘Not you, you fool,’ retorted Severus. ‘She’s not interested in you.’ He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. ‘Or me. Not since that woman — what’s her name? — Arria. Not since Arria came round pouring poison in her ears.’ Ruso, who still had no idea what his visitor was talking about, thought he detected a slight slur in the voice. ‘S’not my fault,’ continued Severus. ‘Stuck here in the provinces with a complaining sister an’ a bunch of bumpkins who don’t know a good offer when you hear it.’ He looked up at Ruso as if he knew there was something else important to tell him but could not quite remember what it was. Finally he said, with more emphasis than was necessary, ‘Nobody upsets my wife!’
‘I didn’t know Arria had upset your wife,’ confessed Ruso, wondering how Severus was managing to appear drunker by the minute and whether he would remember any of this conversation when he sobered up. ‘I’ll see she apologizes.’
‘She had no business running to Claudia like that. I made that offer in …’ Severus appeared to be searching for an elusive word, then brightened as he caught hold of it. ‘Confidence! I made that offer in confidence. Confidence and good faith.’
‘Ah,’ said Ruso, reaching for a stylus and wondering whether Lucius knew that Arria had got herself involved in this somewhere. ‘Let me make a note of what we’ve agreed.’
‘I was only trying to help.’
‘Very good of you,’ said Ruso, prepared to humour him if it led to a signed agreement. ‘I’ll just write this down and we won’t need to involve Fuscus.’ Or too much political campaigning.
‘I’m a decent man.’
‘Of course.’ A decent man who swindled debtors out of money they didn’t owe.
‘I knew you’d understand!’ exclaimed Severus with unexpected warmth. Ruso glanced up and decided the sickly grimace was intended to be a smile. ‘Other men don’t know what it’s like,’ continued Severus. ‘Day after day. Night after night. Nothing you do ever good enough.’
Light was beginning to dawn. ‘Claudia?’ suggested Ruso.
‘Bloody woman. And Daddy. And then my sister. Always something wrong. Now that sister of yours, not the loudmouth, the other one …’
‘Flora,’ prompted Ruso, choosing to ignore the painfully accurate description of Marcia.
‘The older one’s as bad as mine. Want a nice quiet girl. Man could be happy with a nice quiet girl like that.’
‘You’re telling me you were offering to marry Flora?’
‘Nice, quiet, fertile girl. Thash what I need. Make some money, go back to Rome. Be a fine upstanding famly man.’
‘Nobody here was aware that you were making a marriage offer. Or that you were in a position to do so.’
Severus frowned and pondered that for a moment. ‘Teshting the water. Seeing how the land lies. Look before you leap. Try before you buy.’
‘Try before you buy?’
Severus gave a vague gesture of rejection. ‘No thanks. Don’t feel much like it right now.’
‘You’re saying my family misunderstood your intentions?’ said Ruso, confident that Severus’ intentions had been to see what he could get away with and repressing an urge to punch him on the nose.
‘That interfering old cow went and told Claudia.’
‘Arria didn’t realize the high regard you had for Flora.’ So high, indeed, that since the man had been refused access to her, he had decided to wreck the lives of her entire family. ‘We’ll pay what we owe you as a result of the last judgement, and you’ll drop the court case. Are we agreed?’
Severus flapped a hand towards him. ‘Whatever you like.’
As Ruso seized a pen to scrawl out this surprising agreement Severus added, ‘Nobody insults my wife! Only me.’
‘I’ll get a couple of people in to witness it, and you can tell Fuscus over dinner tonight that it’s already dealt with.’
‘Bloody awful paintings in your hall. Nuff to make anybody ill.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like some water?’
‘I said no, din’ I?’ Severus rubbed a trail of drool away from his mouth and mumbled, ‘Feel sick.’
Ruso leaped up, hopped over to the door and shouted, ‘Someone fetch a bowl!’
‘I’m ill!’ gasped Severus, as if he had only just noticed. ‘Fetch a doctor!’
‘I am a doctor. Have you eaten anything unusual?’
Ruso had barely established what Severus had eaten for breakfast when the breakfast itself rose up and reappeared for inspection.
‘Too late,’ observed Ruso as Galla the nursemaid stood helpless in the doorway, clutching a heavy bowl and a cloth. Severus heaved again and toppled sideways off the stool. Ruso grabbed him just in time to stop his head hitting the desk.
Severus struggled to get out of his grasp and collapsed on the tiled floor, mumbling, ‘Wash matter with me?’
‘You’re drunk.’
The man shook his head. ‘Not drunk.’ He wiped his nose and mouth with his fingers. ‘Everything’s gone funny.’
‘Lie down for a moment till your head clears,’ suggested Ruso, motioning to Galla to keep back.
‘Not drunk!’ shouted Severus. He tried to get up, but his arms and legs seemed to have taken on lives of their own and skidded helplessly in the regurgitated breakfast. ‘Help me!’
Ruso crouched beside him and tried to help him up. Severus’ legs had tangled themselves around the desk, and the arm that encircled Ruso’s neck almost pulled him off balance to land on top of his patient.
‘Lie still,’ he ordered, ducking out from under the arm and mentally running through a list of possible causes other than wine. ‘Have you been bitten or stung by something?’
‘No.’
‘Just lie still,’ Ruso urged, adding with more confidence than he felt, ‘It’ll pass in a minute.’ He tried, ‘Did you ride over here bareheaded in the sun?’ not because it was likely, but because it would buy him some time to think.
‘Why’s everything moving?’ cried Severus, rubbing his eyes with his fists. ‘I can’t see!’
Ruso turned to the doorway, where his servant was looking as frightened as his patient. ‘Galla, what did he have to drink?’
‘Mistress Cassiana brought him some water, my lord.’
‘I can’t see! The light’s gone all … Help me!’
Ruso tried to detach himself from the man’s terror and think clearly. He was certain this was a case of poisoning, but without knowing what the poison was, it was hard to know how best to treat it.
‘Olive oil and a cool damp cloth,’ he ordered Galla. ‘Quickly.’
‘Just lie still now,’ he repeated, not knowing what else to suggest. He crouched over his patient, trying to work logically through the possibilities. The man had been fingering his mouth: presumably because the poison had entered that way. What the hell had he taken? He smelled of nothing unexpected apart from a faint trace of roses under the vomit: probably a harmless attempt to mask bad breath.
The mouth had not been dry: not henbane or mandrake, then. He was far too agitated for poppy. He had lost his coordination, but he was still able to move all his limbs. He was not choking. He had not complained of a headache, or of feeling cold. Did hemlock always paralyse? What were the symptoms of wolfsbane? There could be dozens of other poisons he had not even considered, and he could not abandon the patient while he hurried off to scrabble for clues in his medical books.
Severus was struggling to say something. Squirming round the worst of the mess, Ruso leaned down again and grabbed a flailing hand. He felt a worryingly slow and fluttery pulse.
‘That bitch!’ whispered Severus.
