Medicus (20 page)

42

I
N THE ABSENCE of Valens, it was Ruso who hurried across to HQ just after dawn for the morning briefing. He was not overjoyed to find Priscus already standing at the back of the hall. Each acknowledged the other with a curt nod.

Ruso frowned. He was unwilling to leave a man who would not know a plague from a pimple as the official representative of the medical service, but it was ridiculous for the hospital to be left to manage itself while both of them stood around listening to notices. He was about to give Priscus a departing wave—that surely would help to mend relations between them, as well as given him a chance to snatch breakfast—when there was an untidy shuffle of men standing to attention, followed by silence. The camp prefect's voice echoed in the rafters, bidding the assembled officers good morning and announcing that he was in charge for four days while the legate was away.

Ruso struggled to concentrate on the notices and ignore the gurgling of his empty stomach and the stifled heavings of a man in front of him who was trying not to cough. Finally the prefect announced his chosen password for the day—
tiger stripes
—and paused to take questions. Only as the briefing was declared closed did it strike Ruso that he should have raised his hand. It was what Valens would have done. It was the sort of thing Claudia would have encouraged. The camp prefect was directly responsible for the hospital and asking questions was a way of getting yourself noticed. The trouble was, there was nothing he actually wanted to know. No, that was not true. There was something he wanted to know, but he couldn't ask it in public.

He asked it later of Albanus, who looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure I can tell you, sir."

"Why not?"

Albanus coughed and looked to make sure the surgery door was shut. "Well, they gave us a talk about security the other day. All about not telling anyone anything they don't need to know, and how the officers might test us, and . . ."

"Do you actually know the answer?"

Albanus looked even more miserable. "Yes, sir."

"Well, if somebody's already blabbed it to you, it can't be that secure, can it?"

The scribe's face brightened. "Is this a test, sir?"

"Yes. Well done, Albanus. You've passed."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now can you tell me whether the legate has gone off on the same tour as Officer Valens?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes he has, or yes you can tell me?"

"Both, sir."

"Thank you." Ruso paused. "I suppose you'll be wondering why I wanted to know that."

"Oh no, sir."

"No? Good!" Ruso put his hand on the doorknob. "Ready for ward rounds?"

By the end of the morning Ruso realized he was starting to like Albanus. The man made himself genuinely useful during a full ward rounds and busy clinic, taking a pride in the swift production of whatever information was needed and apparently enjoying his chance to boss the other clerks around.

Ruso made a point of thanking him and was amused to see Albanus blush. "Go and get something to eat," he told him. "We'll start again at the seventh hour."

The scribe hesitated. "Will you be here, sir?"

"At the seventh hour."

"But between now and then, sir . . ."

"I will be somewhere else."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Only Officer Priscus said I was to know where you were at all times. In case there's an emergency."

"If the bandagers can't deal with it," explained Ruso, "get the watch to sound a call for me. I won't be far away."

Ruso lingered only to leave brief instructions with the guards and then hurried out under the east gatehouse, long strides taking him swiftly down the busy lunchtime street and away from the sound of all but the most energetic of trumpeters.

Moments later he heard a familiar voice calling his name. He kept walking. He had done his very last favor for the civilian liaison people. If they had a problem, he didn't want to know about it. He had enough problems of his own.

"Ruso, wait!"

He turned. "I'm in a hurry."

"Oh, I don't want you to do anything!" said the civilian liaison officer, falling into step with him. "I just want a quick word."

"Very quick, then."

The man broke into a jog to keep up. "I just wanted to say I was sorry to hear about your fire. And to thank you for your help with naming that body the other day."

"Oh," said Ruso, slowing down to negotiate the ladder of an off-duty soldier painting the front of a house. "Right. It was just good luck that I'd spoken to the porter."

"They've finished clearing the site now. There aren't any more bodies."

"Well, I suppose that's good news."

"I went down to the bar to tell them myself," continued the liaison officer, as if this were not his job but someone else's.

"How did they take it?"

"The owner wasn't too happy about paying for another funeral."

"No, so I hear."

"I told her she ought to keep a better eye on her girls."

"Maybe we need to keep a better eye on our men. This is the second runaway who's been found dead."

"We are aware of that, Ruso. We aren't quite asleep over in HQ, you know."

"You might also want to look at a part-time slave trader who supplies girls to bars. He's called Claudius Innocens."

"Really? What do you know about him?"

"Not much," said Ruso. "I just don't like him, that's all."

"I'll mention it," said the officer. "If there's an investigation."

"You mean there isn't?"

"It's not up to me," said the officer. "I just write reports. But thanks for the tip."

As they parted company it struck Ruso that it was no wonder the men of the Twentieth needed to be given talks about security. They had been stationed here far too long. The staff weren't quite asleep in HQ, but there were certainly corners over there where a man with limited ambition could lie down and snooze undisturbed, except when he roused himself to pass on a piece of interesting gossip. He supposed it was the liaison officer who had told Valens that the legate would be leading the First's mission in person. No wonder Valens had wormed his way onto the list. Valens, not Ruso, was seizing the chance to shine. Valens, the army doctor with no combat experience.

Not, by all accounts, that there was much chance of any combat on this trip. If the local chief were to have a change of heart about his loyalty to Rome, he would hardly be likely to have it during a visit from the legate and the First Century Which, of course, was the point of the trip. Anyone who really wanted to see some action, Ruso had been assured, would seek a posting up north to join in the fun the army were having with the Brigantes.

Ruso had long ago lost any illusions about combat being fun, but it occurred to him that it would do no harm to check out the state of the medical service in the north. If he could cook up some excuse for a few days away, he could return Valens's favor by leaving him to manage all the medical work on his own. In the meantime, Ruso was going to take advantage of his housemate's absence to save himself some cash.

43

T
ILLA WAS SHREDDING cabbage. She was doing it carefully, slowly, and badly. No matter how hard she tried to hold the knife steady with her left hand, it faltered. Before they toppled onto the scored wood of the kitchen table and broke into untidy shreds, the slices of cabbage were tapered like door-wedges. This mattered to no one else—the cabbage was to be stewed anyway—but Tilla's mind was traveling far ahead of tonight's supper.

She put down the knife, grasped at the air to flex her stiff fingers, and picked it up again. Her work was slow, but it pleased her. She needed to train her left hand into some sort of dexterity if she were to escape and survive. Even if the Roman healer had rebuilt her shattered arm perfectly—which seemed unlikely—her right hand would be feeble after being bandaged for so long. Besides, with every rasp of the knife through the crisp green flesh she could imagine it was not a cabbage she was slicing up, but a man.

To her relief Innocens had gone, leaving the girl Phryne locked in the upstairs room. Phryne, pale but apparently not ill, had been let out to join the other girls on the morning trip to the baths. Tilla had held a brief conversation with her on the way, but Merula had moved close enough to overhear, and they had fallen silent.

Inside the baths, Phryne was the last to take her clothes off. For a moment Tilla wondered if she was going to refuse, but Chloe murmured something in her ear that persuaded her to cooperate. Finally undressed, Phryne sat in the corner of the hot room with her child's body huddled in a towel, watching the other girls as they strolled about in the steam, chatting and laughing, their naked flesh glistening with sweat. Her eyes kept returning to Daphne's blue-veined breasts and enormous rounded belly, taking in the dark line that ran down from the protruding navel and the silver streaks that showed where the skin was stretching and splitting. The girl brought one hand to her mouth as Daphne flopped down splay-legged on the bench, poured oil into one palm, rubbed her hands together, and began to massage the surface of the bulge.

Two girls Tilla did not recognize wandered into the hot room. As soon as they saw who was in there, they retreated. A few moments later some older women wrapped in towels paused in the doorway, looked around, glanced at each other, and then ventured in. They clopped past Merula's girls in wooden bath shoes—they had brought their own, Tilla noticed—and seated themselves in the farthest corner, turning very straight backs toward the rest of the room.

Not long ago, Tilla would have shared these women's contempt for Merula and her girls. Yet now that she lived among them, she had begun to realize things were not as simple as she had supposed. The girls were kept to serve the same army that had built this bathhouse, which the respectable women were now enjoying. This morning, when a man in the street had shouted an insult at them, the same Bassus who had grabbed Tilla as if she were an animal went across to him, said something to him, and then with one swift movement smacked the flat of his hand against the man's ear. Several passersby hurried on while Bassus stood over the fallen man with his arms folded, looking around as if he were daring anyone else to insult his girls. When Merula thanked him he shook his head sadly "People 'round here," he said. "They don't know nothing about respect."

The hairdressers were plying their trade at the baths as usual. To Tilla's relief nobody showed much interest in her. Her hair was left in anonymous plaits.

Phryne had to sit on the stool while her flat blond locks were sprung into curls with the hot tongs and pinned behind her head in a complicated knot. She managed something like a smile when she was shown the results in the mirror, pursing her lips quickly to hide her teeth. The effect was soon over because Merula told them to take it all down again. "That's not what we want," she said. "You've made her look older."

Merula had gone shopping while Bassus escorted the girls back to the bar and ordered Daphne and Chloe to open up. As he took up a position by the door, Stichus emerged from the kitchen and looked Phryne up and down. He glanced across at Bassus, who shrugged indifference. Stichus seized Phryne by the wrist and dragged her toward the stairs.

Before she could consider the wisdom of it, Tilla had shouted, "Leave her alone!"

The room fell silent. For a moment the only sound was the crackling of the fire under the hot drinks counter. Stichus, still keeping a grip on Phryne's wrist, looked at Bassus as if waiting for guidance. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch.

Tilla squared her shoulders. Still addressing Stichus, she said, "She is only a child."

Bassus's stool scraped the tiles. He made his way across the room, a slow smile spreading across his face. Tilla took a deep breath and stood her ground.

Bassus reached out a forefinger and lifted her chin. "And you," he said quietly, "are only a slave. Who won't always have that nice doctor around to look after her." He withdrew the finger. "Remember that."

Stichus jerked Phryne toward the stairs. Tilla felt an arm around her shoulders. "Into the kitchen," urged Chloe. "Cook needs you."

Tilla plunged the knife into another cabbage and tried not to think about Phryne, or how easily the girl's fate might have been her own. She would not wait to find out what might happen when she did not have the doctor to look after her. In fifteen days, she would be gone.

Since the few windows that opened onto the street were barred against burglars, there were only two ways out of Merula's. The main entrance was shuttered and locked at night and guarded by Bassus or Stichus—or both—during the day. The kitchen door led to a gloomy yard from which a door in a high wall opened onto a side street. The door was barred except when kitchen deliveries came in, and the bar secured with a padlock whose key swung from Merula's belt. Even if she managed to steal the key, she would have to fiddle with the padlock in full view of the kitchen window, the upstairs cubicles (not that much window-gazing went on up there), and the row of private rooms occupied by Merula and the doormen, which ran all along the opposite side of the yard to join the building behind. The front entrance was the only realistic way out. She would have to find an excuse to go out into the bar in the evening, wait until the doorman was distracted, and slip away into the night. Most people seemed to think this was the route Asellina and Saufeia had taken, although no one had actually seen them leave.

Strangely enough, it might be easier to escape now that Asellina had been found. The other girls had said little about the circumstances of her death, but they were clearly shocked and frightened by it. And, though only Chloe had dared to say so, upset to realize how little they would be mourned if the same fate befell them. The doormen would not be expecting anyone to venture out alone now.

A door opened behind her. She did not look up.

"Tilla!"

She twisted around, looked up into Merula's painted eyes for a moment, then put down the knife and scrambled to her feet. There was no one else in the kitchen.

"Tilla," said Merula, folding her arms. "I don't suppose for a moment that's your real name, is it?"

"My master says I am Tilla."

"Don't stare at me like that, girl! Haven't you learned anything?"

Tilla lowered her gaze and stared at the rings that looked too heavy for Merula's thin fingers.

"You look well, Tilla."

"I am well, Mistress."

"Many people have helped you to recover. You should be grateful to them,"

"Yes, Mistress."

Merula reached forward and raised a tangle of untidily shredded cabbage. "Is that the best you can do?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"If you were one of my girls, you would be better trained."

Tilla resisted the urge to look her in the eye. "I am not one of your girls, Mistress."

The cabbage fell back onto the table. "No," agreed Merula. "None of my girls would dare to question the actions of her superiors, or to speak of what did not concern her."

"No, Mistress."

"Learn this for your own good, Tilla. Slaves who cannot control their tongues may lose them."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Remember my advice. Now go and collect your things. Your master has come to fetch you."