Medicus

42

In the absence of Valens, it was Ruso who hurried across to HQ just after dawn for the morning briefing. He was not overjoyed to find Priscus already standing at the back of the hall. Each acknowledged the other with a curt nod.

Ruso frowned. He was unwilling to leave a man who would not know a plague from a pimple as the official representative of the medical service, but it was ridiculous for the hospital to be left to manage itself while both of them stood around listening to notices. He was about to give Priscus a departing wave-that surely would help to mend relations between them, as well as given him a chance to snatch breakfast-when there was an untidy shuffle of men standing to attention, followed by silence. The camp prefect's voice echoed in the rafters, bidding the assembled officers good morning and announcing that he was in charge for four days while the legate was away.

Ruso struggled to concentrate on the notices and ignore the gurgling of his empty stomach and the stifled heavings of a man in front of him who was trying not to cough. Finally the prefect announced his chosen password for the day- tiger stripes — and paused to take questions. Only as the briefing was declared closed did it strike Ruso that he should have raised his hand. It was what Valens would have done. It was the sort of thing Claudia would have encouraged. The camp prefect was directly responsible for the hospital and asking questions was a way of getting yourself noticed. The trouble was, there was nothing he actually wanted to know. No, that was not true. There was something he wanted to know, but he couldn't ask it in public.

He asked it later of Albanus, who looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure I can tell you, sir."

"Why not?"

Albanus coughed and looked to make sure the surgery door was shut. "Well, they gave us a talk about security the other day. All about not telling anyone anything they don't need to know, and how the officers might test us, and…"

"Do you actually know the answer?"

Albanus looked even more miserable. "Yes, sir."

"Well, if somebody's already blabbed it to you, it can't be that secure, can it?"

The scribe's face brightened. "Is this a test, sir?"

"Yes. Well done, Albanus. You've passed."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now can you tell me whether the legate has gone off on the same tour as Officer Valens?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes he has, or yes you can tell me?"

"Both, sir."

"Thank you." Ruso paused. "I suppose you'll be wondering why I wanted to know that."

"Oh no, sir."

"No? Good!" Ruso put his hand on the doorknob. "Ready for ward rounds?"

By the end of the morning Ruso realized he was starting to like Albanus. The man made himself genuinely useful during a full ward rounds and busy clinic, taking a pride in the swift production of whatever information was needed and apparently enjoying his chance to boss the other clerks around.

Ruso made a point of thanking him and was amused to see Albanus blush. "Go and get something to eat," he told him. "We'll start again at the seventh hour."

The scribe hesitated. "Will you be here, sir?"

"At the seventh hour."

"But between now and then, sir…"

"I will be somewhere else."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Only Officer Priscus said I was to know where you were at all times. In case there's an emergency."

"If the bandagers can't deal with it," explained Ruso, "get the watch to sound a call for me. I won't be far away."

Ruso lingered only to leave brief instructions with the guards and then hurried out under the east gatehouse, long strides taking him swiftly down the busy lunchtime street and away from the sound of all but the most energetic of trumpeters.

Moments later he heard a familiar voice calling his name. He kept walking. He had done his very last favor for the civilian liaison people. If they had a problem, he didn't want to know about it. He had enough problems of his own.

"Ruso, wait!"

He turned. "I'm in a hurry."

"Oh, I don't want you to do anything!" said the civilian liaison officer, falling into step with him. "I just want a quick word."

"Very quick, then."

The man broke into a jog to keep up. "I just wanted to say I was sorry to hear about your fire. And to thank you for your help with naming that body the other day."

"Oh," said Ruso, slowing down to negotiate the ladder of an off-duty soldier painting the front of a house. "Right. It was just good luck that I'd spoken to the porter."

"They've finished clearing the site now. There aren't any more bodies."

"Well, I suppose that's good news."

"I went down to the bar to tell them myself," continued the liaison officer, as if this were not his job but someone else's.

"How did they take it?"

"The owner wasn't too happy about paying for another funeral."

"No, so I hear."

"I told her she ought to keep a better eye on her girls."

"Maybe we need to keep a better eye on our men. This is the second runaway who's been found dead."

"We are aware of that, Ruso. We aren't quite asleep over in HQ, you know."

"You might also want to look at a part-time slave trader who supplies girls to bars. He's called Claudius Innocens."

"Really? What do you know about him?"

"Not much," said Ruso. "I just don't like him, that's all."

"I'll mention it," said the officer. "If there's an investigation."

"You mean there isn't?"

"It's not up to me," said the officer. "I just write reports. But thanks for the tip."

As they parted company it struck Ruso that it was no wonder the men of the Twentieth needed to be given talks about security. They had been stationed here far too long. The staff weren't quite asleep in HQ, but there were certainly corners over there where a man with limited ambition could lie down and snooze undisturbed, except when he roused himself to pass on a piece of interesting gossip. He supposed it was the liaison officer who had told Valens that the legate would be leading the First's mission in person. No wonder Valens had wormed his way onto the list. Valens, not Ruso, was seizing the chance to shine. Valens, the army doctor with no combat experience.

Not, by all accounts, that there was much chance of any combat on this trip. If the local chief were to have a change of heart about his loyalty to Rome, he would hardly be likely to have it during a visit from the legate and the First Century Which, of course, was the point of the trip. Anyone who really wanted to see some action, Ruso had been assured, would seek a posting up north to join in the fun the army were having with the Brigantes.

Ruso had long ago lost any illusions about combat being fun, but it occurred to him that it would do no harm to check out the state of the medical service in the north. If he could cook up some excuse for a few days away, he could return Valens's favor by leaving him to manage all the medical work on his own. In the meantime, Ruso was going to take advantage of his housemate's absence to save himself some cash.