S. Turney - Ironroot

“Catilina…”

Scortius’ eyes were wide and staring now as his gaze flashed back and forth between the cold-faced lady before him and the empty jug nearby.

“I don’t think you’ll have to keep dosing to make it lethal, Scortius, but perhaps you can tell me. The amount you had left? Would that be fatal, d’you think?”

Scortius’ eyes bulged in panic and he forced his finger down his throat, leaning over the arm of the chair and retching.

Catilina gave him an unpleasant smile.

“I shall take that as a yes then. And you know that’s a waste of time. You started that jug an hour ago. I know, because I’ve been waiting outside to make sure you finished it. And that means that by now, with the tremendous quantity you’ve absorbed this afternoon, it’s already deep in your system.”

She reached across the table and collected the jug, turning it upside down and smiling at the single drip that slowly collected on the inverted rim and then fell to the table. She replaced the jug and stretched.

“Goodbye, doctor.”

Turning her back on the stricken man, she strode from the tent, a strange mix of emotions coursing through her: pity, satisfaction and disgust. She sighed as she looked around herself in the bright morning sun.

Not regret though. Never regret.

Salonius leaned against the outside of the doctor’s tent, a long piece of grass hanging from the corner of his mouth where he chewed absently. He raised an eyebrow as the lady appeared outside.

Catilina took a deep, cleansing breath and rolled her shoulders.

“Now we’re done, Salonius.”

The young man looked at her curiously.

“I don’t think so.”

“What?” she enquired of him. “Why?”

Salonius shrugged.

“Because we are better than him; both of us. You know that.”

Giving her a sad smile, he patted her on the shoulder gently and affectionately and slipped past her, through the tent flap.

In the dim interior, Scortius was busy searching desperately through the various drawers and shelves of his cabinet, his face white.

“Doctor?”

The man ignored his new guest, his desperation increasing as he searched fruitlessly.

“Doctor?” Salonius repeated as he walked calmly across the tent and took the seat that Catilina had previously occupied.

Again he was ignored. Sighing sadly, he picked up the wine jug and brought it down on the table so hard that the handle sheared off in his grip.

Scortius jumped and stopped his furious searching to turn and stare.

“Good. Sit down doctor.”

The stricken man turned once more to his cabinet, but Salonius called to him in a clear, calm voice.

“It’s no good trying to find an antidote, doctor. You know there isn’t one.”

Scortius began to rummage once more. He muttered something in a panicky voice. Salonius didn’t catch all the details, but he noticed the word ‘emetic’ in there.

“Sit down!” This time he bellowed, and Scortius jumped again and stopped.

“I will restrain you if I have to, but we are supposed to be civilised men, doctor, so come here and sit down.”

Almost meekly, Scortius turned and wobbled across to his chair, slumping dejectedly into it. Salonius cleared his throat and fixed the doctor with a piercing gaze.

“It seems curiously fitting that I get to give you the same diagnosis you gave captain Varro. Mine’s true though. You’re going to die, Scortius. There’s no cure and the lady Catilina was very thorough. The dosage you’ve had would have reached lethal more than half an hour ago and no amount of emetics and retching is going to save you now. Varro was enough of a man to face up to what you did to him quickly and nobly. Are you capable of that?”

The doctor stared at him.

“I hope so,” Salonius said gently. “Now, Catilina is a little blinded by emotion at the moment. Given free reign, she would stake you out for the carrion feeders and see which killed you first: the poison or the animals.”

Scortius’ eyes widened at the young man’s matter-of-fact tone.

“I, on the other hand, am less emotional. You took a good friend from me; a mentor, even. But from Catilina, you took the man she loved. Now I am here to explain your choices. I’m only going to do this once, and then I go find her and look after her.”

Still, the doctor said nothing, but sat open mouthed and staring.

“First choice: Given the quantity I put in your wine, you will be dead before sundown, so you can sit and await your fate. Because I am not a forgiving man, I laced the wine also with strychnine. I realise that ironroot is not a particularly painful way to go, but from what I’ve read, strychnine will probably kill you an hour or two earlier, but very, very painfully.”

Scortius began to gag, making an ‘Ack! Ack!’ noise. Salonius smiled and went on.

“Second choice: You could try and avenge yourself on me or Catilina. I suppose you could use the time you have left before you double up in pain to go and denounce us. But the problem is, Mercurias is very well aware of what you’ve done. In fact, he went to report it to the marshal, though Catilina persuaded him to delay a little, but he’s probably been by now. I don’t think you’ll find any support there. In fact it very well might be that the guard are on their way for you right now.”

He pushed the chair back and walked past the panicked doctor, to the cot bed at the rear of the tent, where the doctor’s uniform lay folded, awaiting the funeral ceremony for Varro. Stooping, the young man collected the doctor’s sword in its fancy sheath, likely never used and rarely warn outside ceremonies.

“And your third choice?” he commented lightly as he strode back to the table, unsheathing the sword with a metallic rasp that set the teeth on edge, “Take the noble and least painful way out. As soon as you can. And certainly before the guard get here; they certainly won’t give you an opportunity afterwards.”

He dropped the sword on the table before the dying man and walked past him to the tent flap. Turning, he smiled.

“Sad that it came to this. But at least you have a choice of how to end it. I would hurry though.”

Turning his back, he pushed open the flap and walked out into the sunshine.

Catilina stood a few yards away, her arms folded and a cross expression on her face.

“Well?”

Salonius smiled.

“I just gave him something to think about.”

She sighed.

“Your heart is too soft for you to be in the revenge business, Salonius.”

He laughed and put his arm around her shoulder, turning her away from the tent.

“And you’re a very dangerous woman, my lady.”

They made a point of taking the more circuitous route to the ceremony below. Exiting the camp’s stockade by the west gate, they strode down the hill in no great hurry, coming to a halt a little over half way along the slope, by a heap of fresh earth. They paused for a long moment, side by side and gazed at the shapeless mound that held the unmourned remains of the former prefect of the Fourth army.

As they watched, a crow landed fearlessly in front of them on the summit of the heap and began to investigate the freshly-turned earth for worms. Something about that made Salonius smile.

Walking on, they passed soldiers in full dress uniform, buffing every inch of steel to dazzling brightness. Most were too busy making sure they would meet the requirements of their officers to pay much attention to the two figures strolling amongst them, but those who did look up came to attention and saluted. Salonius returned their salutes as necessary, but still felt vaguely uncomfortable doing so. He was wearing his command guard uniform with the white horsehair crest which meant that he outranked most of the men of the second, but since his elevation to the position a mere two weeks ago, he’d spent little or no time among his peers, or indeed even wearing the uniform.