Galla returned with a jug and the cloth. Ruso wiped the sweating forehead and wished he were back with the Legion. In Africa there would have been a poisons specialist on the staff. Even in Britannia he would have been able to shout for the pharmacist. Here, there was no time to fetch even the humblest root-cutter from town. He was on his own.
He turned to Galla again. ‘Help me prop him up,’ he said. ‘Then fetch Lucius, or one of the farm boys if you can’t find him. He’s to ride over to the Senator’s and tell them Severus has been taken ill and they need to come straight away.’
He returned his attention to his patient, tipping some of the oil into the drooling mouth. ‘We’ll get it back up, whatever it was,’ he promised. ‘Can you think of anything you’ve eaten or drunk that tasted strange? What about the rosewater?’
Severus muttered something. He tried to push the jug away.
Ruso leaned closer and grabbed the man’s arm to hold it still. ‘Say it again,’ he prompted.
‘I’m dying!’ whispered Severus. ‘The bitch has poisoned me!’
20
By the time it brought Lucius back home, the mule’s coat was mottled with dark patches of sweat. Ruso watched from the porch as it was led away by the stable lad, then glanced at the horizon and saw a second cloud of dust rising from the direction of the road.
‘They’re on the way,’ confirmed Lucius, striding up the steps to the house. ‘Claudia’s gone to town, so his sister’s coming in the carriage with the household steward. I told them you were here, but they’ve sent to town for their own doctor anyway. How is he now? Is he fit to travel?’ He paused. ‘Gaius?’
Ruso shook his head.
‘Oh, gods, he isn’t —?’
‘Just after you left.’
‘He can’t be!’ Lucius hurried past him into the hall. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’
Ruso had heard the question often enough to recognize it as desperate hope rather than an insult to his competence. He limped down the corridor after his brother. Since he was clutching the key to the study door, he was surprised when Lucius opened up and walked in before he got there. Surely he couldn’t have forgotten to lock it?
Ahead of him, he heard Lucius exclaim, ‘Holy Jupiter!’
He should have warned him. Lucius was not used to such sights. Ruso had closed the man’s eyes, but otherwise the body would be lying just as it had died.
On entering the study, though, it was Ruso’s turn to be shocked. ‘Galla! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Galla looked up from washing the floor. Severus’ body, now naked, had been rolled over to lie against the wall. She still looked frightened, as well she might.
‘She’s tidying up,’ replied Arria, stepping forward from behind the door. ‘Since the family are on the way and none of you boys seems to know what to do.’
‘But I locked the door!’
Arria held up an iron key identical to the one in his own hand. ‘How do you imagine the staff get in to clean the room, dear? Galla, that’ll do. The master will help you roll the body back and make it decent. You will, won’t you, Gaius? We don’t want to involve any more of the staff than necessary.’
Ruso tightened his grip on the stick. ‘Arria, I told her to leave this room exactly as it was.’
‘I know, dear. But did you really expect poor Claudia to see him in that state? He was a dreadful man, and she’ll be better off without him, but at least we can show some respect.’
‘When I give an order in this house, I expect it to be obeyed.’
Galla was kneeling motionless on the floor between them.
‘You can stop now,’ Ruso told her. ‘Leave the room and don’t say anything to anyone about what you’ve seen and heard in here, understand?’
She nodded, scrambled to her feet and ran.
‘Well, really!’ exclaimed Arria. ‘I was only trying to help!’
Ruso took a deep breath. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Lucius and I will deal with it now.’
‘I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss, Gaius.’
‘No,’ agreed Ruso, as calmly as he could manage. ‘You don’t. Now if you want to help, go and fetch me a clean tunic to put on him. Then watch for his family and when you see the carriage turn in at the gates come straight here and tell me.’
‘That was a bit harsh,’ observed Lucius after the door had slammed behind Arria. ‘She was only trying to help.’
‘She’s done enough helping,’ growled Ruso. ‘Thanks to her, it looks as though we’re the ones who poisoned him.’
‘The ones who what?’
Ruso crouched beside the body. He shifted its arm, crooked its knee to help redistribute the weight and rolled it over towards him. ‘Well, somebody did.’
There was a momentary pause before: ‘In our house?’
‘Of course not. At least, I don’t suppose so. But thanks to Arria, it now looks as if we’ve been trying to clean up the evidence.’
While Lucius took this in, Ruso hauled the body over again until it was back in roughly the right place.
‘He wasn’t poisoned,’ said Lucius slowly.
‘What was it, then?’
‘You tell me. You’re the doctor. Think of the right sort of illness and tell them that’s what killed him.’
Ruso was conscious of cicadas trilling outside the window. As if it were just another lovely day in late summer and there were nothing to worry about. ‘I can’t do that,’ he said.
‘Yes, you can,’ urged Lucius. ‘And hurry up, because they weren’t far behind me.’
21
There had been a time, early in his apprenticeship, when Ruso had assumed that breaking bad news would get easier with practice. Or at least that he would get better at doing it. The trouble was, no matter how well rehearsed the doctor, the scene was always new to the friends and relatives playing the other parts.
Over the years he had learned only two things about giving the news of a death: firstly, that it never was going to get any easier, and secondly, that it was best to ask people to sit down first. Not that it made the shock any less, but from a sitting position it was harder for them to hit him — or more likely, outside the Army, to end up clinging to him and weeping uncontrollably on his shoulder, a position from which he frequently found it difficult to extricate himself. Instead, he chose to sit and wait as words and meaning linked themselves in the reluctant minds of his hearers. He had to watch as their faces changed from fear or incredulity to realization, and to bear patiently with the occasional accusation of lying, indifference or incompetence. But never before had he been obliged to give the news to people who, sooner or later, were bound to suspect that he had deliberately murdered his patient.
The girl with the pinched features who was introduced as Severus’ sister Ennia was probably older than Marcia: something Ruso had not expected after the talk of early marriage. Unlike the steward, she did not at first seem to grasp the implications of what Ruso was telling them.
‘He was all right when he left,’ said the steward, whose small head, narrow shoulders and black eyes reminded Ruso of a weasel.
‘It came on very suddenly,’ said Ruso, aware of the need not to look shifty and aware also of Lucius listening beside him. The entrance hall was really not the right place to do this, he realized. But they could hardly loll about
