Nox Dormienda

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I must have yelled or screamed or made a noise, because Saturninus and the other soldier came running. I was holding on to Arian, trying to lead him to the slab. Another body in the mithraeum-but this one, goddamn it, was still alive.

“Saturninus-help me get him on this thing. Careful-don’t move the knife. You-rip up a tunic or something and get me some cloth. All right-take his feet. Arian, I’m going to bend your knees close to your chest-it’ll help with the bleeding and the pain. Get me a bag for his head-I need to prop it. Any more wine? Get it for me.”

The other soldier came back with some torn pieces of a dirty tunic, probably his own. Saturninus hurried with the wine bag, and I laid it beside Arian and started to cut the cloth of his tunic around the knife. He was trying to look, his eyes glassy and scared, but he wasn’t in shock. Not yet.

“I need a blanket, too, and hurry. Saturninus-the fort. Bring back a flat bed cart. I need to take this knife out at the hospital and explore the wound.”

I took a deep breath. I was exhausted, and my hands weren’t as steady as they’d need to be. “You-more light over here.”

I covered his chest with a blanket, asked for another, and used that for his knees. The bleeding was slowing down a little, and I was praying the knife hadn’t cut through his liver or kidneys. It stood in the wound, slightly quivering with his every breath, which were starting to come a little more jagged, as he began to realize what had happened.

I bit my lip. I didn’t have anything to stop the flow if I took it out, and keeping it in the wound kept the bleeding down and dirt out. But leaving it in ran the risk of it grazing an organ or worsening the damage. He had a strong muscular wall, so I was betting on the knife getting lodged in that, before it could slice off a piece of his pancreas. I’d stabilize it, not remove it.

I pulled the cloth away from the wound very slowly. A little of the tunic was inside it.

I looked up at him. “I don’t think it’s very deep. We’ve got to take you to the hospital before I can be sure. Hold on to the sides of the altar-this may hurt.”

What little wine Saturninus had left flowed over his stomach and around the knife and mixed with the coagulating blood. I took some of the cloth the other soldier had torn off and placed it like packing around the blade, trying to keep it in place.

Arian moved his left leg without knowing it, and I yelled to the other soldier: “Goddamn it, hold his legs steady for him. That’s it.”

He whispered: “Am I going to die?”

“Eventually. Not tonight.”

I moved above him and opened his mouth. I didn’t see any sign of blood in his spit. I could also get a good view of his belly from here, to see if it was swelling at all. Swelling meant bleeding inside, damaged organs, and probable death. It looked mildly enlarged. Something was leaking inside, then, and I only hoped I could find what it was and sew it up and keep him alive. I still had faith in his stomach muscles.

I went back to the wound and leaned over and sniffed. I didn’t smell shit. The big intestine was probably all right. He was starting to shiver, and I took off my mantle and covered him with it. Losing blood in that cold, damp place would send anyone into shock, but I needed him still and quiet, not trembling. Where the hell was Saturninus?

The other soldier was standing in front of the carving, mumbling some sort of prayer to Mithras. The god got him into this, maybe he could get him out. I wouldn’t turn down any help.

I rubbed my shaggy face, and wished I had a decent bandage and a pair of forceps. Arian was closing his eyes, either trying to control his breathing or starting to fade.

I leaned over him. “Listen. You took a sword that was meant for me. You’re not going to die. I promise you. I’ll wrestle with that bastard Pluto, I’ll pull Mithras’ cap over his face and kill the bull myself-I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep you alive. But you’ve got to help. Keep talking to me and stay awake.”

His blue eyes looked enormous. “All right. But it hurts.”

“Of course it hurts. So do most things in life. Wait until you get married and your wife has her first son. You think signiferes are tough.”

I kept him awake with talk that didn’t mean anything but could mean everything until Saturninus arrived. Somehow, between the three of us, we got him up the ladder. Saturninus-big, bold, burly Saturninus-had me strap him on his back like a baby, and crab-walked up the dirt, clawing at each stair with his fingernails. I held Arian’s feet, and kept him as even as possible so that the knife wouldn’t move. The other soldier kept praying, vowing who knew what to who knew whom if Arian lived. Maybe one of the gods was in the mood for a bribe.

I sat in the cart with him, hovering over the knife like a broody hen. I packed it firmly with more cloth once we were in the wagon, but cursed every time the rear wheel hit a rock.

The hospital was ready for us. One of the capsarii, Flavius, was waiting for me. He was from the Ninth Legion, like Arian.

“Got the bandages ready? Good. We have any sanguinaria? Is it mixed with vinegar? Mix it then, and quick.”

After we lifted Arian up on the table, I told Saturninus and the other one to go. Saturninus said he’d wait for me. Agricola would need to be told. I guess my initiation was going to be postponed.

Flavius asked: “Are you going to open it up?”

“I think he’s got a small cut inside somewhere. If I don’t find it, he’ll get a fever and die.”

After that, he didn’t say much. I leaned over to Arian, who had his eyes closed again.

“Wake up, Signifer. I’m going to pull out the knife.”

His eyes lifted themselves with difficulty. “Will it hurt?”

“Not as much as the bet you lost last month.”

He tried to smile, and while he was in the middle of it I grasped the sword handle with both hands and pulled it out, as straight and fast and quick as I could. It made a slight sucking sound when it came out, and blood started flowing immediately.

I threw it aside and with some forceps pried away the tunic from the punctured flesh. Arian was grasping the sides of the table again. Flavius stood by with some vinegar and sanguinaria, and I poured it like a man giving out wine on his wedding day.

Now I could see the wound. It was thin-the blade hadn’t twisted, and had gone in cleanly. But his belly was still swollen. Not much, but enough.

Flavius pulled either side of it open, while I held a lamp over it. I sniffed again. Still no odor of shit. But a faint whiff of something other than blood. Bile, and maybe a little bit of food.

“Arian-what did you eat tonight?”

“A beef flank.” He was breathing hard. “We were celebrating.”

Beef. The unmistakable odor of partly digested beef. There was a nick in the little intestine.

“You’ve got a small cut in your gut inside. I need to find it and sew it up. I’ll probably have to open this stab wound up a little bit.”

He whispered: “All right.”

Flavius brought me more of the vinegar mixture. I told him to lay out some honey, if they had any. He gave me a funny look, but did as I asked. I guess they usually used it for bee stings and superficial cuts and scrapes. He’d learn something, then.

I picked up one of the scalpels and very quickly sliced some horizontal cuts around the opening. I kept pouring the vinegar until the entire wound smelled like Mollius’ apartment. I stopped to wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. I was sweating.

The path of the blade was straight and in a limited area. But intestines twist up worse than the Gordian knot-and that meant some fold underneath could’ve been punctured. My hands were shaking, and I stopped again. No time, Arcturus, no time for nerves. One deep breath, and in I went.

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.