Death of an Empire (35 page)

‘Yes, this whole mess stems from a fractious female and Attila’s hurt feelings over the gift of a dwarf. Ridiculous!’

Pincus chose this moment to usher in three servants carrying Myrddion’s medical requirements. Drawing the stool up to the bed and discarding its cushion, Myrddion ordered the cooler basin to be placed on its flat top so that Cleoxenes could soak his forearm in the water.

Pale again, Cleoxenes continued to speak as Myrddion laved the soothing water over the hidden wound, bandages and all.

‘Pope Leo has decided that only God can save the city. He is determined to lead a delegation of prominent citizens to the north, in order to persuade Attila that his ambitions concerning Honoria are pointless. As I represent the Eastern Empire, I have been summoned to attend on Attila along with Consul Avienus, Prefect Trigetius and several wealthy patricians. We are meant to leave in two days for Mantua on the Padus river – so I cannot afford to be ill, Myrddion. There is simply too much at stake.’

‘Don’t fret, Cleoxenes.’ Myrddion’s voice was calm and confident. ‘Incidentally, I enjoyed the Odyssey. Homer writes with such vividness and spirit, even if most of the story is sheer nonsense. Still, the constancy of Penelope affected me deeply and I regretted the death of the faithful dog.’

‘The animal was old and it had lived to see the fulfilment of its
greatest desire – the return of its master. They say that Homer was blind, you know.’

Myrddion’s hands were busy easing the wet bandages away from the angry red flesh, but his voice never wavered in its soothing, competent tones. ‘Then he wasn’t born so, I’d lay a substantial wager. He writes with such compelling imagery that I can see the one-eyed Cyclops and hear the voice of Circe as she enticed the travellers to their doom.’

‘Isn’t it amazing, Myrddion? Even a thousand years and more after his death, Homer still lives on through the magic of his words.’

The wound was now completely uncovered, and conversation ceased as both men looked down at a livid, suppurating gash that ran from just above the wrist almost to the elbow.

‘Ah!’ Cleoxenes sighed. ‘I thought that Roman healer was a charlatan. I just didn’t expect to discover how poor his skills were in this fashion.’

A red line of infection ran up the arm almost to the shoulder. Myrddion clicked his tongue and lifted Cleoxenes’s arm out of the water, supporting it carefully from underneath.

‘Pincus,’ he said quietly. ‘Remove the bowl and the bandages. Throw the cloth away and try not to touch it in case you become infected. Immerse the basin in boiling water and then clean it and return it to me, filled with warm water.’

The wound was swollen, but not gaping. Myrddion’s heart sank. Normally, he would consider amputation as a last resort, and he would do so for his friend, but only when every other avenue had failed.

‘I’ll not lie to you, Cleoxenes. This wound is septic and it’s poisoning your body. Perhaps it’s too late already to save the limb, but we’ll not give up just yet. I must send for Cadoc and Finn. To ease any difficulty, please instruct Pincus to obey me as he would
you – and trust me, my friend, for I’ll do everything I can to save you, I swear.’

‘I cannot lose my arm until after the deputation meets Attila. My duty to my emperor is more important than my life, and I would be shamed forever if I put my personal safety before my orders.’

Myrddion shook his head with irritation. ‘Your life is worth more than being a part of this delegation, but as it is so important to you I’ll do my part.’

Pincus returned to the sleeping chamber and set the basin on the stool. Myrddion had already placed his tools in the basin of boiled water to sterilise them, and now he asked Pincus to lower his master’s arm into the new bowl. Somewhat gingerly, the servant obeyed.

‘Pincus, as the healer might have to drug me, I want you to obey any instructions he gives you as if I had given the order myself. You will obey me?’

‘Of course, master.’ The servant’s face revealed very little, leaving Myrddion to marvel at the reserve and dignity of slaves when, so often, their masters were crass and ignorant. Pincus was thin and ascetic in appearance, and his face was almost featureless in its smooth blankness. Only his hazel eyes expressed any emotion, and then only fleetingly, before he mastered his dislike of Myrddion. In fact, Pincus showed more nobility than most Romans Myrddion had encountered. The young healer smiled with as much charm as he could muster, which was considerable, gave Pincus his instructions and then thanked the servant unreservedly. At the doors, he lowered his voice so that Cleoxenes couldn’t hear him, to whisper conspiratorially to this reserved, self-contained man.

‘Pincus, your master is gravely ill, so we must both be very careful. I have no doubt that he is a kind master. I have known him well for some time now and acknowledge he is ever considerate to
all men, regardless of their station. If he seems sharp in his manner at the moment, it is because he is fearful that he will fail in his service to the Emperor Valentinian and Pope Leo, so we must do everything in our power to ease his mind. I depend on you, Pincus, to continue to run the household with the efficiency I see around me.’

Pincus unbent sufficiently to smile rather sourly, and Myrddion hoped that he hadn’t overdone the flattery. This servant was nobody’s fool.

‘I’ll send those idle bodyguards back to your lodgings to bring your assistants here, along with any supplies you might need. Those hulking bags of wind have nothing better to do than dicing and drinking, so they might as well be put to some use. Lord Cleoxenes only rents this establishment, but I’ll own that he is a generous master and never punishes his slaves. Yes, I can assure you that I’ll do whatever I can to make him comfortable.’

Well pleased with the result of his stratagem, Myrddion returned to his patient and explained that he was using the heat in the water to draw out the poisons. Cleoxenes was in no particular pain, but his forehead was hot and he eagerly gulped several goblets of the ice water as if he was parched with thirst.

When Cadoc and Finn arrived, the practised calm of a team effort swung into action, relaxing Cleoxenes with its deftness and expertise. Not by a flicker of an eyelash did the apprentices reveal their concern at the condition of the wound. Without being instructed, Finn mixed a sleeping draught so that Myrddion could open the wound and ascertain how far the infection had spread. As soon as Cleoxenes began to drowse, his legs were swung onto the bed and the battlefield table was set up beside it so that Cadoc could cover the wooden surface with a clean cloth and lay the infected arm along its length.

‘It looks very bad, master.’ Cadoc spoke quietly and with regret.
‘Lord Cleoxenes has permitted the infection to go too far.’ Like Myrddion, he had seen many such infections before and knew that they were difficult to check. Amputation or death was the most common outcome. ‘We might save his life if we removed his arm.’

Myrddion shook his head briskly. ‘He’ll not permit me, for he plans to ride north in two days.’

‘Then he’ll join his ancestors soon after.’ Finn added his opinion. ‘No jaunt is worth dying for!’

‘Cleoxenes is adamant that he must accompany this delegation, so we’ll try to save both his life and his arm, even if I have to go north as well, with him travelling on a litter. So let’s be at it.’ Myrddion expected no answer, for Cadoc had already cleansed the scalpels over the flame of the oil lamp and had a number of clean cloths ready to staunch any bleeding. ‘I’ll need to cauterise the clean flesh once I’ve cut away any corruption. Believe it or not, a healer treated this wound – and didn’t even stitch it. He must have introduced the infection into the wound when he was playing with it. Sometimes I wonder just how the Roman Empire has survived for twelve centuries.’

Cadoc heated a special scalpel in the flame until it started to glow cherry red, and then, while Finn stood at the ready across from his master, Myrddion made a deep, clean incision the full length of the ragged gash. Just as neatly, he trimmed the edges of the wound as he went, removing flesh that was an unhealthy colour. Periodically, Finn soaked away blood and pus with clean cloths, although there were fewer obvious signs of infection than Myrddion would normally have expected.

Suddenly, his blade struck something hard within the part of the gash where the wound was deepest.

‘Cadoc, I need you! Finn, clean out the blood! I can feel a strange object in here.’

While Cadoc sterilised a long probe with a curved scoop at the
end, Myrddion cut around the foreign object. A sudden rush of pus obscured his vision.

‘Turn the arm and let it drain directly onto scrap rag,’ he ordered. As the pus began to stain the cloth, the absence of clean blood warned the healers that they still had much work to do. Wielding the probe carefully, Myrddion extracted a long silver of wood that had been driven deep into the flesh until it lay against the bone.

‘How did Cleoxenes suffer this injury?’ Finn asked as Myrddion continued to cut away dying flesh, leaving an ugly hole that exposed part of the long bone of the lower arm. ‘Was it a hunting accident?’

‘Cadoc? Summon Pincus, but don’t touch anything. Your hands must remain clean at all costs. And be polite to the man because we need his co-operation.’

Cadoc summoned the servant by shouting through the shutters until he roused another house slave. Pincus opened the shutters and closed his eyes momentarily when he saw the blood-soaked cloths that had been discarded on the floor.

‘How may I assist you, master?’

Myrddion turned away from Cleoxenes’s bloody arm and Pincus paled at the sight of the healer’s bloodstained hands and leather apron.

‘How did your master come by this wound, Pincus?’

‘He told me he fell down a set of wooden stairs during a business transaction. The staircase must have been weakened in some way and a slice of timber tore his arm open.’

The healers exchanged knowing glances.

‘Have you ever heard of a Jewish healer called Isaac? I’m worried that my efforts will not be sufficient to save your master. This Isaac is said to be a healer of uncommon skill.’

‘My old master used the Jew when he caught an unpleasant disease from a prostitute,’ Pincus responded, making a little moue
of disapproval. ‘I don’t know where Isaac might now be found, but I can consult the steward of the Tullius household. Tullius Triagula advised my old master to see the Jew to ease his symptoms.’

Myrddion sighed with relief. ‘If you could oblige me in this matter, Master Cleoxenes would be very grateful, and would pay any fees in compensation to other persons involved in gaining access to Isaac.’

Pincus eased himself out of the sleeping room and Myrddion continued to remove flesh until he was satisfied that the wound was as clean as he could make it. Finally, he used his supply of spirits to give it one final wash.

‘Right. We’ll pack the wound with radish paste, bandage it and immobilise the arm,’ he told the others. ‘And then we wait. We’ll need to clean up this apartment, and then pray that Pincus finds Master Isaac and that Master Isaac agrees to leave his bed to help a Christian who is also a Byzantine noble. Christians and Jews rarely live amicably together.’

Master and apprentices completed all that could be done and then watched Cleoxenes in shifts. The wooden floor was hard, but cushions eased the discomfort.

Myrddion was so exhausted that he felt he could have slept on a bed of hot coals. His injured shoulder still ached when he used it, especially when he was tired, and this had been a particularly long day.

Then, when the dead of the night approached, and men’s souls most often relinquished their hold on life, Pincus returned with Isaac the Jew.

The shutters of the sleeping chamber were thrust open by a forceful arm, jerking Myrddion and Finn out of a deep sleep. Cadoc almost dropped the oil lamp in surprise, causing their shadows to dance on the wall in a crazy jig.

‘Light!’ a booming voice demanded. ‘I need more light so I can see what these idiots have done.’

Pincus looked apologetically at Myrddion over the large man’s shoulder before he scurried off into the dark corridor.

‘Who are you?’ a coarse voice snapped at Cadoc. ‘I’ve got better things to do in the middle of the night than clean up your messes.’

‘Now listen here, whoever you are,’ Cadoc began, striding pugnaciously towards the stranger.

‘Be calm, Cadoc. I believe we’re in the presence of Healer Isaac, of whom I have heard so much good report. You don’t need to defend me, so come close with the lamp. Our patient, Cleoxenes, is all that matters, not any misconceptions Healer Isaac might have. After all, he has come at my bidding in the middle of the night.’

Cadoc backed away from Isaac, but the line of his jaw was a clear warning that he wasn’t prepared to accept any nonsense from this stranger, no matter how skilled he was.

‘Sir, I am Myrddion Emrys of Segontium. I, too, am a healer. I was called this evening to treat an infection in the arm of Lord Cleoxenes because he was alarmed that he had become feverish and the wound was giving every indication of being poisoned. The envoy is required by the emperor to be part of a delegation to confront Attila in a few days, so he would not on any account permit me to remove his forearm. I promised to do whatever was necessary to ensure that he remains a part of the delegation. I have done everything that my knowledge and experience permits but fear it is not enough, so I instructed Lord Cleoxenes’s steward to seek you out.’

‘Brevity! That’s a virtue in Rome, where gibble-gabble passes for conversation. So, let me see the patient,’ Isaac responded gruffly. His voice rose to a bellow. ‘That is, if anyone ever brings me enough light to see by!’

On cue, Pincus and four servants entered the room. Little more
than children, the boys were knuckling their sleepy eyes and trying not to yawn, but the oil lamps in their hands immediately brightened the sleeping chamber.

Myrddion had expected Healer Isaac to be a small, ascetic man with deft fingers and a learned manner. On the contrary, the man who was now clearly visible by the light of the lamps was proof that appearances could be deceiving, and Myrddion grinned at his foolish assumptions. This man looked, and spoke, like a blacksmith.