Medicus (4 page)

5

R
USO LAY ON the borrowed bed and stared into the gloom that hid the cracks in the ceiling plaster, reflecting that Socrates was a wise man. Surveying the goods on a market stall, the great one was said to have remarked, "What a lot of things a man doesn't need!"

What a lot of things a man doesn't need.
That thought had comforted Ruso over the last few months. The more you own, he had told himself, the more you have to worry about. Possessions are a burden.

The kind of possessions which needed to be regularly fed were a double burden. They were only worth having if they earned their keep by doing the laundry, or barking at burglars, or catching mice, or carrying you somewhere, or chirping in a way that your ex-wife used to find entertaining. It was a pity Socrates hadn't thought to add,
Which is why I never shop after drinking on an empty stomach.

"As far as I'm concerned," Valens had said, carefully lowering the lid back onto the beer barrel so as not to tip the stack of dirty dishes that had been there when Ruso moved in, "If there's no one waiting for the room and you're not using much staff time to nurse her, you can leave her there."

Ruso took the dripping cup of beer and wondered whether to clear up the dishes, or whether to wait and see how long it would be before Valens did. "She'll need proper nursing for a few days."

"Fair enough. But the other one's got to be out of the mortuary tomorrow, claimed or not." Valens tossed a broken fishing rod into the corner to clear himself space on the couch. As he sat down, three puppies scuttled out from underneath. The puppies were a legacy from the previous occupant, whose lone and portly terrier bitch Valens had agreed to look after while the man was temporarily assigned elsewhere. "Gods, I'll be glad when Marius gets back to pick this stuff up. It's not all my mess in here, you know."

Ruso, who had shared quarters with Valens before, made no comment. The offer of free accommodation had been too good to turn down, but he had known there would be a price to pay.

"To tell you the truth," said Valens, "I thought you'd be bringing a servant or two. You used to have lots."

"Claudia had lots."

"Ah." Valens squinted into his own beer, rescued something with a forefinger, and flicked it over his shoulder. A rush of inquisitive puppies followed its course.

"How long have you been a beer drinker?"

"I'm not. Some native gave it to me as a thank-you for treating one of his children."

Ruso frowned into his drink. "Are you sure he was grateful?"

"Smells like goat's piss, I know. But you'll get used to it."

Ruso tried another mouthful and wondered how long getting used to it would take. He said, "Can't the legion give us somebody to help keep the place straight?"

Valens winced. "If you want some squinty-eyed misery who makes a ridiculous fuss about a little bit of a mess."

Ruso deduced that this had already been tried. "What about a private arrangement? It wouldn't cost much between us."

"The servants here aren't much better than the beer, I'm afraid. The first one we tried had a bad back. The next one kept sitting on the floor and crying and we didn't have the heart to beat her, so we sold her. At a loss, of course. Then we tried hiring a local girl, but Marius saw her kick the dog, so she had to go." Valens leaned back and indicated the size of the room with a sweep of his arm. The motion sent beer slopping over the side of his cup. "This isn't a big house, is it?" He transferred the beer to the other hand and wiped his wet fingers on the couch. "It can't be much work. I mean, we don't even use that end room." The beer slopped again, indicating the direction of the corner room, which had been abandoned as impossibly damp and was now growing several fine blooms of strange-smelling mold. "There's only the two of us to cook for," he continued, "and half the time we eat at the hospital. Can your girl cook?"

"At the moment she can't even stand up."

"No matter. We don't want one in a splint anyway. We want some nice healthy lass who's handy with dogs and cleaning."

"And wants a challenge," observed Ruso, glancing through the open door into the earthquake zone that was Valens's bedroom. "Where would we put this healthy lass?"

"In the kitchen, I suppose. When your furniture turns up, she could have the mattress off that bed you're using.

"Ruso did not reply.

"We could always get rid of her later if your girl shows promise," Valens added.

"I won't be keeping her. I'll start looking for a buyer as soon as she can be moved."

"You'll just have to hope Priscus doesn't come back in the meantime."

Ruso frowned. "Doesn't anybody know when he's coming?"

"Doubt it. He likes to take people by surprise. He thinks it keeps them on their toes. He's not keen on private patients unless they pay well. By the way, that other dog isn't yours too, is it?"

Ruso said, "What other dog?"

"I didn't think it was. I'll tell them to get rid of it."

Other dog?

Ruso yawned. The girl in the mortuary was not his problem, but if he didn't get the live one out of the hospital soon, not only would he get off on the wrong foot with Chief Administrative Officer Priscus, but he would be saddled with every other passing stray for whom no one else wanted to take responsibility.

Somewhere beyond the ill-fitting shutters of his bedroom window, a trumpet sounded the change of watch. He rolled over, wriggled to avoid the lump that always seemed directly under his shoulder no matter how many times he turned the mattress or shook the straw around, and closed his eyes. He was just dropping off to sleep when he heard a knock on his door and Valens asking if he was awake.

"No."

"Are you busy in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Too bad. Somebody's going to have to go down to Merula's."

"Uh. Send an orderly."

"It ought to be somebody official, and I'm on duty."

"Can't it wait?"

"No. One of the men's identified that body."

6

T
HE SHUTTERS HAD been pushed back to let in the autumn sunshine. Beyond them, Merula's was almost empty. Benches were upturned on the tables. A boy of eight or nine was shoveling ash out of the grate under the hot drinks counter. A young woman with lank hair tucked behind her ears was sweeping sawdust into a gray pile with limp strokes of a broom. A buxom girl was barefoot on a stool, displaying a dainty silver chain around one ankle as she reached above a lamp bracket to wipe at the smudges on the wall. Ruso looked at the girl with the ankle bracelet. He thought of the discolored figure stretched out on the mortuary table. He w* shed he hadn't.

A door opened somewhere at the back of the bar and a third girl, this one heavily pregnant, emerged carrying a jar of oil. From somewhere in the shadows a gruff voice said, " 'Morning, Daphne."

Daphne came to an instant halt on the far side of one of the tables. Ruso had the impression she was holding her breath as the taller of Merula's two doormen stepped up close behind her.

"Just got out of bed, have we?" inquired the doorman. The pregnant girl flinched as he leaned around to peer into her face.

From the doorway Ruso noticed the cloth dangling unheeded in the hand of the girl standing on the stool, who had turned to watch the encounter. The lank-haired one shuffled away to sweep under the stairs.

The doorman was shaking his head despairingly. "Daphne, Daphne, what am I always telling you about conversation? When a gentleman says hello, you say hello back. Good morning, Daphne."

If Daphne made any reply, it was covered by the screech of the shovel being slid into the fireplace.

"Very nice. Now come here."

He seated himself behind her on the table, placed his hands on her shoulders, and pulled her back toward him until she was standing trapped between his knees with the oil jar propped awkwardly against her swollen belly. "You ought to be more careful," he said, his large fingers re tying her loose braid with a surprisingly deft touch. "You could have lost that ribbon. Couldn't you?"

She did not answer.

He gave her a rough shove forward. "Run along, then. The mistress don't want to see you standing around chatting."

As Daphne approached Ruso, her face was expressionless. She stood on tiptoe to fill the lamp on the bracket by the shutters. When she had finished, she wiped first her nose and then the neck of the jar with a cloth, and made her way back to the kitchen with the sway-backed walk of a woman working to counterbalance a heavy weight.

Ruso stepped forward onto the red tiles, avoiding a pile of sawdust. A broad figure emerged from behind the shutters to block his path. He recognized the fading ginger hair.

"We're closed," said the man in a tone that suggested he too remembered Ruso's last visit, and not fondly.

"Is the manageress in?"

The solid shoulders rose just enough to indicate that the man's job was to know nothing, see nothing, and be as unhelpful as possible, and he was intending to do it to the best of his ability.

Ruso looked him in the eye. He was saying "Would you like me to repeat the question?" when he heard another voice behind him.

"Who wants to know?"

He turned. The doormen had positioned themselves so that he was caught between them. "Gaius Petreius Ruso," he said to the second man, who seemed to be in charge. "Medicus with the Twentieth."

The man folded his arms. "Whatever it is," he said, "it didn't come from here. All our girls are clean. You ought to check down by the docks."

The man's bearing would have said
ex-legionary
even without the telltale scar where the scarf had failed to keep the armor from chafing his neck. Ruso said, "What's your name, soldier?"

The man assessed him awhile longer, then said, "Bassus. He's Stichus."

"Bassus. I'm here from the hospital to see your mistress on an official matter. It's confidential and it's urgent. So if you don't know where she is, you'd be wise to find out."

The crease between the doorman's eyebrows deepened. "Why didn't you say so?" He turned. "Lucco!"

The boy paused with the shovel in one hand and a brush in the other.

"Go and tell the mistress there's an officer to see her. Chloe, get the officer a seat."

Ruso said, "I'll stand," but the girl with the ankle chain had already stepped down from the stool. She heaved a bench off one of the corner tables and swung it over to land on the tiles with a clatter. "Take a seat, sir," she said, gesturing toward it as if he might not know what it was for. "What would you like to drink?"

Ruso declined. In the circumstances, it hardly seemed appropriate.

Bassus went back to whatever he was doing behind the counter. Stichus seated himself in a corner with the air of a man who had spent long years honing the skill of waiting for action.

Ruso's gaze ran along the loops of gold braid that had been painted at waist height along the deep red of the wall beside him. Similar loops ran along the adjacent wall. A large tassel blossomed in the corner, probably inspired by the painter's discovery that the two braids—which must have been started at opposite ends of the walls—weren't quite going to meet up.

The boy, Lucco, reappeared at the foot of the stairs, and assured him—with more optimism than accuracy, as it turned out—that the mistress would not be long. The girls went back to cleaning.

Merula evidently took just as long as other women to get ready. Ruso was pondering why, when seated at a bar table, the average soldier felt compelled to carve his initials into it, when a female voice from the top of the stairs snapped, "Chloe!"

The girl with the ankle chain looked up in alarm.

"Don't rub so hard, you stupid girl! You'll take all the paint off!"

The figure sweeping down the stairs was, Ruso assumed, Merula.

Ruso had no idea what the silky material in her tunic was called, but he knew it was expensive because his wife had needed something like it for a dinner party once and then had managed to lean across a brazier and burn a hole in it. Merula looked like a woman who would be more careful. The fabric was draped to make the most of an elegant figure. Her hair, which could almost have been naturally black, was pinned back, leaving little tendrils of curls framing her face. As she reached the foot of the stairs, Ruso observed that her eyelids were dark, her lips red, and her cheeks subtly pink. It was well done. Only the lines that ran between nose and mouth suggested that Merula would not look quite as good in broad daylight.

The lines deepened around something approaching a smile when she greeted him.

"Gaius Petreius Ruso," he announced, standing. "Medicus with the Twentieth."

"Gaius Petreius. Ah yes, the new doctor. Did my girls offer you a drink?"

He nodded. "Is there somewhere we could talk in private?"

Merula clapped her hands and called, "Out!"

Instantly the girls stopped what they were doing. Chloe threw the cloth down and beckoned Lucco to follow her into the kitchen.

Merula said, "Thank you, boys."

Bassus and Stichus glanced at each other, then retreated to stand guard outside.

"Now, Doctor." Merula seated herself opposite him. "What can I do for you?"

Ruso scratched his ear. There were good reasons why he was now facing the task of breaking bad news to this woman. Principal among them was that Valens was busy with morning clinic and the duty civilian liaison officer, whose job this surely was, was already late for a meeting. "You know the sort of thing," the man had explained from the back of his horse, swinging one leg forward so the groom could tighten the girth. "Just show them we take it very seriously, but whatever you do, don't promise we'll do anything about it."

Ruso cleared his throat again, reminded himself that the woman wasn't a relative, and began. "I'm afraid I have bad news."

Merula stared at him for a moment, then lowered her head and shaded her eyes with one manicured hand.

"It's about—"

She said, "Saufeia."

"Yes."

"I was afraid of this." The woman sighed. "No matter how many times you try to tell these girls, some of them just don't listen." She looked up. "What happened to her?"

"Her body was found in the river the day before yesterday and brought into the hospital. She was identified late last night."

"She had only been with us for ten days," said Merula, inadvertently explaining why none of the hospital staff, many of whom would be in' timately acquainted with the local tavern girls, had recognized her.

"Did she drown?"

"There were, uh . . ." Ruso hesitated. "There was some bruising around the throat," he said, "and her neck was broken."

"I see." Merula paused, then shook her head. "Poor, silly Saufeia."

Poor silly Saufeia, who had ended up naked and muddy and practically bald, unmourned until a gawker who shouldn't have been in the mortuary at all recognized the birthmark on her thigh.

"Was there any family?"

Merula shook her head.

"I don't suppose you have any idea who might have—?"

"Who might have taken advantage of a girl looking for business with no protection? Outside an army base?"

There was no need to answer.

Merula glanced through the open shutters to where one of the doormen was leaning against the wall of the bakery opposite, eating. "The boys will blame themselves, but they can't watch them day and night." A bitter smile twisted the red lips. "After we realized she'd gone, the girls were hoping she'd run off with a customer. It does happen."

"You didn't report her as a runaway?"

"We were busy. I suppose we might have passed her name on to a slave hunter sooner or later, but to be honest, I doubt she would have been worth the recovery fee. She wasn't really suitable for this kind of work."

"When did you last see her?"

"Five days ago. Early in the evening. She must have sneaked out when nobody was looking."

Ruso said, "She appears to have died quite soon after that."

Merula understood. "I will make the funeral arrangements as quickly as possible."

Relieved, Ruso got to his feet. He acknowledged the woman's thanks with a nod. Her composure had made a difficult task much easier than it might have been.

The girls emerged from the kitchen with a promptness that could only mean they had been listening behind the door. Ruso was passing Stichus in the doorway when a voice called, "Sir?"

He turned. Chloe, with the lank-haired girl hovering behind her, said, "You don't know who did it, do you, sir?"

Ruso shook his head. "I don't," he said. "But if you remember anything suspicious, you should go to the fort right away and ask for the duty civilian liaison officer."