Medicus

29

Moments after Ruso had emerged from Priscus's office, he spotted Albanus at the far end of the corridor. The clerk dodged around the corner as if he was attempting to stay out of sight. Puzzled, Ruso continued down the corridor until he reached the corner, then turned to find the man pressed flat against the wall.

"Albanus, are you avoiding me?"

The clerk swallowed. "You're not supposed to be here yet, sir."

"Perhaps you'd like me to go away again?"

"Oh no, sir! But you told me to stay out of your way."

Ruso sighed. "I didn't mean you have to run off every time you see me."

"No, sir. Sorry, sir. I could fetch my things and start now if you like, sir."

"Please do."

Albanus brightened. "I'll fetch your post as well, sir, shall I?"

"Post?"

Ruso had been known to ignore his pigeonhole for weeks and then find something important and out of date in there. Watching Albanus bustle off in the direction of the records office, it occurred to him that having a personal clerk might even turn out to be useful. Although he hoped he would not have to admit as much to Priscus. In fact, he was intending to keep well clear of Priscus in future. Merely thinking about the administrator gave him an urge to beat the man over the head with his inkwell. Which, for a professional healer attempting to follow the dictates of reason, logic, and philosophy, was more than a little disappointing.

The first letter was from a seller of medical texts advertising his latest stock, none of which Ruso could afford. The second was from one of his former trainees in Antioch, asking for a letter of recommendation. The third was a fresh and unexpected letter from home.

He settled on a stool in the corner of his surgery and read them all. Then, with a calm he did not feel, he dictated a letter of recommendation. He left Albanus to copy it and to tell anyone who asked that he would be back in time for afternoon clinic.

When he reached the cashier's office, the length of the line suggested to Ruso that he would, after all, have to keep his patients waiting. At the counter, the duty clerk and a dim but determined soldier were locked in an argument about receipts. Ruso leaned against the wall and reread the letter which was the cause of his being here.

"Greetings, brother," he deciphered mostly from memory since as usual Lucius had crammed the lines together to fit everything on the page.

I trust you have sent us the package we are expecting. I thank you and eagerly await its arrival. Unfortunately I am now wondering whether our present course of action remains appropriate. Perhaps the full burden of responsibility for the farm is too much for the pair of us to sustain. As you are our father's heir I am writing to ask your permission to seek a buyer. I will endeavor to find someone who requires a sitting tenant and thus save the family any unnecessary upheaval. You will be interested to hear that the oldest daughter of Germanicus Fuscus is to be married in the spring. Naturally Fuscus will be providing his daughter with a suitable wedding celebration and will wish to make a generous gift to the happy couple, as will we. We are all in good health, brother, and hope you are the same. Write soon, I beg you.

Fuscus! Ruso certainly was interested to hear about what Fuscus was planning, although not about the marriage. Not two months ago, he and Lucius had shaken Fuscus's hand over an agreement to extend the terms of the loan. Now the man had changed his mind, and clearly Lucius had failed to persuade him to hold off.

"Sir?"

A second clerk had appeared at the counter and was beckoning him forward. Ruso did not look at the faces of the men he bypassed. One day, when they were officers, they would jump the line too.

"I'd like a word with the cashier," he said. "In private."

Afternoon clinic was busy, evening ward round was even busier, and although Lucius's letter was on his mind, Ruso was unable to find the privacy to reply to it. It was several hours after dark when he finally escaped from the hospital-and from Albanus-and made his way back to the house accompanied only by the smell of someone else's fried bacon.

Still pondering his brother's hint about the generous gift, he reflected that he did not have to stay in this inhospitable corner of the empire. As a surgeon, he was not committed to serve out the twenty-five years of a career soldier. He could try to resign and make the crossing to Gaul before the winter storms set in. There, he could exploit the tax-free status of a civilian doctor, take on his full responsibilities as Pater Familias, and support the family on the ailments of neighbors rich enough to pay him.

The trouble was, would it be enough? What if Fuscus's failure to honor his agreement signified a general loss of faith? If all the debts were called in, there would be no farm to go home to. He would have given up a job he enjoyed, with a regular and very reasonable salary, for nothing. Maybe he should tell Lucius to sell and invite them all to join him in Britannia. It was no worse than his stepmother deserved.

What he needed, of course, was the salary of the chief medical officer. Valens was shamelessly jockeying for the job on the flimsy basis of having been here first, but Ruso's experience was far wider and Claudia had always insisted he could do better for himself if he just made more effort to be polite to people. He had taken little notice of her complaints. A man's work should speak louder than his words. The trouble was, hardly anyone here knew much about his work.

He had been wasting too much time messing about with injured and deceased slave girls. For the sake of his family, he was going to have to find ways to impress the right people. He needed to make useful contacts. Get his face known. Gods above, if he was CMO he could even hunt down a rich widow and persuade her to marry him. He could be the sort of man who gave-the words rang through his head like the blast of a warning trumpet- dinner parties.

In the meantime, Lucius was waiting for an answer.

Safely shut away in his bedroom, Ruso opened one of the blank writing tablets he had persuaded a dubious Albanus to part with (I have to sign for them, sir), and scrawled,

Greetings, brother. Thank you for your suggestion, but I am not prepared to relinquish the burden just yet. Interested to hear about the wedding plans. Are there any more on the horizon? Keep me informed. I am eager to hear all the latest news from home. In the meantime, I am arranging to send three thousand denarii, which I trust will fund a suitably substantial gift.