A few days later Getorius brought the case to Feletheus, then stayed to read Galen’s treatise on the body’s parts, particularly the section on the anatomy of hands, because of his recent treatment of the fisherman’s injured thumb.
It was almost dusk when Getorius came out of the palace and walked briskly toward his villa. Arcadia heard him enter through the atrium and waited by the drapes. She was annoyed at his recent irritability around patients, and his complaints that he did not have enough time to research medical texts, but had guessed he was preoccupied with Behan’s parchments. He had gone to the library that afternoon, taking them with him, and had been away most of the day.
“Well, what did you and that Feletheus discover?” she asked coolly. “A prediction about the end of the world, or the date of the General Resurrection? Should we even bother opening the clinic tomorrow?”
“Sorry I took so long, cara,” he apologized, pecking her cheek. “I was reading Galen.”
“You didn’t go there to read Galen.”
“Did any more patients come in?” he questioned to dodge her rebuke.
“Not unless you count the boy with the broken arm.”
“Broken arm? You should have sent for me. How did you—”
“I took care of him. Come and eat now. Agrica has supper ready.”
The cook’s first course was a thick barley soup flavored with smoked pig hocks, onion and dill, to which she added a slight sweet-sour taste with a sauce of honey, vinegar, and boiled grape juice spooned separately into the bowls.
Getorius ate in silence. Arcadia did not speak either, upset over her husband’s neglect of patients and the fact that he was not sharing information with her. She finally decided to play on his sense of guilt.
“You cut me off before, but you took those manuscripts to Feletheus, didn’t you?”
Getorius nodded and reached for a chunk of bread.
“Well? I presumed you discussed them?”
“Briefly,” he replied, between mouthfuls.
“Oh, swallow that, Getorius,” she snapped, “and talk to me! Theokritos dismissed the text as a word game. What makes you think his assistant will find any other meaning?”
“Feletheus isn’t stupid and he’s around Theokritos all day. He’s probably read most of the books in the library.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. You used to complain that he was always spying on you.”
“That has nothing to do with this matter.”
“No, but your obsession with those manuscripts has made you unpleasant around patients.”
Getorius pushed his bowl away and stood up. “Are you going to start again?”
“Where are you going? Ursina still has a leek and sausage dish to serve.”
“I’ll forego that and bathing, and go to bed early.”
“As you wish, Surgeon.”
After he disappeared in the direction of the bedroom, Arcadia told Ursina not to bother with the second course, and decided to read in her husband’s study. She had become excited about the gynecology book Theokritos had lent her and read it every evening, having reached the section on preparing a woman for the birth of her child. Midwives knew this information, but she did not. Soranus gave detailed signs of imminent labor and the preparations that should be made for the infant’s delivery.
After reading for an hour, Arcadia had Silvia arrange her hair in braids for the night, then slid into bed alongside her husband.
Getorius was asleep. It was painful to feel estranged from him over some manuscripts, and she resolved not to pester him about them any longer.
In the gatehouse, Brisios was awakened by a determined pounding on the courtyard gate and the frantic barking of his dog, Nigello. He opened the portal a handspan and saw two men standing outside, vagrants, to judge by their clothes. One man supported the other. Brisios quieted the hound.
“What is it?” the gateman asked. “This household is asleep.”
“My friend is sick,” the man told him. “He’s got t’see th’surgeon.”
“Bring him back in the morning,” Brisios replied curtly. “I’ll not awaken the master now.”
“He may not live that long. He’s…”
“No! In the morning.” Nigello began to bark again as Brisios struggled to shut the gate against the man’s resistant shoulder.
Childibert came out through the courtyard entrance to the villa. “I heard your dog barking,” he said to Brisios in Frankish.
“What is it?”
“Some beggar says his friend is sick. I told him to come back when it’s light outside.”
“Let them in,” Childibert ordered. “It’s not for you to decide what the master would do.” Brisios did not conceal his disgust when he pulled open the gate and winced at the smell of stale wine and vomit on the men’s clothing. “Take them to the clinic. I’ll tell the master.”
After he was awakened, Getorius was not pleased at the prospect of treating someone at that hour. He thought of telling Childibert to send them to the new hospital at the palace, but changed his mind.
“I’ll come, but get Primus up. Have him light the brazier in the clinic.”
By the light of a single lamp, Getorius tried to pull on a pair of trousers and tunic as quietly as possible, but Arcadia heard him as he splashed water on his face.
“What is it, Getorius?” she asked in a voice thick with sleep.
“Someone’s ill. I’m going to take a look at him.”
“Shall I come?”
“No, stay in bed. According to Childibert, it’s just some vagrant. Probably needs stitching up after a brawl.” When Getorius came into the clinic, he saw the sick man sitting on the examining table, coughing with a deep hacking that left him gagging and gasping for breath. Blobs of bloody sputum stained the floor tiles. He felt the man’s face. Feverish. His hot-cold balance is critically upset.
“What’s his name?” Getorius asked the man’s companion.
“Marios. Can y’help him?”
“Where do you two live?”
“We got a space in th’boat sheds by th’harbor.”
Marios began shuddering despite the beads of sweat standing out on his face. Getorius brought a blanket from a cabinet and
