Terra Incognita: A Novel of the Roman Empire (20 page)
“Would that be the call for Doctor Thessalus or the call for Gambax, sir?”
“There was only one call, surely?”
“I don’t know, sir. We didn’t get either of them. You’d have to ask at the other gates. But Gambax went out just after Doctor Thessalus.”
Ruso frowned. “Out?”
The youth’s head bobbed. “His case must have been nearer, though, ’cause he was on foot. And he was back before long, but I didn’t see Doctor Thessalus again.”
When the youth had gone Ruso observed, “He looks very young,” and realized with horror that it was the sort of remark he and Lucius used to deride from their father.
“They’ll be sending them straight out of the cradle soon,” observed the watch captain, who could not have been much over twenty-five himself.
“While I’m here,” said Ruso, “how do I go about getting a gate pass for my housekeeper?”
The man shook his head. “You’d have a hard time sir. The only civilians allowed in with no escort are the prefect’s family. Security policy. Because of the way the natives are.”
“But she’s only a woman!”
The watch captain shook his head again. “So was Helen of Troy, sir. Look what she started.”
T
O RUSO’S RELIEF
, Thessalus seemed to have forgotten about the fish. He gestured Ruso to the stool while he himself sat on the chair, crushing the scroll cases. He frowned at them, made an ineffective attempt to pull one of them out from beneath him, and gave up.
Ruso tried, “How are you this evening?”
Thessalus gave a slow smile. “You don’t need to keep coming to see me, Doctor,” he said. “Don’t worry. All will be well. I have seen to it.”
In the light of the one lamp it took Ruso a moment to realize that Thessalus was smiling not at him but at a spot a few inches beyond his left ear. Ruso turned. The wall was bare. He wished he could see whatever was giving Thessalus the confidence that all would be well, because from his own point of view things were not good at all. During his first visit this afternoon, his patient’s mind had been scuttling about like a startled lizard. Now it was moving more like a . . . like a slow thing. Ruso had had a long and trying day.
“I have seen to it,” Thessalus repeated, sounding much as Ruso imagined an oracle might sound. “This is my answer. Ambitions, hopes . . . it all comes to the same thing in the end.”
“I’ve met some of your patients. The men speak very highly of you.”
“They will not speak highly of me when they know.”
Outside the main door, the guard coughed and shuffled his feet.
Ruso said gently, “You have been troubled, brother.”
“This is true.”
“Your mind has not served you well of late.”
“My hands have served me worse. I did no harm with my mind.”
“You think you have done someone harm?”
Thessalus looked puzzled. “You think it is all in my mind, that it is a dream?”
“We all dream things we do not do.”
“And sometimes we do things we would not dream of.” Thessalus put his head in his hands. His shoulders began to shake.
“Gently, brother.” Ruso leaned forward and grasped the man’s thin arms. Thessalus drew back as if in pain.
“Don’t touch me!”
“I was only—”
“I told you, you must never touch the patient!”
Ruso sat back. He wished he had left this visit until tomorrow. The man had been calm. Now he was in distress.
“All gone now,” Thessalus mumbled. “All over. I am a murderer. I know. I saw it. I felt it.” He began to rock backward and forward. “I can feel it now.”
“Open your eyes, Thessalus. Look at me.”
Without lifting his head Thessalus began to moan softly, “No, no . . .”
“Look at me, Thessalus. Open your eyes and look up. I am real. Put aside the visions. Just for a moment.”
Slowly, the man’s head lifted.
“What if I can prove to you that you were somewhere else on the night Felix died? What if we find people who saw you?”
“You wish to prove me insane. I am condemned either way.”
“I wish to prove you ill, brother. And soon to be restored to health.”
“But never again trusted.”
“In time, when you are well—”
“You are wasting your time,” Thessalus continued.
“Metellus will find out the truth,” insisted Ruso. “The man who killed Felix will be punished.”
“They will find an innocent native to execute in my place.”
“Not innocent. Nobody believes you did it, Thessalus.”
The glistening dark eyes looked again into his own. “Then you must convince them.”
“First,” said Ruso carefully, “You must convince me. What reason would you have to attack Felix?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. He was there. His friends beat the native. They ask for justice and cows and we beat them.”
“What did you do with the body?”
Thessalus sighed. “I’m very tired.”
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow. I expect they’ll bring your supper in a minute. Do you want something later to help you sleep?’
“I want something to stop me dreaming. Do you have that in your case? Freedom from one’s own dreams?’
Ruso wished he could place a comforting hand on that of his colleague. “Tomorrow we will begin to sort this out,” he promised. “Tomorrow we will begin to work on a cure.”
“His head,” whispered Thessalus.
“Sleep tonight, brother,” said Ruso. “We will find a way through.”
“What did I do with his head?” said Thessalus.
R
USO WANDERED BACK
through the dark streets of the fort to the infirmary, still pondering what to do with Thessalus.
He had met patients with problems of the mind before, but even in the spring—known to be a dangerous time for people prone to madness— he had never come across one displaying both mania and melancholy on the same day. It was as if his two visits had been to two different men. And although no one believed Thessalus to be capable of murder, he was so utterly convinced he had done it that Ruso was beginning to wonder himself.
Normally he would have shared his concerns about a difficult patient with a colleague, but the nearest one was half a day’s ride away. Besides, the confession and Thessalus’s position as a fellow medic made it too delicate a matter to broach with an untried stranger.
He would have liked to write to Valens about the case, but the only way to get a reply before the governor’s arrival would be to use the official dispatch service. A humble medic was as likely to have access to that service as he was to have Mercury fly in through the window and offer to deliver the message in person. No: Whatever he did, he would have to do it on his own.
Back in his room, he scrambled down to the end of the bed and opened the trunk. Picking out one of the scrolls, he held it dangerously close to the lamp and began to scan it for diseases of the mind.
When he found it, the passage proved of doubtful use. The author contended, not unreasonably, that the treatment to be offered must depend upon the diagnosis. Given the symptoms he had exhibited so far, Thessalus was simultaneously in need of a day’s starvation, and a moderate diet. He needed to have blood let, and not to have blood let. He needed to be given a serious fright, and to be kept calm. He needed cold water poured over his head, and to have his head gently moistened with rose oil and thyme. He also, apparently, needed a good vomit.
Ruso slid the scroll into its container and threw it back into the trunk. His body was tired but his mind was still churning over the events of the day. Without Tilla, bed held little appeal. He decided to go for a late walk to clear his head.
Ruso had intended to ask the guard whether there was still any sign of movement behind Thessalus’s door, but as he approached he heard a crash, followed by a shout of “How long are you going to keep this up, you mad bastard?”
The voice was familiar. If Thessalus replied, Ruso did not hear it.
“This isn’t a game!” yelled the voice. “I’m not bringing you any more until you stop messing about!” There was a thump on the inside of the door and a shout of “I’m done here, let me out!” presumably aimed at the guard. Seconds later Gambax emerged and strode off down the dark street, oblivious to Ruso approaching from the opposite direction.
“What’s happened?” demanded Ruso, taking in the sight of a pale Thessalus cowering under his blankets. On top of the bed was an overturned tray. Liquid had streamed across the floor from a shattered cup and a loaf of bread had come to rest against the doorpost.
Ruso crouched by the bed. “Are you all right?”
Thessalus’s hand was shaking as he reached to turn the tray upright. “I’m sorry. Tell him I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” said Ruso grimly. “Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I’ll get someone else to bring your meals.”
“No!”
He was surprised at the strength of the man’s response. “You’ll still get your food,” he explained. “Just from somebody—”
“I want Gambax to come.” Thessalus glanced wildly around the room.
“The others . . .” His voice sunk even lower as his thin fingers gripped Ruso’s arm. “They’re trying to poison me.”
“I promise I’ll make sure they don’t poison you. We’ll have your food tasted before it arrives.”
“No—oh!” Thessalus withdrew his hand. “Mustn’t touch. Mustn’t— sorry.”
“I’ll bring it myself and taste it in front of you. How about that?”
Thessalus shook his head. “No. Please. You don’t understand. He doesn’t mean to shout. I want Gambax.”
“Perhaps we could eat out tomorrow,” suggested Ruso. “Is there anywhere you’d like to go, or shall I choose?”
“They have a guard at the door.”
“I’ll talk to them,” said Ruso, encouraged by the logic of this objection and confident that he would be able to get permission to take his patient out of this miserable confinement. “Perhaps we could go to the baths.”
“Gambax. I need to see Gambax. He understands.”
“I always find that a massage—”
“No.”
Ruso nodded. “We’ll stay here, then.”
“Rocking,” said Thessalus suddenly.
“How about taking me out for a ride tomorrow? You could show me around.”
“Rocking,” persisted Thessalus. “Rocking is good.”
Ruso, possibly recalling the same passage as his patient about the treatment of the insane, glanced up at the rafters. “We could suspend some sort of swing from up there,” he said. “So you think rocking in a swing might make you feel better?”
“No,” said Thessalus. “But it will keep you happy.”
Ruso was beginning to suspect that Thessalus knew much more than he did himself about problems of the mind. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”
“My head,” said Thessalus, staring at the rafters, “is full of words.”
“What sort of words?”
“All the words,” explained Thessalus. “Jumping around like frogs.” He lifted one hand and made a slow circling motion in the air. “ ’Round and ’round like frogs, bumping against the edges.” He turned to look at Ruso. “Hellebore for madness,” he said. “Thyme vinegar for clearing the head. Don’t drink it, Doctor. Only sniff. Vinegar shrivels the mouth.” He pulled a face. “Is it time to get up yet?”
“It’s evening.”
“Mustn’t get up in the dark. Bad things happen in the dark.”
“What sort of bad things?”
“Dreams. Bad dreams.”
“Can you tell me what you see in the dreams?”
Thessalus reached up a thin arm and grasped the back of the couch, hauling himself into a sitting position. Slowly, he eased his feet down toward the floor without throwing off his blanket, so that he was swathed in gray wool with one skeletal set of toes poking out at floor level. He ran both hands roughly through his hair, springing out the dark curls from where they had lain flattened over his ears, then rested his elbows on his knees and leaned closer to Ruso. Their eyes met. “I can see what you see,” he whispered.
“What’s that?”
“Blood.” Thessalus’s eyes were still locked on Ruso’s as if he were trying to gaze past their surface and into the soul.
Ruso swallowed. “Blood?”
“All that blood. All that pain. Don’t tell me you don’t hear them screaming in your dreams.”
He could not deny it. He had thought the nightmares would fade with experience, but while his rational mind tucked his own fears away in a corner during his waking hours, there were times when the ghastly things he had done to living human beings returned to haunt his sleep. The worst times were when he dreamed he had made a catastrophic mistake. Even when he woke and reassured himself that it was not true, the guilt remained over him like a shroud, as it had this afternoon when the carpenter died. “Sometimes, I have trouble sleeping,” he concurred. “But the things we do—”
“Are
always done
for the
best,
” said Thessalus, tilting his head from side to side and reciting the words in the singsong voice of a platitude. “No they’re not. Have you ever been told to revive a man so he could feel pain, doctor? ‘We need information, doctor. Our men are in danger if you don’t wake him up for questioning, doctor. . . .’ ”