David Wishart - Sejanus

The door wasn't locked, and I didn't knock: she'd have other things to worry about than the conventional niceties. She was in the bedroom, sitting beside the still figure on the double bed.

'Hello, Corvinus,' she said. She didn't look up and I couldn't see her face clearly in the light of the single lamp, but she sounded pretty washed out. When Perilla put her hands on her shoulders she never moved. 'Perilla. Good of you to come.'

'How's he doing?' I said.

'He's alive.' She shook her head. 'Otherwise I don't know. He's been like this since they found him.'

She'd cleaned his face up, that was all; his hair was caked with blood and the blanket under his head was damp and stained a dark red. His eyes were shut and his breathing was very shallow. Every so often it stopped altogether for a few seconds before restarting. Worrying as hell. Even with my slim knowledge of medicine I could see the poor guy was in deep trouble.

'I've sent for a doctor,' I said. 'He should be here soon.'

'That's nice.' Marcina still hadn't moved.

Keep safe… I winced. Lippillus was lying there with his head bashed in because of me, and we all knew it. If I could've gone back a day and changed things I would've done, gladly, but there was nothing now anyone could do. And from the looks of Lippillus that included Sarpedon.

'You know anything about how it happened?' I said quietly.

'He left this morning for headquarters as usual.' Marcina was still speaking in that terrible, level voice. She hadn't looked at either of us since we'd arrived. 'I wasn't worried when he didn't come home for dinner. That happens more often than not, although usually he sends a message. Then — I don't know when, maybe an hour ago, maybe two, maybe three — his deputy Valens came round to say he'd been picked up by two carters near the Latin Gate. He'd had them bring him straight here on a blanket.'

'Did the carters see the attack?'

Her shoulders lifted. 'Maybe. I don't know. I didn't ask. It wasn't all that important at the time. It still isn't.'

'Marcus.' Perilla's fingers touched my arm. 'Go downstairs and wait for Sarpedon. Please.'

'Uh, yeah. Yeah, okay.' Perhaps that was best. I wasn't doing any good here, anyway. I paused at the door.

'Marcina, I'm sorry,' I said. 'Terribly, terribly sorry.'

Her head didn't turn. Her voice was quite calm. 'If he dies, Corvinus,' she said, 'I'll never forgive you. Never ever. Do you understand?'

'Yeah. I understand,' I said; and left.

Sarpedon arrived half an hour later, in a litter that put mine to shame, looking every inch the society doctor in a Greek cloak and mantle that must've cost an arm and a leg. Probably literally, and someone else's. The crowd parted to let him through, which was superstition, not respect; in the tenements, doctors and undertakers are given plenty of space, and for the same reasons. Most of the time there isn't much difference between them anyway. I just hoped Sarpedon would prove the ghoulish bastards wrong, despite the snazzy turnout.

'Where's the patient, sir?' he said when he saw me. Old habits die hard; I was still the master's son, even if Sarpedon had come a long way since he patched me up the time of my last visit to the Janiculan.

'One floor up. I'll take you.'

'Fine.' He signalled to his slave, another Greek, but thirty years younger. 'Mnester, bring the bag.'

The man pulled a leather bag out of the litter and followed us up the steps.

Marcina and Perilla were where I'd left them, Marcina sitting on the bed beside Lippillus and Perilla in the room's only chair. They got up as we came in. Lippillus was still breathing, and I murmured a quick prayer of thanks to whatever god happened to be on duty. Sarpedon took off his cloak and bent over to examine him, his long fingers moving lightly and methodically over the blood-crusted scalp. Finally he straightened, frowning.

'How long has he been like this?' he asked.

I looked at Marcina, but she'd turned away. 'Two hours,' I said. 'Three. Maybe longer.'

Sarpedon grunted, and his frown deepened. 'I need more light. Fetch as many lamps as you can find. A basin of hot water. And some clean cloths.'

'We'll see to it, Marcus,' Perilla said quietly. 'Marcina, come with me. I don't know where things are.'

They left. Sarpedon turned to the slave.

'The bag, please, Mnester.'

The slave pulled over a small table, set the bag on it and began unpacking a collection of instruments: bronze forceps, a razor, a small saw…

'You think he'll live?' I asked.

Sarpedon hesitated before answering. 'I'll do what I can, of course,' he said, 'but I doubt it. I doubt it very much. The blow has broken the side of the skull and there's a collection of bruised blood pressing on the brain. If I can trephine the skull without killing him in the process and relieve the pressure then he has a chance. A very poor one.'

'How poor?'

A pause. 'I'm not a gambler, sir. But if I were I would not like the odds.'

Jupiter! Still, it was as well to know. 'Is there anything I can do?'

'Yes. Two things. Keep out of my way, and offer a prayer to Asclepius.'

'You think that'll do any good?'

He smiled softly. 'No. Not much. And I'm very much afraid that the Lord Asclepius would agree with me. However, it will keep you busy.'

Perilla came back with four oil lamps on a pedestal hanger.

'These were all I could find,' she said. 'Marcina's borrowing more from Latinius.'

'Twist the arms of a few of these ghouls outside and see what they can come up with,' I said sourly. 'Let them make themselves useful for once. What about the water?'

'Latinius's wife had a brazier already lit. It's coming.'

'Hermes be praised for a sensible woman.' Sarpedon stripped off his mantle and rolled up the sleeves of his long-sleeved tunic. 'Your pardon, sir. Madam. Mnester can do everything needful for me now, and I'm afraid the next part is not going to be pleasant. Could I ask you to leave, please? I'll call when it's over.'

'Uh, yeah. Sure.' I edged towards the door. 'Come on, Perilla.' Then I paused, and spoke softly to the figure on the bed. 'Good luck, pal.'

We sat round the table in the other room, staring into the darkness and listening for sounds. Asclepius had had his prayers. They weren't much in my line, but the old guy couldn't complain that I didn't mean them. Finally the bedroom door opened and Sarpedon came out drying his hands on a towel.

No one asked the question. None of us dared. Sarpedon answered it anyway.

'Perhaps,' he said. 'He's still alive, at any rate. And the operation, I think, was successful.'

Marcina buried her face in her hands. She hadn't cried; all evening, she hadn't cried. Now she did. I felt like joining her, but she was doing fine on her own.

'Can we see him?' she said at last.

'If you like, madam. He's still not awake, of course. That's the next hurdle.' Sarpedon hesitated, and cleared his throat. 'You do understand, don't you, that he may not live even yet? I've done my best, but from now on the matter is out of my hands. My dear, your husband may simply…not wake up. I've seen it before, many times, with head injuries. The patient goes deeper and deeper into sleep, and no amount of stimulation will rouse them.'

Cheerful bastard; but then he was quite right to warn her. I didn't correct the assumption that they were man and wife, either.

'We'll just have to hope your Asclepius was listening, then,' I said.

'Indeed, sir.'

We hesitated at the door. 'Go on, Marcina.' Perilla said.

Marcina Paullina blew her nose on a napkin and stood up.

'We'll all go,' she said.

The bedroom seemed very bright after the darkness of the other room: Perilla and Marcina had managed a good dozen lamps eventually, plus the oil to fill them, and over half were still lit. Mnester was packing away Sarpedon's surgical tools. On the floor, the basin of what had been warm water was filmed with a scum of blood and hair. I gave it one quick look and decided my stomach wouldn't take another. On the bed, Lippillus looked like death. His eyes were still closed and his face was grey beneath the turban of bandages, but at least he was breathing normally now.