Ironroot (14 page)

Sabian smiled. “We’ve known each other a very long time Varro. You know I value good men. Now get going and sort things out. And bear in mind that I want you back here in one piece. I shall be making it absolutely clear to Scortius that he’s not to give up on you. Just because no one knows of a cure doesn’t mean there isn’t one there somewhere.”

With a bow, Varro turned and strode from the room, with Salonius at his heel. Catilina watched them go and then turned to her father to find him looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She felt involuntary tears well up.

“It all sounds like a conspiracy. Murders and poisonings and messages from dead people. Not trusting your own men. That’s how you used to describe the civil war…”

The marshal nodded sadly and stared past her at some invisible point in the air.

“Strangely, that’s how it feels. Makes me wish Caerdin was still around to sort it out. He had that kind of corkscrew mind. I think in too straight lines for intrigue. Fortunately, Varro’s clever and resourceful and he remembers the old days too.”

Scortius tapped his fingers absentmindedly on his forearm as he stared at his dispensary cabinet with its shelves and compartments stuffed with strange herbs and extractions.

Varro sat impatiently on the bench with Salonius at his side. Glancing round the doctor’s office that occupied but a small part of the fort’s hospital block, he took in the low, wooden beams, the plain whitewashed walls with a strained hint of pink, the utilitarian wooden floor and the scrolls and charts pinned to most of the open surfaces depicting strange and unpleasant visceral body parts with informative labels. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but Scortius waved a hand irritably without turning and made ‘tsk’ sounds. Finally the doctor found what he was looking for and withdrew a small muslin bag. Tipping a small quantity of powder into the mortar, he ground it into the existing mixture.

The two visitors waited, the captain tapping his fingers on his knee irritably. Scortius returned silently to his shelves and began to peruse them once more. After what felt to Varro like an hour, the doctor located a small bottle of something oily. He held it at an angle above the bowl and watched one of the viscous seeds slide down the glass and drop into the mixture.

“Right,” he said as he began to grind once more. “This is your last-ditch mixture.”

With a satisfied air, he tipped the mixture in a waterproof bag and carefully tied the top off. Turning back to his visitors, he marked the bag ‘III’ with an inked stylus.

“Not all symptoms, Varro. Three times a day and that’ll keep your mind clear. It’s purely for your mental state and your wakefulness. But I will warn you right now, the poison’s setting in deeper every day. Even with the best medicines I can give you, you’ll gradually notice some deterioration in the brain. I’ve worked out a regime that should keep you going long after you’d normally be ‘toes up’. You shouldn’t really have more than a couple of days, but you might last two weeks or more on all this.”

“Every morning as you start your day’s activity. It’s very strong. If you take it and then lie around for a long time the medicine will only affect a small part of your system, but will over-medicate and you risk bringing on a whole slew of new problems. You need to be exercising once you’ve taken it so that the stuff gets pumped round your entire body. Only that way will it get everywhere it needs to be at the right concentration.”

Varro nodded unhappily.

“And…” the doctor went on, “if things get truly unbearable, and I mean unbearable, not if ‘it hurts’, you take a second dose sometime in the evening. And then you need to spend at least an hour doing enough to make your heart pump it round.”

“Important. Very important that you remember this.” He was clearly speaking to Varro, though his eyes fell on Salonius as he tapped his left index finger into his right hand to emphasise his words.”

“And you.” He glared at Salonius. “Don’t touch it. That mixture misused could kill a healthy bear, let alone a human. It’s dangerous for Varro, but then what’s he got to lose?”

Varro stared at him but the doctor leaned over to the young guardsman.

“If he has too much, for any reason; or if he seems to be having a reaction to it; if there’s signs of a fit or his skin gets a purple tinge to it, make sure he drinks pint after pint after pint of water. Flush him right through. Don’t let him stop drinking water until he’s pissed himself raw. Do you understand?”

Salonius nodded and Scortius turned back to the captain.

“Good job you’ve got this sensible lad with you. I have a feeling you’d be dead before you got to the village if he wasn’t there to look after you.

“You haven’t asked where we’re going, Scortius? Aren’t you a little curious, given my circumstances?”

The doctor sighed.

“Varro, I haven’t got time to mess around. You’ve got things you need to do? Fair enough. Stick with my medication plan and you should be around long enough to do whatever it is and come back. In the meantime, I’ve got almost a hundred wounds to track and look after, some of which are life threatening, and the marshal’s sent word that he wants to see me, so I’m going to be busier than ever.”

As Varro turned stiffly and strode through the door, the doctor grasped Salonius by the arm as he rose to follow suit, hoisting the leather bag over his shoulder. He blinked in surprise and looked up.

“Look after him, young man. Make sure he’s careful with that medicine and make sure he gets back to me. I’ve a few ideas I need to follow up on.”

Salonius nodded, saluted and followed his commander out into the cold yet bright afternoon sun.

Varro tied the pouch tight and put it carefully away in the saddle bag draped across his knee once more. Using his index finger, he stirred the mug of lemon and water, mixing the powder thoroughly until fully dissolved, and then drained the contents in one long draught. He peered across at the window and then back at Salonius.

“I think it’s time.”

Salonius sighed gratefully. The two men had been packed and ready now for three hours waiting for darkness to descend before they made to leave. Slowly he stood, squared his shoulders and stretched hard. Deferentially, he stood quietly to one side to let Varro past and the captain stood, shouldering his bags.

“Salonius, there’s something I’ve got to say…”

The young man raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

“I’m not a serving captain and you’re not even serving in an official capacity at the moment. I’m relying heavily on you and you’ll likely have to rely on me. We’re not going to be in camps, among soldiers or anywhere where rank’s going to matter.”

“Sir?” Salonius looked unsure.

“I know it seems odd,” the captain smiled, “but I’m Varro and you’re Salonius and I think that’s enough. No ranks. You’re not a soldier right now, nor a guard or a bodyguard. You’re my travelling companion. You understand?”

Still smiling, Salonius followed Varro out of the room, hefting his saddle bag over his shoulder in the same manner as the captain. The two stopped momentarily in the kitchen area to the rear of the house, where Martis stood holding out a bag of prepared food for them. Varro stopped in front of his body servant and smiled sadly.

“I’m not going to be around much longer, Martis. You need to look for new employment. I’ve informed the fort commander that you have full control of my house in my absence. Stay as long as you need until you can secure a new position, and I’ve left a few months’ wages in a secure pouch. You know where to look.”

Salonius was surprised to see tears in the servant’s eyes and straightened, realising he himself was close to showing far more unhappiness than was seemly. He stood quietly as Varro clasped hands with the servant and wordlessly turned, striding out of the door to the stable at the rear.

Salonius grasped the bag being proffered by the servant and nodded gratefully at him.

“I hope everything works out for you, Martis.”

Casting a last sympathetic look at the suddenly frail looking man, Salonius turned and walked out into the late dusk breeze, across the small garden and into the stable. Martis had arranged for a fine chestnut mare for a very reasonable price from the settlement outside the walls. As an officer, Varro owned his steed, but that assigned to his companion remained the property of the cohort. Their efforts during the afternoon had been thorough, the horses laden with well balanced packs, all done within the privacy of the captain’s stable.

As he entered, the captain was just fastening the straps on his saddle bags. He walked round the horse, tugging straps and pulling at bags to test the fastenings as Salonius attached his own saddle bags and made final checks. He looked over at Varro, satisfied with the results, and the captain walked over to the stable doors and peered through the narrow gap.

“Dark enough. Let’s go.”

The two men led their horses a couple of steps forward and Varro threw back the wooden beam, swinging the doors wide open. The street, as they’d predicted, was all but deserted. Most of the men were now off duty, relaxing in the baths or in their rooms, or making the most of their free time in either the fort’s own bar or one of the less reputable drinking and whoring establishments in the civilian settlement.

The pair drew a few interested looks as, fully armoured, they led their mounts along the paved road between the officers’ houses and toward the fort’s west gate. Their exit had been carefully selected as the only road that passed between nothing but quarters, granaries and workshops, giving them the lowest number of personnel to encounter.