Tabula Rasa

Chapter 68

There was a tiger on his face. It was digging its claws into his forehead, and it had mauled him all over. Everything ached and throbbed, except the parts that stabbed instead. He should do something to make it stop. What did you do against a tiger? Nothing people tried in the arena worked for long.

Jupiter’s holy bollocks, that hurt. Like having liquid fire poured over his forehead.

Play dead. Don’t flinch. Don’t moan. Don’t . . .

Too late.

. . . flap one hand about, vaguely hoping to frighten it off.

A voice said, “He’s reacting to pain, sir.”

An older voice said, “Good.”

Ruso wondered what was good about it. He decided to go back to sleep. Then he decided not to when the tiger gripped both sides of his head and tried to gnaw his eye out. “Get off!” came out slurred.

One eye was blinded, but the other opened to reveal a huge bloodstained shape moving about just above his nose. “No!” He tried to beat away the shape and spring up, but his body refused to listen.

“Speak to him,” the older voice suggested.

“It’s all right,” somebody said, even though it wasn’t. “We’re just cleaning you up and putting a few stitches in.”

A few stitches in what? “Where am I?”

“This is the treatment room,” said his informer unhelpfully.

“Sick bay, Habitancum,” put in the older voice. “Under the excellent care of a trainee medic of the Fourth Gauls.”

Holy gods. They were letting let a trainee loose on him. Perhaps they thought he was beyond saving. “Have I lost the eye?”

To his further alarm, the trainee who had been stabbing a needle through his skin said, “Has he, sir?”

“No.”

Ruso thought it was the best word he had ever heard.

“You were lucky,” continued the senior man. “You’ll find it when the swelling goes down. We’re just putting your eyebrow back together.”

“Just one more,” said the trainee, sounding nervous now that he was treating a patient who talked back. Then he added, as he had no doubt been trained to, “This will sting a bit.”

Ruso chose a cobweb wafting in a draft above him to concentrate on and clenched his teeth. Instantly a bolt of lightning shot through his jaw and into his neck. He did not feel the needle going in.

“Oh, and we think we may need to pull a tooth,” added the trainee.

Ruso was in too much pain to tell him he needn’t sound so cheerful about it.

“Done!” The trainee sounded relieved.

Giant metal blades filled Ruso’s vision. There was a final tug as the thread was snipped. He gave up trying to work out why he was here, and asked.

“You went to a party that got a bit out of control,” answered the senior man.

That was when it came back. The bonfire. The fur traders. The crowd turning on him. He felt suddenly short of breath. “Where’s the boy?”

The man said, “You can see him when we’ve tidied you up.”

“Is he all right?”

The man said, “Tell him.”

The trainee took a breath. “Bruising to the arms and face,” he said. “Some rope burn around the neck and wrists. No broken bones that we can detect, and nothing life threatening.”

Ruso tried to steady his breathing. Tried to think. This was something he knew about. “Did you check him all over?”

“Of course.”

“Head injuries?”

“None. And he’s eating everything he’s given.”

Ruso made an effort to relax. “I feel as though I’ve been kicked by a horse.”

“They slashed through the ties on your lorica,” said the senior man. “Then they unpeeled you like a prawn.”

It was not a pleasant image, picturing the iron plates of the lorica wrenched apart to reveal the vulnerable torso inside. He said, “What have you put on the boy’s rope burn?”

There was silence for a moment. Then the trainee said, “D’you think he might be a medic, sir?”

“I doubt it,” the other one said. “What would a medic be doing on his own late at night at the Three Oaks?”

Ruso clutched at the side of the table and tried to pull himself up. “I need transport. I need to get the boy back to Parva.”

They both laughed at that. “You’re not going anywhere, my friend,” said the senior of the two. “Doctor’s orders.”