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  "Tell me about the girl's hair," said Ruso, suddenly curious.

  "Her hair?"

  "Was it . . ." Ruso tried to think what questions he could ask, and resorted to, "Could you describe it for me?"

  "It was red. Very red, not ginger. Natural, I think. But of course you can never tell."

  "It was natural," said Ruso, without thinking. Luckily the woman did not pause to wonder how he knew.

  "I don't know about the curls," she said. "They could have been done with tongs. And I think it was probably quite long, but it was all pinned up, so I couldn't really see."

  "And it was definitely her own hair? Not a wig?"

  "Oh yes, I think so. People say you can always tell, don't they, but of course if you couldn't tell you wouldn't know you couldn't, if you see what I mean, would you?"

  "Right."

  "To tell you the truth, I wasn't surprised when I heard what happened to her."

  "No?"

  "But I was sorry. Nobody deserves to die like that, do they?"

  "No," agreed Ruso, handing over his money, "they don't."

  "I wish I could be more help to you."

  To his relief another customer arrived at the counter. "You're not alone," Ruso assured the woman. "Nobody else saw anything either."

  She pressed the change into his hand and leaned closer to him. "Never mind, Doctor," she said. "I'm sure you'll catch him in the end."

  Ruso sat on the sunlit bench outside the bakery to finish his breakfast and wondered what Saufeia had been so eager to say to the bakery staff. Probably nothing of any consequence. He decided he had been wrong about Saufeia. She was not a girl with education who had fallen on hard times, but a creature from the gutter who was sharp enough to pick up a cultivated accent and a few letters. He was aware that this should not have made a difference to his attitude: that the bakery woman was right and nobody deserved to die like that. But there were many worse ways. He had seen several of them. Perhaps everyone else had been right too. Saufeia had been offered protection. She should have had the sense to take it.

  In the meantime, he had more pressing things to think about. He needed to decide whether to order some winter clothes now or wait until payday, when the legion would be besieged by traveling merchants eager to relieve it not only of its quarterly wages but also of any advance on Hadrian's promised bonus. When could a buyer secure the best deal? Claudia would have known. His former valet would have known. Until now, Ruso had never needed to know. Now that he had made the grand economy of selling his staff, he was finding day-to-day penny-pinching not only aggravating but quite baffling.

  Reminding himself that Lucius had far worse difficulties to contend with, he brushed the crumbs off his tunic and crossed over into the shadow cast by Merula's bar. The shutters were half-open but there seemed to be no one around.

  "They're out," called Bassus from somewhere in the gloom at the back of the bar. Everyone seemed to be up early this morning.

  "I've come to see my patient." Ruso strode past the tables and started up the stairs.

  "You won't find her up there, mate. Try the baths."

  Ruso paused. Perhaps he had been too impulsive when he handed over the key. "I didn't say she could go out."

  Bassus emerged from the kitchen door, polishing an apple on the front of his tunic. "You didn't say she couldn't."

  "Did anybody go with her?"

  The doorman took a bite out of the apple and stopped chewing long enough to say, "You don't want to worry about her, mate. We got the best-kept girls in town here." He paused to swallow. "Bathed three times a week, chaperoned everywhere they go . . . Anybody out there messes with our girls, they've got me and Stich to answer to."

  "I see," said Ruso, politely refraining from observing that two of the best-kept girls in town had chosen to run away.

  Bassus grinned. "If they want to mess with our girls, they got to come over here and show us the money first. Got to build up a retirement fund somehow, haven't I?"

  "How's it going?"

  The man shook his head. "Born too soon, mate." He slid a heavy knife out of the sheath at his belt and began to dig at a brown patch in the apple. "Born too soon. Me and Stich, we do twenty-five years in the Legion, spend another five years scratching our backsides in the reserves, and all we get is the discharge grant." He flicked the rotten section of the apple out into the street. "Now we got pimply kids been in the army a week, coming in here telling us how they're going to spend the emperor's bonus."

  "That's very bad luck," agreed Ruso.

  Bassus squinted at the remainder of the apple and, apparently satisfied, wiped the knife on his tunic and slid it back into the sheath. "Tell you what, though. You and me might be able to do a bit of business."

  "We might?"

  "That girl. You don't want to let her go to Merula. Feed her up a bit, she'd be worth something."

  "The thought had crossed my mind."

  "Let me know when you're thinking of cashing in." He took another bite out of the apple. "I'll put the word out for you."

  "You know a good dealer?"

  The man shook his head. "The dealers 'round here, they'll rob you blind. I know some people."

  Ruso said, "I'm waiting till she's fit before I make any decisions."

  The man shrugged. "Whenever you're ready. Let Merula get her smartened up and see how she turns out."

  "Right." Ruso paused. "You're not going to ask me about the investigation?"

  "What investigation?"

  "There's a rumor going around that I'm investigating the death of your Saufeia."

  "And?"

  "And it's not true. So if you come across anything, you need to talk to Civilian Liaison. Not me."

  "And what are they doing?"

  Ruso scratched his ear. "They're uh—as far as I can tell, they've completed the first stage of the investigation and now they're waiting for developments."

  "Huh. I won't hold me breath, then."

  "So, when will the girls be back?"

  "Shouldn't be long."

  Ruso nodded. "I'll wait."

  The girl's room was much the same as before except that a stool had been brought in and set by the window. On the seat was a faded red cushion with a patched cover. Ruso wondered if Merula had supplied this comfort so his patient could sit and gaze out between the window bars, or whether the girl had slipped out and helped herself.

  Ruso glanced out at the street. The only people around were the woman at the bakery counter, a girl carrying a basket of eggs nested in bracken, and a small boy leading a goat. There was no sign of Merula's staff returning from their escorted bathing trip.

  Ruso settled himself on the rough bench and took out the Concise Guide. He persisted in carrying this one writing tablet, despite having his own clerk following him around like a lost dog.

  It had been a pity about that dog at the hospital, he thought. He should have been firmer in the first place. Made them give it away. Instead, it had fallen victim to the tidying urges of a man who seemed to have everything under control except his own bald patch. To be fair, the place was a lot cleaner since Priscus had returned. The hospital baths were neat, tidy, and hot. The wards were swept every morning.

  Buckets were filled, candles replaced, shelves stocked, and spills instantly swooped on by men clutching mops. In the drive to root out inefficiency, two more clerks had taken up residence in the records room and now the medical staff had to ask to see patients' files and wait to have them fetched. It was all very impressive, and Ruso supposed he ought to be pleased about it.

  He opened the tablet, slid the stylus out of its holder, and yawned. Glancing around at the bare walls, he wondered what the girl did in here all day. She did not seem to know anyone who would visit, which was unfortunate but not surprising. The ill-named Innocens must have traveled long distances with his trade. He could have picked her up anywhere in the province. Gazing out the window was all very well, but if she became idle and dispirited, it would s
low her recovery. Fresh air and a short stroll to the baths three times a week would do her good, but in between times, he needed to find something useful to occupy her.

  What did women do?

  Claudia, as far as he knew, spent a few minutes each day giving orders to the servants and then went shopping, or sat exchanging mindless gossip with other wives, or tried a new hairstyle. When this became too tiring she retired to a couch with a selection of honey cakes and a scroll of trashy poetry. Since this girl had no servants, no money, and no friends, Claudia's example was not much help. With only one arm working she would not be able to fiddle with her hair, and the only use she would have for a scroll would be to light the fire with it.

  The little he knew about useful but sedentary tasks like spinning and darning suggested that they too needed both hands. After a moment of staring at the cracks in the plaster, Ruso realized that he did not have a clue what a servant would do all day if she were unable to work.

  He glanced back down at the blank sheet of wax. It was surprisingly quiet in here. Bassus, while he might have other unappealing habits, was not a whistler, and the crashing din of the construction sites had barely started. Most of the builders would still be at daily training with their units.

  Ruso yawned again and tried to remember what should come next in the Concise Guide. It was difficult to think concisely when one had not had more than three hours' uninterrupted sleep in the past three days. He put the stylus and the tablet down on the bench. He would just have a quick doze to refresh his mind before pressing on with his work.

  The blankets were folded neatly on the mattress. When he pulled them back, two apples tumbled out and rolled across the floor.

  The mattress was no less comfortable than his own, which was scant recommendation. He pulled a blanket up over his shoulders and closed his eyes.

  He was just drifting into a blissful sleep when he was pulled back into the room by the sound of something scuffling close by. He resolved to have a good look at the floor later. If he found any mouse droppings, he would demand a discount.

  A flurry of wings and frantic cheeping told him the noise was not mice. He opened his eyes. Small birds were squabbling outside the window. When he sat up they flew away. Rising to close the shutters, he noticed a torn scrap of crust and a scatter of breadcrumbs on the wooden sill. He reached through the bars and flicked the crust down into the street, then bent to blow the crumbs away before pulling the shutters across and latching them firmly against the bright morning.

  Before long he felt the peaceful floating sensation of a man vaguely and happily aware that he is falling asleep.

  He was dreaming in a world suffused with a gentle scent. In the dim light of the dream he could make out a woman sitting in front of him. She was wrapped in a dark blue shawl, and holding a splash of bright yellow flowers against a long blue tunic. She had blond wispy curls pinned back to frame a pretty face, and her eyes were closed. She seemed familiar, as strangers often do in dreams. Then he noticed that under the shawl, the hand holding the flowers was in a white sling.

  Ruso flung back the blanket, sprang to his feet, and clapped the shutters apart. The girl's eyes opened.

  "I was just waiting for you," he told her. "I need to check your dressings."

  In the improved light he observed that her color seemed better than yesterday. When she removed the shawl he also noted with approval that the tunic—which he supposed he would have to pay for—was not new but patched at the elbows.

  She reached through the bars to place the flowers on the empty windowsill before seating herself.

  The splints seemed to be undisturbed and the sling was providing even support all along the length of the lower arm and not cutting into the wrist. Whoever had retied it for her at the baths had evidently used some common sense. He said, "Where did you get the clothes?"

  She pointed at the floorboards.

  "Merula?"

  The curls bounced as she nodded.

  "I expect you to speak when I ask you a question, Tilla."

  She cleared her throat. "Yes."

  "Yes, sir, or yes, my Lord, or yes, Master."

  "Yes."

  Ruso sighed. He knew she knew better, but he could not be bothered to argue. Standing beside her, he began the list of daily observations.

  Hands and feet: cold—and the feet were far from clean. "Did you wear shoes to go to the baths?"

  The curls swayed sideways this time. "No."

  He would definitely need to explain some rules to Merula. He didn't need her all decorated until she was healthy. The money wasted on perfume and hairpins could have been usefully put toward a pair of winter boots, and the draft from the window suggested that she would need a cloak before long. Would he be expected to pay extra for a brazier in the room? He didn't know. What he did know was that owning a sick slave was just one expense after another.

  "Eating well?"

  "Yes."

  The color of the hand was normal. He took it between his palms.

  "Move your fingers for me."

  He felt them twitch more strongly than before and would have returned her flicker of a smile had it not been inappropriate. Instead, he said, "Very good," made a mental note to point out his patient's progress to Valens, and put her through the usual questions about bowels and urine and sleep and pain. Finally he said, "Right, let's take a look," and reached behind her neck to untie the sling.

  She began to roll back the sleeve of the tunic with her good hand.

  The woolen sleeve of the tunic was clinging to the surface of the bandaging. He moved closer to help. "If it's all doing well under here," he said, concentrating on unwinding the grubby outer bandage and careful not to be distracted when he accidentally brushed his arm against her breast, "we should be able to take the splints off in about twenty days."

  The outer bandage was removed. There was still no sign of infection.

  The smell was only of the cerate he had used in the dressing. The alignment of the splints was good. "So," he said, reaching into his case for a fresh bandage, "before your arm was broken, what work could you do?"

  Again there was the flicker of a smile. "I grow wheat and beans," she replied with surprising eagerness. "I milk cows and goats. I make butter and cheese. I spin wool. I help when my mother brings out babies."

  "Anything else?"

  She hesitated. "I make blessings."

  He said, "Claudius Innocens . . . " and saw her eyes widen at the mention of her former owner, "said you were an excellent cook."

  The eyes met his. "Yes, my Lord."

  "Good!" he said, because he did not know anyone who wanted their garden tended or their cows and goats blessed, but an attractive and respectful girl with midwifery skills who was a good cook . . . He was glad, after all, that she had not seized her chance to run away. If he could get that arm fully functional, and if Bassus's judgment was sound, maybe Innocens's claim of four thousand denarii would not sound so ridiculous after all.

  32

  HE WAS ON the way to frighten Albanus again by arriving earlier than expected at the hospital when a voice called across the street, "Ruso! Just the man!" One of Valens's friends emerged from a side street, hurried up to him, and seized him by the arm. "You've got to help me, Ruso. We've got a bit of a problem."

  Ruso, who had already done this officer's job for him once by breaking bad news to Merula, offered only a cautious, "What sort of problem?"

  The man moved closer and breathed in his ear, "You know that derelict building over where they're putting the new shops up—the one that had the fire?"

  Ruso nodded. He had just left his purchase from that particular row of shops sitting in the drab little room at Merula's.

  "Well. A demolition gang went in yesterday and started pulling it down. When they were packing up to go home for the day one of them was looking around what's left of the back room and noticed an odd shape in the corner."

  "I see."

  "It's not an odd shape
when you know what it is. It's a body."

  Ruso remained carefully impassive. To his relief, the man let go of his arm.

  "I don't know why this sort of thing always happens when it's me on duty," the man grumbled. "Now they want me to find some way to get rid of it."

  "Why didn't someone deal with it last night?"

  The officer scowled. "Because the idiots wanted to get back for their dinner instead of hanging around answering questions. So they decided not to report it till this morning." He glanced toward the street behind him. "I hope they had nightmares."

  "Well, it's a nuisance, but I don't see what it's got to do with me. Or you, in fact."

  "Ruso, it's Trajan's birthday. The town council are organizing some sort of do this afternoon. Priests in fancy dress parading about and slicing up animals. The legate's inviting important people to dinner. This isn't the day to announce that there's an unburied body lurking in the back streets, is it?"

  Ruso scratched his ear. The man was right. The news that a departed spirit was wandering loose in the town would cause an upset: the fact that its corpse had turned up during the honoring of a recently deceased emperor would be seen as a terrible omen. "Can't they wait a day and find it tomorrow?"

  The man shifted uneasily "How much do you know about ghosts?"

  "Nothing."

  "But would you want to annoy one?"

  "I wouldn't want to annoy whatever's left of Trajan either."

  "Exactly. We need to get out of this without upsetting anybody—or the ghost, if there is one—and the only way I can see is to give the body a decent send-off right away."

  "Fine."

  "Only we can't get anyone to do it because no one's allowed to know it's there."

  "What about the builders? They should be good at digging."

  "They're refusing to go near the place. They think it's bad luck."

  "The mortuary's no use," put in Ruso swiftly before the man could suggest it. "It's not private enough." Besides, admitting another unknown corpse would mean a fresh encounter with Priscus.