S.J.A. Turney - The Great Game

Rufinus stared in disbelief.

‘You?’

‘Don’t try to move too much. Wait until I’ve had a look at you.’ Satisfied that none of the crucifixion party were in a position to attack him, he stopped swinging the sling and tucked it into his belt. Acheron padded over to join them, gore dripping from his smiling black muzzle. The medicus reached down and grasped the curved sword from the fallen gladiator, walking past Rufinus and the cross upon which he lay and using the curved blade to calmly and efficiently slit the throat of the unconscious guard.

‘Shame one of them got away. But I had to act then before they started nailing you. Rope burns you could manage with, but if they stuck iron through your wrist, you’d be no use.’

‘But how…?’

Discarding the blade and crouching next to Rufinus, the medicus peered closely at him. ‘I did worry whether there would be long-term damage from the compound, but it appears you’ve made a very quick recovery. You must have the constitution of an ox, young man.’

‘How did you…?’

‘Medicine, Rufinus. Sometimes it pays to know you are cleverer by far than those around you. To those who look no further than the surface, such as Lucilla and the captain, you died in front of them.’ He grinned. ‘But there is a plant with purple bell-flowers from which can be extracted a substance which slows the heart. It is not well known in the civilised world, dangerous to use, and few practitioners would consider it, even if they’d heard of it. I used it in the field in Germania to slow blood flow when proper supplies were sparse and we had to supplement with whatever we could scavenge in the woodlands.’

Rufinus’ eyes widened.

‘I have discovered,’ the medicus went on conversationally as he began to untie the ropes at his wrists ‘to my cost, that too heavy a concentration can be fatal and stop the heart entirely. In order to give you the outward appearance of death, I had to slow your heart far enough that a cursory check could not sense a pulse. It is a delicate balance. I could easily have miscalculated and killed you. I have to say that I’m quite pleased with the result.’

Rufinus, his right arm free, boggled. ‘You faked my death?’

‘Indeed, though the master and I wondered whether you could hold out long enough to manage this without screaming the name ‘Pompeianus’. We took a gamble and it appears to have paid off. Now you are free to finish your task.’

Rufinus shook his head, wincing at the pains it brought. ‘I’m in agony. I can hardly move.’

‘These things can be managed. The stiffness is the result of four hours of immobility. Once you’ve spent quarter of an hour moving, you’ll loosen up and the difference will surprise you. Your strength will return soon, and I’ll give it a little help. There are numerous compounds I can administer that will supply you with the energy of a fit and healthy man, though when they wear off, you will suffer. As for your wounds: well, they are superficial.’

‘ Superficial ?’ Rufinus was aware that he’d just shouted angrily at the man who had saved his life, but the calmness of the man in the face of what he’d endured seemed insane.

‘Of course. Minor cuts, burns and a broken finger. In time your hand will heal fine, though I will have to splint your finger. You can easily live without fingernails. They serve no specific purpose unless you have a lot of pins to pick up. We managed to see you out of their clutches before anything permanent was done. All your wounds will heal soon enough.’

Rufinus shook his head again and narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s happening? What time is it?’

‘The sun’s up, but only enough to show her light over the horizon. The villa is almost deserted, apart from the lowest of the staff; the lady and her entourage left before dawn’s glow. All her personal servants and slaves and most of the guards went with her. She took master Pompeianus too, for the look of things.’

‘Then there’s no time. The attack will take place this morning in the arena. I’m too late.’

The medicus rolled his eyes. ‘Rome is only an hour away on a fast horse. There’s time.’

Rufinus winced and sucked in painful breaths between his teeth as the medicus gently helped him to his feet.

‘I can’t ride. I can barely contemplate walking!’

‘Take this. Drink it now.’

‘What is it?’ Rufinus asked, peering at the vial the man proffered, and noting what had happened the last time this man had given him a drink.

‘Pain-suppressant: henbane, mandragora and poppy juice. It’s strong, so take just a sip now and repeat any time the pain becomes too intrusive. If you use too much, it’ll lead to insensibility and you will lose control and eventually consciousness, so just take enough to keep the pain down, yes?’

Rufinus nodded, grasping the vial with his good hand and tipping a few drips into his mouth. His face wrinkled in disgust. ‘Couldn’t you make it taste better?’

The medicus smiled. ‘You’re obviously getting better. Come on… I need to find something to lend you a little extra energy and to tend and bind your wounds before you leave. I’ll be fast as I can.’

‘In a moment’ Rufinus said quietly. Staggering, he crouched, wincing, next to Acheron, who lay patiently nearby. ‘Come on, boy.’

Leading the hunting beast across the grass, he located the bag of nails and hammer, discarded as the guard had run off into the trees. With an involuntary whimper as two cuts reopened, he lifted the leather bag and held it before Acheron, who snuffled around it, pushing his nose inside.

‘Go get him.’

Born to the hunt and the chase, Acheron needed no further encouragement, loping off into the trees nearby. Rufinus returned to the medicus by the cross. ‘I hope the bastard got himself a long head start and didn’t just hide.’

The medicus gave him a wry smile as they gathered their things, the older man helping Rufinus slowly back up the hill toward the villa. Somewhere off in the woods, a blood-curdling scream echoed among the trees. Rufinus smiled.

The sun had risen fully before Rufinus emerged again from Pompeianus’ palace, now dressed in tunic and breeches, most of his wounds hidden beneath plain material and acres of linen wraps, lips tingling with the strange elixir the medicus had fed him and which now coursed through his blood with the vitality of a running stag. He felt as though he could run a thousand miles. His first move – to stand up suddenly and turn – had proved otherwise. It gave him energy, certainly, but he would still be reliant on his damaged body and screaming muscles.

‘You say there are only two other guards on the grounds?’

The medicus nodded. ‘They should be patrolling, but we both know how such men work when their employer is absent.’

‘Will you be safe here?’

‘No one pays a servant any attention, especially one of master Pompeianus’. I will await news of your success.’

With an uncertain smile, Rufinus reached out and gripped the medicus’ shoulder, wincing a little at the pains it brought. His left hand was bound with linen wraps, covering salves for the damaged fingers and a splint for the broken one. ‘Thank you.’ It seemed so insufficient.

Turning away, Rufinus walked, stiffly and carefully, to the praetorium. Time was of the essence. He could not have more than a couple of hours left, and yet some things needed to be done before he could leave the villa. Reaching the door to the building that had been his home for many weeks, he pushed through, still hurting with every movement, though the medicus’ concoction had transmuted the myriad sharp pains to a dull all-over ache that itself was buried beneath the coursing power of the second elixir.