The gods must’ve been smiling on Arian that night, or maybe the bribe of the other soldier had been big enough. I probed for less than a minute, and found the glancing slice on the red-pink intestine tube, a slice and a nick that would’ve kept leaking fluid until Arian’s stomach looked pregnant, while his gut was rotting from the inside. He would’ve died. And if I’d been able to remove the sword from its sheath, I would almost certainly be dead already.
I doused him again with the vinegar. Then I took some flax thread, and very slowly, very patiently, sewed up the small cut on the intestine. It was slippery, and very messy work. My hands didn’t shake. Flavius watched attentively, with the bandages prepared.
I doused him again. I’d probably used up their monthly supply of vinegar and sanguinaria, if the praefectus castrorum was typical of that miserly breed. After thoroughly searching the wound once more, I sewed up the puncture and the extra incisions I’d made. Finally, I turned to Flavius for the honey. I smelled it, to make sure it was a good type, and then lathered it over the stitches and layered the fresh linen bandages on top.
“Change these every day, and keep him in the hospital for at least ten days. If he has any swelling in the stomach, or any fever at all-any, you understand-get me immediately. Who’s the medicus on duty tomorrow?”
“Cleones.”
“A Greek? I don’t know him. But tell him what I told you. This man is my patient, and I want him looked after with particular care.”
Flavius nodded. Any doubts he’d been harboring had apparently dissolved when I found the cut. Intestine wounds are notorious.
“Arian.”
His eyelids fluttered. He was very nearly unconscious.
“Arian. You’re going to be all right. You need to stay in the hospital for a few days, so we can make sure you don’t develop a fever. I’ll be checking on you.”
He blinked his eyes at me, but I didn’t know if he understood.
“Give him some opos-a small dose-for the pain if he needs it when he wakes up. Call another capsarius and move him to a bed.”
I breathed a deep, deep breath, and washed my hands in a jar of water. The blood under my fingernails made them itch. I picked up the sword from the floor and put on my mantle, and walked outside into the cold. Cheated the bastard yet again. I wondered how many lucky throws I had coming, and whether or not they were all used up.
Saturninus was waiting for me with the horses.
“I can’t see Agricola tonight. I’m at my limit, and beyond it. I’m going home to sleep. But when you talk to him, remind him where Rhodri is. And tell him someone tried to break into my house while I was gone, and this sword”-I held it up-“was meant for me.”
“Someone switched it. Someone in this camp, and someone in the temple.”
“Obviously. And Rhodri’s been pissing on himself all this time in Meditor’s jail, waiting for the quaesitor. So ask the governor, Saturninus, if he wouldn’t mind holding off the torture, at least until I speak to the man. I don’t want to have to save his life to get his testimony.”
Saturninus’ teeth gleamed in the dark. “Better than you having to save your own. Lucky that Arian took it for you.”
“Yeah. But not for him. Will you tell Agricola, please?”
He grunted. “Whatever you say, Arcturus. We’ll have to post-pone your initiation.”
I managed to pull myself aboard the stallion, groaning all the way. “Believe me, Saturninus, that’s the least of my worries.”
We got home somehow, and I slipped off. I couldn’t remember when I’d been so weary, so empty of everything. I kept the sword and told Saturninus I’d see him a lot sooner than I wanted to. He just showed me his teeth, and took the bridle of the red horse and cantered off toward the palace.
It was earlier than it’d been last night, when Nimbus and I found the meadow. I hoped I would sleep just as well, but I didn’t care, so long as I slept. The house was quiet. I tried the door-bolted this time. I knocked gently, and after a few moments, Brutius opened it, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“Draco outside?”
“Yes, Master. I put a compress on Pyxis, too.”
“Good. I’m too tired to mix a pain-killer tonight-I’ll give you one tomorrow.”
He nodded, and held the lamp for me while we walked through the hall to my room. I’d never seen a more glorious sight than my own green-blanketed bed, unless it was the blonde woman lying asleep under the covers.
I held my finger to my lips, and took the lamp from Brutius. He retreated on tiptoe, and I stood a minute, luxuriating in the sight of her. Her breathing was a gentle motion, like a cradle rocking, and when I climbed in next to her and held her close, it hushed me to sleep like a favorite lullaby.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I didn’t wake up until I felt a soft hand brushing hair away from my cheek. I mumbled: “Not now, Coir.”
I woke up when a voice answered dryly: “I’m not Coir.”
I opened an eye. She was sitting on the bed, dressed in a plain white muslin stola. I turned pink, and sat upright. “How long have you been up?”
“Since dawn. It’s about an hour after. Mollius is here waiting for you.”
I scratched my chin. “I’m, uh-”
“I know.” There was a bemused smile on her lips. “I’d already guessed.”
I was up, and getting dressed. Gwyna watched with what I hoped was interest, though I was so dirty and sore I couldn’t blame her if it wasn’t. “We need to talk, about that, about Caelius, about everything.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, as far as ‘that’ is concerned, I think Draco’s taken care of it. Everything else can wait until you’ve seen Rhodri.”
I glanced over while I was cinching a belt over a tunic that was cleaner than I was. “Don’t worry about him so much.”
Her cheeks got a little red. “He risked himself for me, and he’s a friend. I have every right to worry about him, Arcturus, he’s sitting in a jail waiting to be subjected to God knows what kind of torture this very instant.”
She used my Roman name. Not a good sign. “Yeah. I know. But something happened last night that I think will help keep the quaesitores at bay for a bit. Someone tried to kill me.”
She grasped my arm while I was strapping on a sword. “What happened? Are you all right?”
A small part of me-well, a rather large part, actually-was gratified. I was tired of Rhodri, and I hadn’t even met the bastard yet. “I’m all right, but a man nearly died taking a sword that was meant for me. Someone at the fort was responsible, someone either in or who knows about the temple. Someone who can’t be Rhodri.”
She folded herself up in my arms and pulled my head to her mouth. The kiss felt like a long drink of cool water after a week in a sand pit. When she finished, she looked up at me, and asked: “Is that better than Coir?”
She already knew the answer, so I didn’t give it to her. At least in words. When she finally pushed me away, I was breathing hard.
“You have work to do, Ardur.”
I grunted like one of Circe’s pigs, unable to talk.
She smiled, that smile that is the personal prerogative of beautiful women. “Go on. And be careful.”
When I closed the door, she was vigorously shaking out my blankets. I thought about firing up the caldarium later.
Bilicho’s door was shut, but I heard voices in the dining room. Venutius was ready with breakfast, and Mollius was standing in front of the fire, looking surprisingly alert. Coir was helping Venutius. I assumed Brutius and Draco were still asleep from staying up all night. But where was Bilicho?
“Are you ready, Arcturus? I know you had a rough night. I heard about the temple.”
“Yeah. I’ve got the sword with me. It’s not an army issue.”