Persona Non Grata (10 page)

21

T
HERE 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: first, that it never was going to get any easier, and second, 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 was introduced as Severus’s 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 knew. But they could hardly loll about on dining couches, and the study was occupied by a body. He should have asked them to sit out in the garden, drains or no drains. Well, it was too late now. He cleared his throat. “Would you like to see him?”

“We certainly would,” said the steward, getting to his feet and offering an arm to the girl.

Ennia took no notice of the invitation to move. Both fists were pressed against her mouth, and her whole body trembled. She seemed to be staring at Ruso without seeing him.

“Would you like to see your brother?” repeated Ruso.

The steward bent forward and touched her hand. “I’ll take you,” he murmured.

Still dumb, Ennia nodded.

When Ruso unlocked the study door—this time he had given firm instructions to Arria about keys—Ennia hurried in and knelt beside the limp body, clutching the face in her hands and whispering “Oh, brother, brother . . .” Ruso felt a momentary relief that Arria had thought to have the scene cleaned up, and then realized he must take charge here.

He bent and put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It might be best not to kiss him,” he murmured.

“Why?” demanded Ennia.

Ruso straightened up. “I’m not sure about the cause of death,” he confessed, not daring to look at Lucius.

“I see,” said the steward. He was standing with his back to the door and his arms folded. His voice was thin and sharp: the voice of a man who was used to overseeing staff and knew all the tricks they got up to.

Ruso could guess what the steward thought he saw, but any attempt to put the man straight was only going to upset the girl further. It seemed she had felt genuine affection for the charmless Severus.

“He wasn’t wearing that when he left the house,” observed the steward, frowning at the crisp white linen that still bore the creases of being folded away in a cupboard and now also the marks of Ennia’s tears.

Ennia looked up, shoved her tumbled curls behind one ear, and revealed a face blotched from weeping. “Why do you care what he is wearing?” she demanded. “My brother is dead, Zosimus, look! Have you no respect?”

The steward coughed and apologized. Lucius stepped across and murmured something in the man’s ear while Ennia laid her head back down on her brother’s chest and cried, “Oh brother, what will I do here without you? Severus, don’t leave me! Please, brother! Who will take me back to Rome now?”

Ruso cleared his throat. He felt it was up to him to say something, although there was nothing he could think of that would be helpful and he did not want to contradict what ever Lucius had just told the steward. Finally he said, “If you’d like to be alone . . .”

“No thank you,” said Zosimus, answering for both of them. “We just want to get him home and have our own doctor take a look.”

“Of course,” agreed Ruso. “I’ll be glad to talk it over with him.”

Lucius shot him a warning look. He ignored it. Severus’s last words echoed through his thoughts:
The bitch has poisoned me
.

The silence was broken by a soft knock on the door. Zosimus slid aside and Cass entered the room. Without asking, she knelt beside the girl and put an arm around her, murmuring something and passing her a cloth to wipe her nose. For a few moments there was no sound but the trill of the cicadas and the occasional sniff from Ennia. Then Cass whispered something else. Ennia smoothed her brother’s cropped hair and got to her feet.

“I am sorry,” she said to Cass. “You must think me very weak.”

“No,” said Cass. “I think you show love and respect for your brother.”

“I would like to take him home now.”

“Why don’t we wait by the carriage and the men will bring him out to us?” suggested Cass gently.

Ruso was aware of Lucius watching his wife escort Ennia out of the room.

Zosimus immediately followed Ennia into the corridor as if he did not want to entrust her to any of Ruso’s family.

When they were gone Ruso pushed the door shut and hissed, “What did you say to that steward?”

“Nothing. Only that Severus had been violently ill and we didn’t want the family to see him in that state.”

“Just let me do the talking, will you?”

“You? You’ve already made them suspicious! What was that rubbish about not kissing him?”

Ruso said, “What was I supposed to do, watch her get poisoned too?”

Lucius clamped his hands over his balding head and leaned back against the wall. “As if we didn’t have enough trouble with him before.”

“The irony is,” said Ruso, reaching down to replace the sheet over their dead visitor, “we were on the verge of doing a deal to drop the court case.”

Lucius scowled. “Don’t try to be clever, Gaius. Nobody’s going to believe that.”

“I know. Even though it’s true. Have we got anything that’ll do for a stretcher?”

The whole Petreius family lined up by the gates to watch the carriage pull away, with each of the children strategically placed between adults to minimize opportunities for fighting.

As the rumble of the wheels faded and Arria was saying something about upsetting Cook by canceling to night’s dinner, one of the nieces cried, “Uncle Gaius, there’s your barbarian!”

Ruso shielded his eyes and squinted at the bareheaded figure in yellow making its way along the main road. “I don’t think so,” he said. “She’s in town with the—” He stopped. “Oh, hell. Does anybody know what time it is?”

“I’ll go and look!” offered one of the nephews. “I know how to tell the time!”

“No you don’t!” retorted a niece.

“Yes I do!”

“He doesn’t, Uncle Gaius. He can’t read the numbers: He just looks at the shadow and makes it up.”

“I do not!”

“Why don’t you both go?” suggested Cass, grabbing a child with each hand. “I’ll come with you.”

As their protests faded toward the far end of the garden, the carriage bearing Severus on his last journey home turned left onto the main road and swept past the walking figure. The figure hesitated at the junction. Then it turned and began to tramp down the track toward them.

“It
is
your barbarian, Uncle Gaius,” insisted a small voice.

“Yes,” agreed Ruso, adjusting his grip on the stick and setting off to meet her.

“But what’s she doing here, Gaius?” Arria’s voice floated after him, rising in alarm as he retreated. “Where are my girls?”

22

T
ILLA WAS MOVING along the track with small, deliberate steps, watching her feet as if she could not trust them to obey her. As she drew closer she stumbled. He called out to her. One hand rose to flap a faint response. Cursing his lame foot, he lurched toward her in the nearest thing he could manage to a run.

“Tilla, what’s happened?” He offered an arm for her to lean on. “You look terrible.”

When she lifted her head her face was white. “My lord, I lost your sisters.”

It was not only the weariness in her voice that told him she was almost at the end of her strength. He could not remember the last time she had called him “my lord.” He said, “You look dreadful. Has something happened?”

“Are your sisters here?”

“No.” He interrupted her cry of despair with, “This is my fault. We had a crisis here and I forgot to send the cart. Have you walked all the way? Where’s your hat?”

She paused before replying, as if she was assessing whether it was worth using the energy. Finally she said, “The hat is lost too. My head is aching. I am sorry.”

He wanted to carry her. Instead he had to ask, “Can you make it to the house?”

“Yes.”

Arria was hurrying toward them, calling, “Where are my girls? Gaius? Make her tell us what she’s done with them!”

“Lost,” Tilla whispered, “in the shop with the jewels. I turn around, they are gone. I look for them, then I go to the gate of Augustus, but it is past the seventh hour and nobody is there. I think they are gone without me. But now they are not here.”

“Gaius? Gaius! What’s she saying?”

“She needs water, quickly. She’s exhausted.”

“But where are my girls? I should never have let them persuade me to trust her!”

“I forgot to send the cart,” he explained, deciding half the truth would be enough for now. “Tilla’s walked all the way home in this heat to fetch it. She needs plenty of water to drink, and tell Cook I want a jug of vinegar and a mixing bowl.”

Arria bent to peer up into Tilla’s white face. “Oh dear. This one’s not going to die as well, is she?”

“Of course not,” Ruso assured her, stifling a momentary panic at the memory of being unable to help Severus. “I know what I’m treating this time.”

Tilla was propped up on his pillows wearing nothing but a cool sheet to preserve her dignity and a cold compress on her forehead. “Drink some more,” he ordered, putting the cup in her hand and turning back to carry on pounding unguent of roses into a measure of vinegar.

“I am well,” she insisted, although her voice was barely stronger than her pulse had been. “You must find your sisters.”

“Marcia and Flora can wait,” he said, tipping more vinegar into the bowl and mixing it in. “Keep drinking.” He was not going to leave her until he was happy that she was recovering. This was his fault in more ways than one. He should have sent that cart, and he should have thought to warn her. In a town with a fine supply gushing from the street fountains, it had never occurred to him that Tilla might not stop for more than a couple of sips of water all through a hot morning. He had seen enough cases like this in his first post with the army, when men marching under the African sun had run short of water. It began with heat and overexertion and dehydration and, if it was not treated, it ended very badly indeed.

He dipped the sponge in the mixture and began to wipe it down her neck, across her shoulder, and along one arm.

She wrinkled her nose. “Vinegar?”

“In the army they used to complain about the roses.” He turned the compress over and stepped around the bed to sponge down the other side. “Any dizziness, nausea, stomach cramps?”

“Just the headache, and I am very tired. Please. Go and look for the sisters. This is not a good way for me to start with your family.”

“They should have had the sense to stay with you.”

“What will I do if you do not find them?”

“I’ll find them,” he growled. “They’ll be tired of shopping by now.”

“You are not afraid for them?”

“I’ve got bigger things to worry about. They’re not children.”

She took another gulp of water. “I am sorry. You have enough troubles with that man wanting money.”

“Not anymore.” He explained about Severus’s fatal visit.

She sighed. “This is worse. Everyone will think it was you.”

Ruso hesitated. At the moment, Tilla was a patient, and a patient should be kept away from unnecessary anxiety. “Don’t worry about it,” he assured her, dabbing the sponge into the bowl. “I’ll tell everybody what happened to him and it’ll all be sorted out. Now, where exactly did you last see my sisters?”

23

A
LONE IN THE Medicus’s bedroom, Tilla put the smelly sponge back into the bowl and forced herself to pour yet another cup of water. Farther down the corridor, the Medicus’s brother and his wife were quarreling. It was hard to grasp what the argument was about. She could hear the raised voices, but the words were muffled by the walls. Only the occasional phrase from Lucius broke through: “. . . comes back here and makes a mess of everything!” was followed by an indistinct reply. Moments later, “What do you mean, I always take the easy way out?” was clear enough. He was demanding, “. . . any idea how hard I work?” when there was a scream of, “The girls! They’re home!” from Arria, followed by the sound of footsteps running along the corridor.

Wincing at the pain in her head, Tilla wrapped herself in the sheet and climbed down from the bed. She made sure there was nobody in the corridor before crossing to the window that looked out over the garden and adjusting the shutter so she could peer through the gap by the hinge without being seen. Marcia and Flora were marching up the path toward the house, looking furious. Arria hurried down the steps to fling her arms around them, crying, “Where have you been? Are you all right? I should never have left that woman to look after you. I told you I didn’t trust her.”

“We don’t know where she went,” grumbled Marcia, slapping straw off her skirt. “We’ve been looking for her for hours.”

“But she’s here!” exclaimed Arria. “She told us she’d come home to fetch the cart for you.”

“We didn’t know what to do,” said Marcia. “We just turned around and she’d gone. We waited at the Augustus gate for hours and hours but nobody came.”

“We had to beg a lift home on one of Lollia Saturnina’s delivery carts,” said Flora.

“Lollia? Oh, whatever will she think of us? And we’ve had to cancel the dinner!”

Marcia said, “Why?” but Arria was not listening.

“Your brother’s gone rushing off to fetch you. Didn’t you see him on the road?”

“He’s a bit late,” pointed out Marcia.

“We might have missed him,” said Flora, picking another strand of straw out of her sister’s hair. “We were so tired we had to lie down for a rest in the back of the cart.”

“That woman abandoned you in town, strolled back here without you, and lied to us?”

“She probably didn’t know what to do,” said Flora.

“I expect she just said what ever came into her head,” said Marcia. “It’s not her fault. I don’t suppose her people understand that sort of thing.”

“This is not good enough. I’m going to have to talk to Gaius.” Arria’s voice grew louder as they climbed the porch steps. “You’d think if he was going to bring one home he would have . . .” Tilla missed what came next, dodging back into the bedroom as they entered the house.

Back on the bed, she lay still until the throbbing in her head subsided. She supposed the Medicus would now be hobbling around the city streets in search of two girls who were safely back at home. Nobody else seemed to have thought about that.