An orderly was helping the blacksmith down from the treatment table early the next morning when Ruso put his head around the door to investigate the cause of the raised voices and running feet. The corridor was blocked by a crowd of cavalrymen. An unconscious man was being dragged along, his comrades simultaneously yelling for help and shouting at one another to get out of the way. Ruso was grabbed by a wild-eyed rider who insisted, "You'll look after him, right? There wasn't nothing we could do, I'm really sorry, right?"
He learned later that they had been practicing a close-formation gallop when the patient's horse had stumbled. He had fallen under the hooves of the animals behind. There was, as the unfortunate rider had said, nothing the other men could do. There was nothing Ruso could do either. Despite everyone's efforts, the youth was on his way into the shadows even before they pulled the chain mail off to check his injuries.
Ruso had hoped to spend any free moments of his duty with the girl. Instead, the crushed foot was looking worse, the old centurion was putting up a determined fight to die as slowly as possible, and he had to put a frightened patient into an isolation ward until Valens could confirm his diagnosis of leprosy. By the end of the afternoon he had managed only to hand the girl a bowl of porridge and a comb and say, "I'll be down later. I don't want to see that food when I come back," before heading back to the records room to write up his part of the Fatality Report.
He was reaching for a pen when he distinctly heard something that was not human pattering across the tiled entrance hall. He leaped up from the desk and flung open the door. The corridor was empty. He took the few strides to the corner, around which he caught sight of Decimus the porter strolling in through the main doors.
The man paused. "Can I help you, sir?"
"I could have sworn I heard a dog."
"Dog, sir?"
"Running across the entrance hall."
The man looked around as if the dog might leap out from behind Aesculapius. "Across the entrance hall, sir?"
Ruso sighed. "Don't repeat everything I say. You were told to get rid of it."
The man eyed him for a moment, evidently weighing what to say next. Finally he settled on, "I know we should have, sir, but me and some of the lads-"
"We've got enough to cope with here. We don't need a dog running around the hospital."
"Ah, but it's not an ordinary dog, sir. It does tricks. Cheers the patients up. And it's a champion ratter. We don't want rats running around the hospital either, sir, do we?"
"You were told you couldn't keep it here."
"Oh yes, Officer Valens told us what you said, sir."
"What/said?"
"Only he doesn't much mind it himself, sir. So we thought if it didn't get in the way-"
"I've seen it. That's enough. And it barks."
"But it never gets in the way, does it, sir? Me and the lads feed it on scraps. It's a grand dog, sir. It'd be a shame to get rid of it."
Ruso closed his eyes. He had had to explain to a bunch of distraught and disbelieving cavalrymen that there was nothing he could do for their comrade. Now he had to go over it all again in writing. He was not in the mood to discuss the comparative desirability of dogs and rodents, and he could hardly point out that Officer Valens was using him as an excuse to wriggle out of giving an unpopular order. It seemed that the porter, having mislaid a woman, had replaced her in his affec- tions with a dog. Perhaps it was a sensible exchange. When he opened his eyes the porter began again.
"Sir-"
"Just keep it out of the treatment rooms and out of sight, you understand? The minute it's a nuisance, it goes."
"Right-oh, sir," agreed the porter. "You won't have no bother with it. It'll be an invisible dog."
"Well, if it becomes visible to Officer Priscus, you're on you own."
Ruso thought he detected a slight hesitation before the porter said, "It's not true, then, sir, that he's got a posting with the governor?"
"Not as far as I know. Now push off. I've got work to do, and I suppose there is a faint chance that you have as well."
"Sir?"
"What now?"
"You don't happen to know when he's coming back?"
"I haven't a clue," said Ruso. "Go and make sure the room lists are up to date in case he turns up this afternoon."
Ruso shut the door of the records room and sat down again. Just as he picked up the pen, the latch clicked and Valens strolled in. He helped himself to the spare chair before enquiring whether Ruso had seen the younger sister of a recently appointed centurion. "She is stunning."
"Even more stunning than the second spear's daughter?"
Valens grinned. "That's a long-term project." He settled himself in the chair. "I heard you had a problem?"
Ruso gave him a short run-down of the afternoon's events, leaving out the dog.
"Not good," summarized Valens, putting his feet up on the desk and treating his friend to a display of gleaming hobnails surrounded by dried mud. "By the way, I dropped in on your Tilla just now. Since you were too busy."
Ruso frowned. "My what?"
"Tilla," repeated Valens. When there was no reply he shook his head sadly. "Gods above, Ruso, you are hopeless. What have I told you? First rule with women: Get the name right. Anyway, it looks as though you've got away with that arm. Too early to say whether it'll be of any use, of course."
"Are you sure she's called Tilla?" persisted Ruso. "It doesn't look anything like that on the note of sale."
Valens shrugged. "She said that's what you called her."
"I didn't call her anything. I can't pronounce her name. It's got about fifteen syllables stuffed with g's and h's in odd places."
"She seems to think you told her she'd be Tilla from now on. She seemed quite cheerful about it."
"Did she?" There was no justice in the ways of the world. Ruso, who had saved the girl's life, was rewarded with weeping and "Let me die." Valens, who would have fixed her broken arm with a sharp saw, was granted a pleasant chat.
"Well, she was smiling."
"Good," said Ruso, with as much grace as he could muster.
He should have guessed that Valens's idea of a medical checkup would include an attempt to charm the patient with his boyish good looks and his smooth bedside manner. He would probably smarm his way into the CMO's job in the same fashion. Even without any combat experience. Ruso folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. "I had an interesting conversation myself just now," he said. "Did you tell the staff they could keep that dog?"
Valens scratched his head. "I may have said it didn't bother me. I can't remember."
"Thanks very much. You're not the CMO yet, you know."
"I did tell them what you'd said."
"Only I hadn't, you had. And anyway they completely ignored it. Do we really want animals running around the hospital?"
"Don't be miserable, Ruso. It's only a dog. Which reminds me"- Valens thrust out one foot and kicked the door shut before leaning closer-"speaking of miseries, have you heard this rumor about Priscus getting a posting with the governor?"
"Just now. Is it true?"
"You'd better hope so. Then he might not find out you've demolished his linen closet."
"Gods above, he's only a pen-pusher! Who runs this place?"
Valens pondered that for a moment and then said, "He doesn't interfere with the medical decisions."
Outside, there was a clank of buckets. Someone called out something about stocking up dressings and footsteps trod down the wooden boards of the corridor.
"Utilis, said Ruso suddenly. "Useful. Her Latin's a bit shaky. She got into a bit of a state last night. Thought she was never going to get bet ter and wanted to be off with the ancestors, or something. I told her she'd be utilis to me."
"Well, that must have been a big comfort. So you aren't going to sell her, then?"
"Of course I am. I don't need her."
"She's cleaned up rather well, don't you think? A bit skinny, but surprisingly good teeth. Why don't we hold on till she's mended and give her a try?"
"No."
"So how is she going to be useful to you?"
"How much would you say an attractive female slave would fetch here?"
Valens's face betrayed his amusement. "Claudia would never have approved of this line of business, you know."
"One of childbearing age?" persisted Ruso.
Valens shrugged. "Two thousand, if you can find the right buyer. Three or four maybe, if she can actually do something."
"Exactly," said Ruso, and dipped the pen in the inkwell.
Finally alone, Ruso started the Fatality Report. The first stroke of the first letter slid down the sheet and ended in a quivering black blob. He rested the pen on the edge of the desk while he blotted the page with a soft rag. A glance at the shelf told him there were no spare sheets. Of course not. The chief administrator had probably taken the key to the stationery cupboard too. Ruso held the sliver of wood over the lamp flame to hurry the drying of the blot and wondered what the girl'ssmile was like.
The blot was obliterated by a scorch mark. He swore.
This time the stroke started well enough, but the ink began to falter halfway down. He pressed harder. The nib scraped the wood, leaving a blank indentation like a dry riverbed. The dead cavalryman deserved better than this. He dipped the pen in the inkpot and tapped it against the edge.
Gods above, Ruso, you are hopeless.
He wasn't completely hopeless. He'd managed three years of marriage. Whereas Valens was still single at thirty-two and any woman willing to marry him would need her sanity examined. So would the second spear, if he gave his permission.
A fine neat stroke this time, cutting across the sepia edge of the scorch mark. That was better. He was making progress now.
The pen jolted between his fingers and stopped working. A second attempt at the stroke made an ink less scratch. Ruso lifted the pen to eye level and squinted at the nib. It was bent at an impossible angle. He flung it into the corner where it made a splash of black as it bounced off the plaster, missed the wastebasket, and rolled across the floor.
Claudia would never have approved of this line of business, you know. He must stop showing an interest in slave girls. He would become a source of amusement.
The next pen had a nib that wobbled about. The third proved to be an inky stick with no nib at all.
Ruso sent the stool crashing back onto the floorboards, wrenched open the door, and roared, "Can't anybody get anything organized in this bloody place?" to an empty corridor.