Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two (15 page)

Belua felt his hackles rise, but chose to ignore the jibe. This once.

“How much?” he asked again.

“Thirty five
aureii
.”

“What!” exclaimed Belua. “Do you play me for a fool, slaver?” He took a big step forward and grabbed Vulso roughly by the front of his tunic. He lifted him onto his toes, watching his face blanch.

“Of…of course not
doctore
!” he managed to stutter.

“I’d not pay that for Tiberius’s fucking mother!” Belua growled, twisting the tunic tighter, forcing his fist up under the slaver’s chin.

“Thirty then?”

“Better!” He pushed his knuckles into the slaver’s throat.

“Tw…twenty five?” Vulso squeezed out the words, his face scarlet.

“Agreed!”

Released, the slaver collapsed onto his rump, both hands clutching his throat. Belua dropped a heavy money bag into his lap.

“In there you’ll find twenty five gold pieces. Draw up the bill of sale and bring it, with the girl, to my quarters at the
ludus
tomorrow at the twelfth hour.”

He stepped over the cowering slaver, into the sunshine.

This bartering is thirsty work
, he thought, picking out a suitable inn on the far side of the forum.

He stood, silent at Clodian’s side as he splinted the carpenter’s broken leg. The unfortunate tradesman had fallen from a villa’s roof and snapped his shin bone on landing. It was the first break that Clodian had handled on his own and Neo was impressed; unusually so.

Job complete, and with Neo’s assistance they helped the fellow carefully to his feet and onto a makeshift crutch. Stern instruction for him not to put any weight on the offending leg followed.

“Well done,” Neo congratulated, as the tradesman limped out of the door, the last patient of the day.

“Thank you,” said Clodian, beaming. “The product of good instruction.”

“You are over generous young man. I am not exaggerating when I point out that you have a rare talent for the healing arts.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. And you seem to enjoy the work very much.”

“I always have, even when I was very young and assisted my mother in small ways to help the servants when they became unwell. She was very caring, too.” His face assumed a far away, forlorn expression.

Neo placed his hand on the youth’s shoulder seeking to distract him back to the present. “Tomorrow, I will be treating a friend who has been having pain in the head for some time. I will be entering the head through the skull.”

“Is that possible?” asked Clodian, his face lighting up.

“It is a delicate and dangerous procedure, and I’ve only carried it out on a few prior occasions. Sometimes it makes no difference. Other times when pressure is relieved on the brain the pain improves. Only time will tell if it has worked. I’m afraid that in this case the only alternative is for my friend to continue the endure pain on a constant basis. He is willing to accept the risk.”

“Could he die?”

“He could.”

“He is brave, then.”

“Rather I would say that he is desperate. Incessant pain is a terrible thing. From my experience the people who suffer in this way will risk anything in the hope of obtaining some relief.”

“I wish him luck, and I will say a prayer for benevolence to
Fortuna
on his behalf.”

“He’ll need both,” said Neo. “Would you like to attend?”

“Me? But, I know nothing,” responded Clodian looking very surprised.

“You know more than you realize, and I need an assistant who I can trust.”

“I would very much like to assist you. My thanks.”

“You’ve earned it.”

Neo reflected on how much Clodian had learned during his brief time with him. He quickly learned that the physicians of Rome encouraged the prevention of diseases as well as the methods to treat them -public health being encouraged by the government of the time. They’d discussed the benefits of the building of Bath houses and the use of aqueducts to pipe clean water to the cities, with the larger cities boasting advanced sewage systems. Prior to operations, he’d learned to boil instruments such as scalpels, forceps, catheters and bone drills in hot water; as this seemed to reduce the risk of infection.

Clodian told him that he’d learned from his mother the value of various salves and tinctures to treat common maladies. He’d been quick to add to this knowledge. He’d learned how to use painkillers such as opium and henbane, and to use vinegar and willow extract to wash wounds and prevent the accumulation of pus. Yet, it was Clodian’s compassionate, assured manner when treating patients that impressed him more than anything else. He was able to quickly put them at their ease, reducing their fears before a procedure was carried out. He’d found himself staring at the youth when he was carrying out his work, and at first he was puzzled by this. Then one day he realized why. Clodian was very much like Diocles, his own father. Perhaps that was why he was so fond of him?

At the close of his home surgery, when they shared a cup of wine, Clodian would listen in avid silence as he told the old stories of the famous Greek physicians of antiquity and their contribution to medicine – such great men and women as Alcmaeon, Agnodice and Hippocrates. In truth he enjoyed retelling the stories as much as Clodian loved listening to them.

“I wish I could spend more time with you,” said Clodian. “Between my martial training and the time I need to spend with my father, there’s not a great deal left.”

“Your priorities are the right ones,” said Neo. “And, I’m sure your father benefits from you company.”

“I think he does. But, there is no improvement, and he gets thinner each day.”

“My offer to see him still stands. It’s not that I wish to interfere in your family affairs, and despite what the new
domina
says I think it would be prudent for him to see a physician, if not me, them someone else. There are one or two I could recommend.”

“I agree. I will say nothing to Flavia, but will speak again to my father. I believe I need to be frank with him regarding his failing condition. The time for tactful words is past, because I fear that his life is at stake if nothing is changed.”

“I should point out that there is no cure for some internal ailments, Clodian, and that this might sadly be the case with your father. Yet, a proper diagnosis needs to be made following a thorough examination.”

“I understand.” Clodian sighed deeply. “Now, I must take my leave, because I need to bathe, as I have an important meeting with a young woman of some beauty.”

Clodian had told him about his recent meeting with Belua, and he knew how nervous he was.

“I would suggest another cup of wine before you meet, but, not too many afterwards, because…”

“I know, Belua gave me the same advice,”Clodian replied, his face reddening. He picked up his cloak and strode to the door.

“Good luck with both your ventures,” said Neo.

“I’ll need it,” said Clodian, fleetingly glancing back.

Perched on the edge of the bed, Clodian tried to stop his hands from nervously wringing. He inspected the second floor room for the tenth time. It was large and clean. During the day-time its single window boasted an impressive southerly view of the harbour and the sweeping crescent of the bay. The bed was big enough for two people and a small table sat in the middle of the room. It was laid with fresh bread, cheese and olives, together with an amphora of wine and a small jug of water. An oil lamp cast guttered light into the dark recesses of the room, bringing the animal murals to flickering life. Two well-worn couches had been arranged around the table.

Clodian took another sip from his wine cup. He’d become steadily more nervous as the first meeting had approached. Would she think him a foolish boy, inept in his way with women? He prayed that she would be patient with him. He remembered how he felt last summer in the family bath-house, when Didia, the young maid had joined him in the pool, naked. He’d always carried out his ablutions in private and the girl’s presence had taken him by surprise. More so when she began to caress his body, his man-hood. He recalled the sweet taste of her tongue in his mouth, the firmness of her breasts, his overwhelming desire to mount her. And then the panic. He’d fled the bath-house, his man-hood standing to attention, Didia’s surprised giggling bidding him a premature farewell. He guessed afterwards that his father had arranged the encounter. Gods, many was the time since that he’d wished he’d stayed.

There was a noise outside the door and he jumped to his feet, spilling some of his wine over the front of his bleached white tunic. He tried to wipe it away with his hand, but his efforts only succeeded in smudging the blemish.

The door opened and it was Belua. Clodian saw that he wore that crooked grin again. Clodian hurriedly straightened his tunic, and then folded his hands in front of himself in an effort to hide the wine stain.

Belua stepped into room, holding the door open for a second visitor.

A slim figure entered, her face hidden by a cloak’s wide cowl.

“This is Orbiana, the young woman I spoke of,” said Belua, in his most refined voice.

Clodian held his breath, his face as hot as a furnace.

The slim figure pushed back the cowl.

Clodian had to force down his spit. The young woman’s black hair had been pinned back from her forehead, accentuating the fine lines of her nose and high forehead. Her bow shaped lips were unpainted. Hazel eyes were framed by long black lashes and had a wary look. A cleft in her chin gifted her otherwise refined features with an aspect of strength, resolve.

“Welcome, Orbiana,” said Clodian, eventually finding his tongue. “Let me take your cape and please…sit down.” He indicated one of the couches.

The young woman unfastened then handed him her cape. She was wearing a simple cotton tunic underneath. She cast her eyes to the floor.
She looks nervous, and sad,
he thought,
but can I blame her?

“Would you like some wine?” he asked, just wanting to hear her speak.

“I would, thank you,” she replied, her voice soft but clear.

After handing her a cup, he turned to Belua to offer him a drink also. The
doctore
had already left.

“Is the wine to your liking?” Clodian asked, sitting on the opposite couch.

“It’s fine,” replied the young woman, her eyes focused downwards on the contents of her cup.

“It’s Falerian, a local wine that we are proud of,” said Clodian, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

She turned towards him, her eyes a little less nervous. “I’ve tasted it before…in Rome,” she replied, with a hint of bitterness perhaps. Clodian was not sure.

He was familiar with her tragic family history and he was eager to move the conversation away from the mother city.

“I understand from Belua that this is where you will continue to live.” He indicated his surroundings, before shuffling uneasily on the couch and taking another swallow of wine. “The view from the window is excellent. Come, see…”

He walked to the window and she came to stand at his side. Her head barely reached his shoulder and he realized how delicate she was.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could make out the
Great Theatre
shaped like a giant horseshoe
,
that when full seated five thousand
spectators
.
Close by he picked out the tall pale columns of the
Temple of Isis
that sat alongside the dark rectangle of the
Samnite Palaestra
that regularly hosted athletic competitions. Beyond, the southern spread of the city tumbled away, vague shapes in the darkness divided by wavy lines of street lamps. The illuminated areas stopped abruptly where the harbour met the sea. Far out in the blackness of the bay the solitary lights of night fishers winked at the land. The sound of laughter carried up from the street and a baby cried in the distance against the ubiquitous ticking of cicadas. Salt fresh air and the aroma of stones bleached by the sun blew in, partly sweeping away the smell of roasted goat and crushed ginger that wafted up from below.

“It’s beautiful,” the young woman agreed.

Clodian reached down to hold her hand, at the same time wondering if she would snatch it away. It was small, the skin cool. “As you are,” he said, almost without thinking. The young woman looked puzzled.

Embarrassed, he looked out into the night. “You should see it at night, when the sea is enraged. I used to watch it with my mother. I felt close to something powerful.”

“The
doctore
told me that your mother is dead,” the young woman ventured quietly. “Do you miss her greatly?”

“Very much,” said Clodian. He felt a flush of sadness at the memory.

“What an expressive face you have,” said the young woman, looking up at him.

“My thoughts on my sleeve, those who know me would say.”

“A virtue. The last remnant of innocence.”

“Maybe,” he said with a smile.

He led her back to the couch, and they both sat. He still held her hand.

Gods, I wish I had the right words
, he chided himself, his stomach churning as he considered what to say next.

“Although Belua spoke about you,” said Orbiana, “you are different to what I imagined.”

“I hope that I have not been…disrespectful.”

“No, not at all.”

“I’m glad,” he said, relieved. “I’ve had little experience with women, and I’d planned very carefully what to say when we met. Now that you are here, my chosen words have abandoned me.” He looked away, feeling awkward.

Orbiana held his hand in both of hers. She edged closer.

“You have been very kind, and you are different in a good way.”

“This…this is difficult for me too, Orbiana.” The sound of her name felt comfortable on his lips.

“I can see that it is,” she said, wearing a small smile for the first time.

“I thought that tonight we could just talk, if that’s acceptable to you?” he suggested.

“Yes, it would.” She then hesitated a moment before asking, “What shall I call you?”