Ruth Downie
Medicus
O diva… serves iturum Caesarem in ultimos orbis Britannos.
Oh Goddess, safeguard Caesar as he sets off for the remotest regions of the Earth-Britain.
1
Someone had washed the mud off the body, but as Gaius Petreius Ruso unwrapped the sheet, there was still a distinct smell of river water. The assistant wrinkled his nose as he approached with the record tablet and the measuring stick he had been sent to fetch.
"So," said Ruso, flipping the tablet open. "What's the usual procedure here for unidentified bodies?"
The man hesitated. "I don't know, sir. The mortuary assistant's on leave."
"So who are you?"
"The assistant's assistant, sir." The man was staring at the corpse.
"But you have attended a postmortem before?"
Without taking his eyes off the body, the man shook his head. "Are they all like that, sir?"
Ruso, who had started work before it was light, stifled a yawn. "Not where I come from."
The description should come first. Facts before speculation. Except that in this case much of the description was speculation as well.
Female, aged… He spent some time frowning over that one. Finally he settled on approximately 18–25 years. Average weight. Height… five feet one inch. At least that was fairly accurate. Hair: red, scant. That too, although it might not be very helpful if no one had ever seen her before without a wig. Clothing: none found. So no help there, then.
Three teeth missing, but not in places that were obvious. Someone would need to know her very well indeed to give a positive identification from that.
Ruso glanced up. "Did you go over to HQ for me?"
"I told them we'd got a body and you'd send the details over later, sir."
"Did you ask about missing persons?"
"Yes, sir. There aren't any."
"Hm." This did not bode well. Ruso continued working his way down the body, making notes as he went. Moments later his search was rewarded. "Ah. Good!"
"Sir?"
Ruso pointed to what he had found. "If somebody turns up looking for her in a month's time," he explained, "we'll be able to tell them who we buried." He recorded Strawberry birthmark approximately half an inch long on inside of upper right thigh, eight inches above the knee, and sketched the shape.
When he had completed the description, Ruso scratched one ear and gazed down at the pale figure laid out on the table. He was better acquainted than he wished to be with the dead, but this one was difficult. The water had interfered with all the signals he had learned to look for. There was no settling of the blood to indicate the position in which the body had been left, presumably because it had rolled over on the current. The limbs were flexible, so that meant
… what? Men who died in the stress of battle often froze and then relaxed again much faster than was normal. So if the woman had been frightened or struggling… On the other hand, how would the aftermath of death be affected by cold water? He scratched his ear again and yawned, trying to think what he could usefully write on the report that would not cause more distress and confusion to the relatives.
Finally he settled on Time of death: uncertain, estimated at least 2 days before discovery and gave his reasons.
He glanced up at the assistant's assistant again. "Can you write legibly?"
"Yes, sir."
He handed the tablet and stylus across the body
"Place of death," he dictated, then corrected himself. "No, put Location of body."
The man laid the tablet on the end of the table, hunched over it, and repeated, "Location… of… body" as he scraped with awkward but determined obedience.
"Found five hundred paces downstream from the pier, in marshes on the north bank," said Ruso, wishing he had carried on writing himself.
"F… found… five hundred…" muttered the man, suddenly breaking off in midsentence to look up and say, "She could have drowned a long way upstream and come down the river, sir. But then, she might have gone in farther along and come up on the tide."
"Pardon?" Ruso blinked, taken aback by this sudden display of initiative.
Moments later it was apparent that although this soldier knew nothing about hospital administration and very little about writing, he had devoted his spare time to learning everything there was to know about the local fishing. The assistant's assistant's detailed description of all possible points of waterborne departure that could end in an arrival in the marshes on the north bank of the River Dee left Ruso baffled, but one thing was clear. In a land where coastlines shifted in and out and rivers flowed backward twice a day, anything that floated could end up a very long way from where it fell into the water.
"Point of entry into water unknown," he dictated.
The man paused. "I didn't get the bit before that, sir." Ruso repeated the location of the body. The man wiped a scrape of wax off the end of the stylus with his forefinger, flicked it away, and began to write.
There was a bird chirping in the hospital garden and a murmur of voices. Ruso glanced out the window. On the far side of the herb beds an amputee practiced with his crutches while orderlies hovered at each elbow, ready to catch him. A soft breeze wafted in, fluttering the lamps that had been placed on slender black stands around the table, burning for the soul of the unknown figure laid out beneath them.
The lamps lurched wildly as the door was flung open. The assistant's assistant looked up and said, "It's not her, Decimus," but the intruder still hurried to the table to look for himself.
Ruso frowned. "Who are you?"
The man clasped both hands together and continued staring at the body.
"Have you lost someone?"
The man swallowed. "No. Not like this, no, sir."
"Then you'd better leave, hadn't you?"
The man backed toward the door. "Right away, sir. Sorry to interrupt, sir. My mistake."
Ruso followed him across the room and barred the door before turning to the assistant. "Is there a missing person that HQ doesn't know about?"
The man shook his head. "Take no notice of Decimus, sir. He's just one of the porters. He's looking for his girlfriend."
"In the mortuary?"
"She ran off with a sailor, sir. Months ago."
"Why look in here, then?"
The man shrugged. "I don't know, sir. Perhaps he's hoping she's come back."
Ruso, not sure if this was an attempt at humor, tried to look the man in the eye, but the attention of the assistant's assistant remained firmly on the writing tablet.
Ruso looked down at the body. "Write, Cause of death."
The stylus began to scratch again. "Cause of…"
"We'll start from the head down."
"We will start
"No, don't write that."
"Sir?"
"Just write Cause of death. Nothing else yet."
He frowned at the girl's head. The fishermen who brought the body in had sworn that they had done nothing to it, but Ruso was at a loss to explain the girl's hair. At first he had thought she was simply unfortunate. Now, on closer examination, he realized the patchy baldness was not natural. He ran one finger across the bristly scalp.
"Is this some sort of a punishment, do you think?"
"Perhaps she cut it off to sell it, sir," suggested the orderly.
"This isn't cut, this is practically shaved."
"Lice, sir?" suggested the orderly, suddenly sounding hopeful. "Maybe she went down to the river to wash out the lice and drowned."
Ruso took a deep breath of fresh air before bending down and holding the lamp closer to the body.
"She didn't drown," he said, lifting the girl's chin with the tip of one finger. "Look."