ask are the Marsi.’
‘I’ve tried,’ explained Ruso. ‘They were insulted.’
Gnostus grinned. ‘I’ll bet. Next time, ask for Valgius and tell him Gnostus still doesn’t want to buy his snake.’ He pointed at Ruso’s stick. ‘So. War wound?’
‘Not exactly.’
When Ruso told him, Gnostus was incredulous. ‘They let you home with just a cracked metatarsal?’
‘Long leave,’ explained Ruso, not entirely truthfully. He was adding, ‘And I was missing the sunshine,’ when there was a knock at the door.
The new arrival was a youth of about eighteen who might have been handsome in a thin and poetic way had it not been for the jagged scab that ran from eyebrow to hairline.
‘Afternoon, Tertius,’ said Gnostus, not bothering to get up from the stool. ‘What is it this time?’
The youth glanced at Ruso and then back at his own doctor. ‘Please, sir, I’d like to consult doctor Gaius Petreius.’
Gnostus sighed. ‘He’ll only say the same as me.’
‘It’s a personal matter.’
‘You don’t have personal matters,’ Gnostus pointed out, ignoring the pained look on the youth’s face. ‘You won’t have any personal matters for the next two and a half years. If you last that long.’ He turned to Ruso, who had got to his feet, and murmured, ‘Whatever he thinks he’s got, he’s going in the arena. Otherwise the pairs will be one short, and the boss won’t want to refund the hire money to Fuscus.’
‘I can’t sign you off sick,’ Ruso explained to the youth. ‘You’ll have to — ’
‘I don’t want to be signed off sick, sir!’ the lad exclaimed. ‘I just want to know if there’s a message.’
Ruso blinked. ‘Message?’
‘From Marcia.’
39
‘I thought that’s why you were here, sir,’ said Tertius, clearly frustrated at Ruso’s bafflement. ‘She said you were coming home to settle her dowry at last so she could buy me out.’
Ruso did not know which part of this sentence to pick on first. ‘Marcia knew I was on the way home?’
‘She said you’d be back soon.’
At last the mystery of the letter was solved. It had not been sent by Severus at all. Marcia had taken up forgery and then lied to him about it. Restraining a momentary flash of fury at the thought that he had been dragged into this whole mess by his own sister, Ruso said, ‘Why would I give her a dowry so she could borrow money to go around buying gladiators?’
Tertius coughed. ‘She wasn’t going to tell you that part, sir. But we’re running out of time. I was hoping you were here to see to it yourself.’
Ruso, perched on the edge of Gnostus’ operating table, looked the stringy youth up and down and wondered if young men were getting stupider or whether he had been just as much of a fool at that age. He understood how it felt to be desperate to leave home, albeit for different reasons. He had been lucky enough to have a childless uncle in search of an apprentice. Arria — equally keen for Ruso to leave — had managed to persuade his father that medicine was not such a terribly disreputable trade for a decent citizen’s son, even if it was mostly the province of slaves. She had avoided adding ‘and Greeks’ since Uncle Theo was in the room at the time.
If Ruso had been in the position Tertius now described to him — parents honest but dead, no money and no connections — would he have considered selling himself to a gladiator trainer?
No, he would not. ‘You could have joined the Army.’
‘But then I couldn’t marry Marcia,’ pointed out Tertius, as if this made sense.
‘You couldn’t marry her if you were carried out of the amphitheatre on a funeral bier, either,’ pointed out Ruso and then regretted it when he saw the look on Tertius’ face.
‘I was a bit drunk at the time, sir.’
‘Ah.’
‘There were three of us.’
Evidently it was true: young men were getting stupider. ‘What happened to the other two?’
‘When they sobered up they sent for their fathers to buy them out.’
‘Leaving you stuck here for three years.’
‘Only two and a half now. I’ve been training ever since.’
‘So this will be your first real fight.’
Tertius nodded. ‘I’m good. Ask anybody. I’m only a Retiarius now, but everybody says I’m Samnite material. I’m fast and I reckon I can entertain the crowd.’
‘I see.’ If Tertius was going into the arena armed only with a net and a trident, he would certainly have to be fast.
‘I thought if I was good, the trainer wouldn’t want to lose me.’ He paused. ‘To be honest, I always thought the fights were fixed.’
Ruso wondered what Tertius could possibly have imagined would be going through the head of any designated loser in a ‘fixed’ fight. Perhaps he had expected to be pitted against a lesser — and less valuable — man. And to be fair, many of the professional bouts in the local amphitheatre ended in battered defeat rather than death. Until someone like Fuscus came along with too much money and demanded more excitement.
Ruso looked at the cracked forehead and the chewed fingernails. ‘You’re not a marvellous prospect for my sister,’ he observed.
Tertius squared his shoulders. ‘I’m not a coward, sir. I’m a hard worker. You ask anybody here.’
‘But you’re a gladiator.’
‘I love her, sir!’ said Tertius, as if this made some sort of difference. ‘I love your sister. And she loves me.’ He had been standing with his hands behind his back and his feet apart. Suddenly he stood to attention. ‘Sir, I would like to request permission to marry Marcia Petreia.’
It was like being back in the Army. Except that none of the things for which he had been asked permission in the Army had ever involved his sister. Ruso sighed. ‘Stand easy, Tertius. You can’t marry anybody while you’re under contract to a gladiator trainer.’
‘That’s why she was trying to buy me out, sir.’
Clearly Marcia and this youth were well suited: each as dimwitted as the other.
Ruso got to his feet. ‘It would have been better if she’d told me the truth in the first place.’
‘I’m sorry about that, sir. When I see her I’ll have a word with her.’
It was so cheeky that, had the circumstances been less grave, Ruso would have smiled. As it was, he said, ‘I don’t know how much news you get in here, Tertius, but I’m hardly in a position to help you at the moment.’
‘You’re free, sir. And nobody else is going to.’
Ruso observed that his sister’s beloved might not be very bright but he was certainly persistent. ‘I’m not going to promise anything to do with Marcia Petreia,’ he said. ‘And you shouldn’t expect anything from me. But if circumstances change, and I find I’m able to help you, then I’ll see what I can do.’
Ruso watched the spring in the youth’s step as he made his way back across to the barracks, and wondered if that last vague promise made him almost as much of a fool as Tertius himself.
Gnostus had given him the key to the medical room before heading off to join his apprentices for lunch and told him to lock the door on the way out. Apparently all doors were kept locked here, and sharp weapons stored out of reach. Movement around the compound was carefully controlled by the staff and a favoured few amongst the top fighters. Gladiators might be heroes, but most of them were also slaves. The veteran with the whip was there both to keep the public out and the occupants in.
Thus it was with some surprise that Ruso, turning to make his way across to the mess and return Gnostus’ key, found himself face to face with his former father-in-law.
Probus’ demand of ‘What are you doing here?’ was an unwelcome echo of their last meeting.
‘Looking for a job. You?’
