Terra Incognita

60

All the way back to the infirmary Ruso was running over his alarming conversation with Catavignus.

My people have many kinds of marriage.

Of course there were many kinds of marriage. There were at least three. There was his brother’s sort: the kind where the couple liked each other from the start. There was the sort contracted by the rich and powerful, where the couple didn’t like each other-if they had even met- and probably never would, but the marriage cemented some form of political or financial alliance. Finally there was the sort where each found the other vaguely attractive-well, not unattractive-and where the families of both assured the candidates that they were eminently suited and it really was time that each of them married, so why not each other? After all, how long were they going to wait around being particular? Then they spent the next three years finding out that they didn’t like each other at all, and wondering how much longer they would have to wait for the development of-well, if not affection, at least mutual comprehension. Then, after yet another misunderstanding, the wife sent a long letter home detailing all the husband’s shortcomings. Instead of telling his daughter to pull herself together, the wife’s father scribbled a terse note to the husband demanding that he shape up. After that, it was only a matter of time before the wife packed her many bags-or rather, had her slaves pack them for her-and booked a passage home at the husband’s expense.

None of these seemed to be the sort of marriage Catavignus was suggesting. Certainly none of them covered the relationship he had enjoyed with Tilla before he had made the fatal error of bringing her home.

He exchanged a nod of greeting with the man from We Sell Everything, and made his way back through the gates to discover that Valens had commandeered his chair in the treatment room.

“Ruso! Where have you been? Come and sit down. Gambax, get him a cup, there’s a good man.”

When Gambax had gone Ruso frowned. “I’m trying to get the beer drinking under control here.”

“Really? Gambax told me you and he had a drink together when you first got here. Then you asked specially to be put in the room with the barrel. I hope you’re not falling into bad ways, Ruso. Beer’s not good for you, you know. Bad for the membranes, makes you bulge, and produces flatulence. Dioscorides says so.”

“Then why are you drinking it?”

“To be sociable, of course. Actually they seem to be a friendly lot here. I met some chap in the baths yesterday who invited me to dinner tomorrow. And another man dropped by just now to ask if you wanted to go out hunting.”

“Metellus?”

“I thought about telling him I was your brother, but nobody would believe I was related to a miserable toad like you, so I told him the truth and swore him to silence. He seems like the sort of chap who can keep a secret.”

“Oh, he is,” agreed Ruso. “Secrets are his business. I hope you told him I was too busy?”

Valens’s handsome face clouded over. “Actually, he seemed to think you’d enjoy it. So I said I’d cover for you here. You’d better hurry, they’ll be going any minute.”

“I’ve already told him at least twice that I won’t go. And it’s raining.”

“Oh, don’t be miserable, Ruso. A little rain won’t hurt you. I’m doing you a favor-ah, Gambax. The doctor doesn’t want a beer after all. He’s assigned me to cover the infirmary for him while he goes off stag hunting.”