Ruso and the Root of All Evils

19

There was no time to change. Ruso pulled his tunic straight and lurched up the couple of steps towards the entrance hall. His sister-in-law was hovering by the front door in a manner that suggested she had run out of conversation and was desperate to escape.

The man seated on the stool beside the Petreius household shrine was not, at first glance, an impressive sight. Beneath a no-nonsense crop of greying hair, the pale face had large nostrils that gave the effect of a permanent sneer. Ruso judged him as nearer forty than thirty, overweight and not in the best of health. Whatever Claudia had married him for, it was not his looks.

Severus did not bother to get up as Cass introduced him and then hurried off towards the children’s room. Instead he reached for the platter that had been set on a side table at his elbow and took a drink from one of Arria’s most delicate patterned glasses. ‘So,’ he said, clapping the glass back on the polished walnut table rather than the platter and spilling some of the contents, ‘Ruso.’

‘Severus. As you see, I got your letter.’

The man frowned. ‘What letter?’

Already, Lucius’ description of devious, vindictive, lying bastard rang true. ‘Has anyone been sent to fetch my brother?’

‘You don’t need reinforcements. This is all going to be nice and legal.’ The agent surveyed the boldly painted hall and the little wooden home of the household gods with the air of a man assessing a lot at auction. The bust of Ruso’s father stared back at him from its stand. Ruso hoped that, wherever Publius’ spirit had gone, he was not able to witness this meeting. Even if the whole mess was largely his own fault.

‘All this and a temple too,’ Severus remarked, scuffing at an uneven patch in the mosaic with the toe of one sandal. ‘Always the same, you people. Happy to borrow and then complaining when it’s time to pay up.’ He glanced around at the vacant-faced women on the walls. ‘Look at this lot. No wonder you can’t pay the bills.’

‘We pay our bills.’

‘Not from what I’ve heard.’

‘What we don’t do is pay them twice.’

‘Wake up, Ruso! Your brother’s lying to you. He spent the money himself.’

Ruso glanced around, wondering who was listening behind the closed doors. ‘Shall we talk in the study?’

Would he ever feel comfortable calling it ‘my study’? It was as much as he could do not to call it ‘my father’s …’

Severus seemed to have some difficulty heaving himself off the stool, but once up he headed in the right direction without being told. ‘Hot day,’ he muttered.

‘Want something else to drink?’

‘I didn’t come here to drink.’

Ruso grabbed the stool and carried it into the study. He placed it where his visitor could lower himself on to it without further effort. Then he shifted his father’s chair so that he could get into it without hopping clumsily along one side of the desk. ‘So. We owed the Senator a sum of money, and — ’

‘Let’s not dance around, Ruso. It’s stuffy in here, and I’m not feeling well. Your brother’s payment was short. Very short. I asked him to pay; he didn’t. I got a magistrate’s ruling, and he still didn’t. I’m running out of patience. I was thinking of bringing a few men over to straighten him out. But, since you’ve turned up, I’m prepared to do it through the law.’

Ruso wondered what Claudia could possibly have found attractive about this charmless lout, who seemed to think he was doing them a favour by trying to bankrupt them. ‘Lucius tells me he paid in full.’

‘Course he does. Prove it.’

‘I can’t prove anything,’ he said. ‘Neither can you. But I spoke to Fuscus this morning. He thinks you’ll want to change your mind very soon.’

Ruso had been hoping for a reaction to Fuscus’ name, but Severus did not seem to be concentrating. He was frowning and fingering his mouth as if he was not sure it belonged to him.

Ruso said, ‘I’m prepared to agree a second payment in order to get this thing settled.’

Severus cleared his throat, spat on the floor and said, ‘First I want an apology to the wife.’

Ruso blinked. ‘You want me to apologize to Claudia?’ That would be interesting. He could imagine what tales Claudia had told about him.

‘Not you, you fool,’ retorted Severus. ‘She’s not interested in you.’ He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. ‘Or me. Not since that woman — what’s her name? — Arria. Not since Arria came round pouring poison in her ears.’ Ruso, who still had no idea what his visitor was talking about, thought he detected a slight slur in the voice. ‘S’not my fault,’ continued Severus. ‘Stuck here in the provinces with a complaining sister an’ a bunch of bumpkins who don’t know a good offer when you hear it.’ He looked up at Ruso as if he knew there was something else important to tell him but could not quite remember what it was. Finally he said, with more emphasis than was necessary, ‘Nobody upsets my wife!’

‘I didn’t know Arria had upset your wife,’ confessed Ruso, wondering how Severus was managing to appear drunker by the minute and whether he would remember any of this conversation when he sobered up. ‘I’ll see she apologizes.’

‘She had no business running to Claudia like that. I made that offer in …’ Severus appeared to be searching for an elusive word, then brightened as he caught hold of it. ‘Confidence! I made that offer in confidence. Confidence and good faith.’

‘Ah,’ said Ruso, reaching for a stylus and wondering whether Lucius knew that Arria had got herself involved in this somewhere. ‘Let me make a note of what we’ve agreed.’

‘I was only trying to help.’

‘Very good of you,’ said Ruso, prepared to humour him if it led to a signed agreement. ‘I’ll just write this down and we won’t need to involve Fuscus.’ Or too much political campaigning.

‘I’m a decent man.’

‘Of course.’ A decent man who swindled debtors out of money they didn’t owe.

‘I knew you’d understand!’ exclaimed Severus with unexpected warmth. Ruso glanced up and decided the sickly grimace was intended to be a smile. ‘Other men don’t know what it’s like,’ continued Severus. ‘Day after day. Night after night. Nothing you do ever good enough.’

Light was beginning to dawn. ‘Claudia?’ suggested Ruso.

‘Bloody woman. And Daddy. And then my sister. Always something wrong. Now that sister of yours, not the loudmouth, the other one …’

‘Flora,’ prompted Ruso, choosing to ignore the painfully accurate description of Marcia.

‘The older one’s as bad as mine. Want a nice quiet girl. Man could be happy with a nice quiet girl like that.’

‘You’re telling me you were offering to marry Flora?’

‘Nice, quiet, fertile girl. Thash what I need. Make some money, go back to Rome. Be a fine upstanding famly man.’

‘Nobody here was aware that you were making a marriage offer. Or that you were in a position to do so.’

Severus frowned and pondered that for a moment. ‘Teshting the water. Seeing how the land lies. Look before you leap. Try before you buy.’

‘Try before you buy?’

Severus gave a vague gesture of rejection. ‘No thanks. Don’t feel much like it right now.’

‘You’re saying my family misunderstood your intentions?’ said Ruso, confident that Severus’ intentions had been to see what he could get away with and repressing an urge to punch him on the nose.

‘That interfering old cow went and told Claudia.’

‘Arria didn’t realize the high regard you had for Flora.’ So high, indeed, that since the man had been refused access to her, he had decided to wreck the lives of her entire family. ‘We’ll pay what we owe you as a result of the last judgement, and you’ll drop the court case. Are we agreed?’

Severus flapped a hand towards him. ‘Whatever you like.’

As Ruso seized a pen to scrawl out this surprising agreement Severus added, ‘Nobody insults my wife! Only me.’

‘I’ll get a couple of people in to witness it, and you can tell Fuscus over dinner tonight that it’s already dealt with.’

‘Bloody awful paintings in your hall. Nuff to make anybody ill.’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like some water?’

‘I said no, din’ I?’ Severus rubbed a trail of drool away from his mouth and mumbled, ‘Feel sick.’

Ruso leaped up, hopped over to the door and shouted, ‘Someone fetch a bowl!’

‘I’m ill!’ gasped Severus, as if he had only just noticed. ‘Fetch a doctor!’

‘I am a doctor. Have you eaten anything unusual?’

Ruso had barely established what Severus had eaten for breakfast when the breakfast itself rose up and reappeared for inspection.

‘Too late,’ observed Ruso as Galla the nursemaid stood helpless in the doorway, clutching a heavy bowl and a cloth. Severus heaved again and toppled sideways off the stool. Ruso grabbed him just in time to stop his head hitting the desk.

Severus struggled to get out of his grasp and collapsed on the tiled floor, mumbling, ‘Wash matter with me?’

‘You’re drunk.’

The man shook his head. ‘Not drunk.’ He wiped his nose and mouth with his fingers. ‘Everything’s gone funny.’

‘Lie down for a moment till your head clears,’ suggested Ruso, motioning to Galla to keep back.

‘Not drunk!’ shouted Severus. He tried to get up, but his arms and legs seemed to have taken on lives of their own and skidded helplessly in the regurgitated breakfast. ‘Help me!’

Ruso crouched beside him and tried to help him up. Severus’ legs had tangled themselves around the desk, and the arm that encircled Ruso’s neck almost pulled him off balance to land on top of his patient.

‘Lie still,’ he ordered, ducking out from under the arm and mentally running through a list of possible causes other than wine. ‘Have you been bitten or stung by something?’

‘No.’

‘Just lie still,’ Ruso urged, adding with more confidence than he felt, ‘It’ll pass in a minute.’ He tried, ‘Did you ride over here bareheaded in the sun?’ not because it was likely, but because it would buy him some time to think.

‘Why’s everything moving?’ cried Severus, rubbing his eyes with his fists. ‘I can’t see!’

Ruso turned to the doorway, where his servant was looking as frightened as his patient. ‘Galla, what did he have to drink?’

‘Mistress Cassiana brought him some water, my lord.’

‘I can’t see! The light’s gone all … Help me!’

Ruso tried to detach himself from the man’s terror and think clearly. He was certain this was a case of poisoning, but without knowing what the poison was, it was hard to know how best to treat it.

‘Olive oil and a cool damp cloth,’ he ordered Galla. ‘Quickly.’

‘Just lie still now,’ he repeated, not knowing what else to suggest. He crouched over his patient, trying to work logically through the possibilities. The man had been fingering his mouth: presumably because the poison had entered that way. What the hell had he taken? He smelled of nothing unexpected apart from a faint trace of roses under the vomit: probably a harmless attempt to mask bad breath.

The mouth had not been dry: not henbane or mandrake, then. He was far too agitated for poppy. He had lost his coordination, but he was still able to move all his limbs. He was not choking. He had not complained of a headache, or of feeling cold. Did hemlock always paralyse? What were the symptoms of wolfsbane? There could be dozens of other poisons he had not even considered, and he could not abandon the patient while he hurried off to scrabble for clues in his medical books.

Severus was struggling to say something. Squirming round the worst of the mess, Ruso leaned down again and grabbed a flailing hand. He felt a worryingly slow and fluttery pulse.

‘That bitch!’ whispered Severus.

Galla returned with a jug and the cloth. Ruso wiped the sweating forehead and wished he were back with the Legion. In Africa there would have been a poisons specialist on the staff. Even in Britannia he would have been able to shout for the pharmacist. Here, there was no time to fetch even the humblest root-cutter from town. He was on his own.

He turned to Galla again. ‘Help me prop him up,’ he said. ‘Then fetch Lucius, or one of the farm boys if you can’t find him. He’s to ride over to the Senator’s and tell them Severus has been taken ill and they need to come straight away.’

He returned his attention to his patient, tipping some of the oil into the drooling mouth. ‘We’ll get it back up, whatever it was,’ he promised. ‘Can you think of anything you’ve eaten or drunk that tasted strange? What about the rosewater?’

Severus muttered something. He tried to push the jug away.

Ruso leaned closer and grabbed the man’s arm to hold it still. ‘Say it again,’ he prompted.

‘I’m dying!’ whispered Severus. ‘The bitch has poisoned me!’