Ruso and the Root of All Evils

21

There had been a time, early in his apprenticeship, when Ruso had assumed that breaking bad news would get easier with practice. Or at least that he would get better at doing it. The trouble was, no matter how well rehearsed the doctor, the scene was always new to the friends and relatives playing the other parts.

Over the years he had learned only two things about giving the news of a death: firstly, that it never was going to get any easier, and secondly, that it was best to ask people to sit down first. Not that it made the shock any less, but from a sitting position it was harder for them to hit him — or more likely, outside the Army, to end up clinging to him and weeping uncontrollably on his shoulder, a position from which he frequently found it difficult to extricate himself. Instead, he chose to sit and wait as words and meaning linked themselves in the reluctant minds of his hearers. He had to watch as their faces changed from fear or incredulity to realization, and to bear patiently with the occasional accusation of lying, indifference or incompetence. But never before had he been obliged to give the news to people who, sooner or later, were bound to suspect that he had deliberately murdered his patient.

The girl with the pinched features who was introduced as Severus’ sister Ennia was probably older than Marcia: something Ruso had not expected after the talk of early marriage. Unlike the steward, she did not at first seem to grasp the implications of what Ruso was telling them.

‘He was all right when he left,’ said the steward, whose small head, narrow shoulders and black eyes reminded Ruso of a weasel.

‘It came on very suddenly,’ said Ruso, aware of the need not to look shifty and aware also of Lucius listening beside him. The entrance hall was really not the right place to do this, he realized. But they could hardly loll about on dining couches, and the study was occupied by a body. He should have asked them to sit out in the garden, drains or no drains. Well, it was too late now. He cleared his throat. ‘Would you like to see him?’

‘We certainly would,’ said the steward, getting to his feet and offering an arm to the girl.

Ennia took no notice of the invitation to move. Both fists were pressed against her mouth, and her whole body trembled. She seemed to be staring at Ruso without seeing him.

‘Would you like to see your brother?’ repeated Ruso.

The steward bent forward and touched her hand. ‘I’ll take you,’ he murmured.

Still dumb, Ennia nodded.

When Ruso unlocked the study door — this time he had given firm instructions to Arria about keys — Ennia hurried in and kneeled beside the limp body, clutching the face in her hands and whispering, ‘Oh, Brother, Brother …’ Ruso felt a momentary relief that Arria had thought to have the scene cleaned up and then realized he must take charge here.

He bent and put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. ‘It might be best not to kiss him,’ he murmured.

‘Why?’ demanded Ennia.

Ruso straightened up. ‘I’m not sure about the cause of death,’ he confessed, not daring to look at Lucius.

‘I see,’ said the steward. He was standing with his back to the door and his arms folded. His voice was thin and sharp, the voice of a man who was used to overseeing staff and knew all the tricks they got up to.

Ruso could guess what the steward thought he saw, but any attempt to put the man straight was only going to upset the girl further. It seemed she had felt genuine affection for the charmless Severus.

‘He wasn’t wearing that when he left the house,’ observed the steward, frowning at the crisp white linen that still bore the creases of being folded away in the cupboard, and now also the marks of Ennia’s tears.

Ennia looked up, shoved her tumbled curls behind one ear and revealed a face blotched from weeping. ‘Why do you care what he is wearing?’ she demanded. ‘My brother is dead, Zosimus, look! Have you no respect?’

The steward coughed and apologized. Lucius stepped across and murmured something in the man’s ear while Ennia laid her head back down on her brother’s chest and cried, ‘Oh, Brother, what will I do here without you? Severus, don’t leave me! Please, Brother! Who will take me back to Rome now?’

Ruso cleared his throat. He felt it was up to him to say something, although there was nothing he could think of that would be helpful, and he did not want to contradict whatever Lucius had just told the steward. Finally he said, ‘If you’d like to be alone …’

‘No thank you,’ said Zosimus, answering for both of them. ‘We just want to get him home and have our own doctor take a look.’

‘Of course,’ agreed Ruso. ‘I’ll be glad to talk it over with him.’

Lucius shot him a warning look. He ignored it. Severus’ last words echoed through his thoughts: the bitch has poisoned me.

The silence was broken by a soft knock on the door. Zosimus slid aside, and Cass entered the room. Without asking, she kneeled beside the girl and put an arm around her, murmuring something and passing her a cloth to wipe her nose. For a few moments there was no sound but the trill of the cicadas and the occasional sniff from Ennia. Then Cass whispered something else. Ennia smoothed her brother’s cropped hair and got to her feet.

‘I am sorry,’ she said to Cass. ‘You must think me very weak.’

‘No,’ said Cass. ‘I think you show love and respect for your brother.’

‘I would like to take him home now.’

‘Why don’t we wait by the carriage, and the men will bring him out to us?’ suggested Cass gently.

Ruso was aware of Lucius watching his wife escort Ennia out of the room.

Zosimus immediately followed Ennia into the corridor as if he did not want to entrust her to any of Ruso’s family.

When they were gone Ruso pushed the door shut and hissed, ‘What did you say to that steward?’

‘Nothing. Only that Severus had been violently ill, and we didn’t want the family to see him in that state.’

‘Just let me do the talking, will you?’

‘You? You’ve already made them suspicious! What was that rubbish about not kissing him?’

Ruso said, ‘What was I supposed to do, watch her get poisoned too?’

Lucius clamped his hands over his balding head and leaned back against the wall. ‘As if we didn’t have enough trouble with him before.’

‘The irony is,’ said Ruso, reaching down to replace the sheet over their dead visitor, ‘we were on the verge of doing a deal to drop the court case.’

Lucius scowled. ‘Don’t try to be clever, Gaius. Nobody’s going to believe that.’

‘I know. Even though it’s true. Have we got anything that’ll do for a stretcher?’

The whole Petreius family lined up by the gates to watch the carriage pull away, with each of the children strategically placed between adults to minimize opportunities for fighting.

As the rumble of the wheels faded and Arria was saying something about upsetting Cook by cancelling tonight’s dinner, one of the nieces cried, ‘Uncle Gaius, there’s your barbarian!’

Ruso shielded his eyes and squinted at the bareheaded figure in yellow making its way along the main road. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘She’s in town with the — ’ He stopped. ‘Oh, hell. Does anybody know what time it is?’

‘I’ll go and look!’ offered one of the nephews. ‘I know how to tell the time!’

‘No, you don’t!’ retorted a niece.

‘Yes, I do!’

‘He doesn’t, Uncle Gaius. He can’t read the numbers: he just looks at the shadow and makes it up.’

‘I do not!’

‘Why don’t you both go?’ suggested Cass, grabbing a child in each hand. ‘I’ll come with you.’

As their protests faded towards the far end of the garden, the carriage bearing Severus on his last journey home turned left on to the main road and swept past the walking figure. The figure hesitated at the junction. Then it turned and began to tramp down the track towards them.

‘It is your barbarian, Uncle Gaius,’ insisted a small voice.

‘Yes,’ agreed Ruso, adjusting his grip on the stick and setting off to meet her.

‘But what’s she doing here, Gaius?’ Arria’s voice floated after him, rising in alarm as he retreated. ‘Where are my girls?’