Ruso and the Root of All Evils

77

‘Ferox!’ gasped the man, struggling to rise while Ruso’s blood-splattered assistants tried to hold him down on the table. ‘Where’s Ferox?’

Ruso, who dared not remove the wadding over the wound until his patient was still, said, ‘He’ll be in later. We need to deal with you first.’

‘No, he’s worse! Where’s Ferox? What have they done with him? Let me go!’

A fist escaped and narrowly missed Ruso’s jaw.

‘Somebody else is dealing with your friend,’ said Ruso, seizing the flailing arm and glancing across at Gnostus, who looked up from washing the sand out of a nasty head wound and drew one finger across his throat.

Ruso turned back to the patient. ‘Lie still and let’s have a look at what’s going on here, shall we?’

The man continued to thrash about. ‘Let me go! I’ll find him. I’ll bring him in. He’s down. He needs help.’

‘Somebody else will see to him.’

‘You’re lying! You’re all lying to me!’

Ruso eyed the dirt-streaked face. At least the man’s lungs were in good order. ‘You’re right,’ he said, too tired to lie any more. ‘Ferox is dead. Fate chose to take him and not you. Lie still and let me look or you’ll be joining him.’

‘You bastard, you filthy lying dog! He’s not dead!’

Ruso had already given the man as much mandrake as he dared, but it seemed to be having little effect.

‘Ferox is with the gods,’ a female voice assured him. A hand, smaller and cleaner than those that were trying to force him down, reached out to rest on his forehead. ‘I will pray for his soul,’ promised Tilla, who until now had been standing in the shadows.

When she began to pray over the patient in British, Ruso was relieved. As long as nobody understood, she could — and no doubt would — rain down any number of curses on the politician who had paid for thousands of people to watch death as entertainment, and possibly on himself as well for joining in.

As the babble of British rose over the operating table, the man’s arching chest sank back down. His grimace relaxed. ‘Ferox!’ he whispered to the stone vaulting above their heads. ‘There you are. I didn’t mean it, mate. I didn’t mean it.’ His voice was growing sleepy. ‘You were supposed to go left. Up, down, left. Both left. I told you, mate, you got to … you got to pay … pay attention.’

Ruso lifted the wadding from the side of the chest and began to explore the injury.

He had patched up the wound and was giving orders for the patient to be kept poulticed and under observation when another fresh and whimpering load was manoeuvred in from the corridor. The bearers rolled the occupant of the stretcher on to the table, announced, ‘Hamstrung, can’t stop it bleeding,’ and retreated to their station.

Tilla cried, ‘That is him!’ at the same moment as Ruso recognized the filthy and blood-streaked figure curled up in front of him.

‘Tertius? How did this happen?’

Tertius groped a hand towards his own. ‘Is that you, sir?’

‘Yes,’ said Ruso, lifting the dressing to peer at a gaping wound behind the lad’s left knee. He said, ‘Who did this?’

Tertius’ weak response was something between a laugh and a sob. ‘Sorry, sir. I wasted your money.’

‘He came back,’ said a voice from Gnostus’ side of the room. ‘Silly bugger came back to make up the numbers so his mate didn’t have to take on two men.’

Ruso shook his head in disbelief.

‘How bad is it?’ The voice was barely recognizable as the confident youth from earlier this afternoon.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ Ruso lied, directing the assistants to get him into a better position while he hunted for the main source of the bleeding. Tilla fetched a lamp from one of the brackets and held it close. He was finishing the first cautery when there was a commotion out in the corridor, and a voice that should have been inaudible down here shrieked, ‘How dare you? He’s my fiance! Let me in!’

Ruso winced as the door crashed open. ‘It’s me!’ cried Marcia, rushing across to the table. ‘Tertius, don’t die! Get out of the way, Gaius!’

Instead of getting out of the way Ruso placed another sponge in the wound and ordered one of the assistants to hold it there. Then he gripped his sister’s shoulders with bloodstained hands and said firmly in her ear, ‘If you want to help, shut up and wait outside. You’re embarrassing me and you aren’t helping him.’

‘But he’s hurt! Oh, what did you sign up for, you stupid, stupid boy? What am I going to — ugh! Gaius, your hands are horrible, get them off!’

‘Wait outside,’ Ruso repeated, nodding to the other assistant, who propelled her towards the door.

‘You can’t throw me out, I — what’s she doing here? You said she ran away! Get off me! Gaius, tell him to let me go!’

‘And while you’re out there,’ Ruso called over his shoulder, ‘think about growing up. There’s a brave man lying here and he deserves better than this.’