I found myself now faced with an appalling choice. I could take a knife-blade to poor Gwellia’s foot, as Kurso suggested – certainly hurting her and possibly making bad things worse – or I could follow her instinct and trust to herbs and rest. And have her ‘take a fever and die in agony’?
Put that way, there was only one decision I could make.
I do not generally take instruction from my slaves – and Gwellia would normally no doubt have told me so. But she was already shivering and clutching at her leg and I, too, knew of people who had died from wounds like this. If there were any chance of saving her, I would have to try.
‘Light me a taper here so that I can see, then take one yourself and fetch that hunting knife – it’s out in the dye-house with my axe and scythe,’ I murmured, and Kurso hurried to obey.
It was always called my ‘hunting knife’, though it had never been used for hunting anything. It was more like a dagger, with a point and single edge, but carrying a dagger is forbidden nowadays unless one is a soldier of the Emperor, so ‘hunting knife’ it had officially become. I had bought it from a peddler in Glevum years ago: most of his merchandise had proved worthless in the end, but this was splendid: one of those rare knives that one could sharpen to an edge which cut through anything. I’d used it more than once for quartering a sheep, but its sharpness was never more important than today.
I went over to my wife. She was whiter than a toga and breathing heavily. For a moment I thought that this was caused by fear, but I quickly realized that she was only half-awake. I was alarmed to find her slipping in and out of consciousness – it had happened so quickly – but it strengthened my resolve.
I crouched beside her. ‘Can you hear me, Gwellia?’ I enquired, and told her gently what I proposed to do. She opened her eyes, and summoned the energy to speak. I expected her to protest and insist her herbs would help, but she did not.
‘I suppose it must be done,’ she murmured. I was just thinking sadly that her complaisance conveyed – more eloquently than any direct words could do – how suddenly urgent the matter had become, when she added, with a ghost of her usual forcefulness, ‘But only if you swear by all the gods to go straight to Glevum afterwards and join the birthday rites.’
I forced myself to smile. ‘I promise,’ I told her, getting to my feet. ‘Provided, in return, you will agree to rest.’ I waited for her reluctant nod, then added in an inner whisper to the gods, ‘And on condition, deities, that this humour-letting doesn’t make her worse.’
I feared that the painful process would be too much for her, and if she was clearly suffering afterwards I would stay right where I was – relatives of the Governor or not.
My promise seemed to satisfy her and she sank back on the stool – though when Kurso came back with the knife she paled and I saw perspiration break out on her brow. But she was still my Gwellia, and more courageous than I could believe.
‘Help me to walk over to the bed, and fetch me a belt to bite on, to stop me crying out. Something solid I can clench in both my hands.’ The words were rational, but the tone was far from calm and her voice seemed to be coming from somewhere far away.
I was glad to recognize these signs of her resolve, though it was not like her to ask for help to walk. But – like the planned procedure – she seemed resigned to it, allowing me and Kurso to assist her to the bed.
‘Kurso had better hold me down so I don’t jump up without intending to, and make you slash me somewhere else by accident,’ she murmured, without a touch of her familiar fire. ‘But do it quickly, husband, if that’s what you propose. You can’t be late to town and miss the rituals.’
There was no danger of that yet, since it was scarcely after dawn, but I understood. She wanted the ordeal over as soon as possible. Kurso meanwhile had found a pair of rush-holders and, having set the tapers down upon the floor so I could see, he fetched my leather belt.
I flexed it in my hands. It seemed inadequate as a method of controlling pain. ‘Don’t we have a little valerian somewhere?’ I enquired. Gwellia sometimes brewed a sleeping cordial of it. It was not as good as poppy juice, of course – but we had none left of that – and if I could find any way of dulling this torment for her, I would. ‘There was a jar of it somewhere, I believe. She was going to take it to Julia as a post-natal gift, to strengthen her and soothe the discomforts of the birth.’
Kurso was about to take a candle and go and look for it, but Gwellia shook her head. ‘It isn’t fully ready yet,’ she murmured feebly. ‘It needs more time to steep. My foot was so painful in the night, I tried a draught of it – but it did not help.’ She gave a woeful smile. ‘Besides, valerian needs time to take effect, so it would be useless in this case anyway. You must get to Glevum, with the Governor’s kinsman there, or I shall not rest all day. Just pierce it, husband, and have it over.’ She crammed the middle of the belt into her mouth and clenched her teeth on it, clutching the ends in either hand as she closed her eyes.
I flinched, appalled at the idea of hurting her. But she was right, as usual. If this was to be done at all, it should be done at once. I told myself to think that I was digging splinters out and, still unwillingly, picked up the hunting knife.
In passing, I dipped the blade into the boiling herbs – not so much to clean it (I had already polished it) as with some idea of getting a little of the potion in the wound. Then I glanced at Kurso, who took this as a sign. He approached his mistress gingerly, then – with a single action – threw his weight across her upper legs and nodded encouragingly at me. ‘Now, master. Quick is merciful.’
I stepped forward, raised the knife and – with a muttered prayer to all the ancient gods – brought the point down into the poor swollen foot. Even then, at the last minute, I felt myself draw back – fearing to be too hard, and cause a greater wound, or too tentative and not cut through the skin. But I need not have worried, I had made the merest nick yet the effect was instantaneous. My wife bucked upwards and gave a strangled cry, and a fountain of blood and yellow matter shot into the air.
I stepped back, shocked, but Kurso was grinning up at me in obvious relief.
‘You’ve let most of the fiery humour out, master,’ he said. ‘You can feel the heat of it.’ He had seized the discarded bandage-cloth, and was busy mopping up the discharge as he spoke. ‘If you press around the cut,’ he went on, ‘you might dispel some more. That’s what the army doctor did.’
I was unwilling to cause further pain to Gwellia, but his earlier suggestion had obviously worked, so I gently did as he advised. More of the ‘fiery humour’ dribbled out.
To my relief, at the same time, the patient roused herself. The belt fell from her fingers and after a moment she actually sat up. She prodded at the area herself, more firmly than I’d dared, and produced another spurt, this time streaked with blood – together with a little flake of something solid, thin and dark. It was small and tapered to a vicious point, and might have been a little piece of rust.
The cause of all the trouble, I surmised. So perhaps it was a kind of splinter after all. Certainly the tightness in the foot was gone, and much of the tension had drained from Gwellia’s face.
‘Better?’ I asked and she nodded speechlessly. I went on quickly before she found her tongue, ‘Now remember what you promised. You are to stay in bed – even if you feel a great deal better later on. The servants can take care of you today. In the meantime, you had better bind that foot – or get the slaves to do it.’
‘I’ll wait until I’ve put that poultice on,’ she told me, with a suspicion of her usual decisiveness. ‘I think I hear the other boys returning with the herbs, so I can boil the mixture up.’ She seemed to read my thoughts. ‘Or they can, since you insist. And don’t say you’ll wait to see it done – I’ll have to let it cool before it is applied so it can counteract the heat. But that should help, and by tonight I shall be on my feet again …’ She broke off as my two other young slave-boys hurried in, each carrying a shallow basket full of fresh-plucked leaves.
‘The herbs that you required. With the dew still on them, mistress.’ Gangling, red-haired Minimus was the oldest of my slaves, and – though he was scarcely fully-grown himself – generally overseer and spokesman for the rest. He breezed in cheerfully. But as his eyes became accustomed to the smoky candlelight and he took in the scene – his mistress half-dressed and lying on the bed, and me standing over her with the hunting knife – his face grew grave.
‘Master, is everything all right?’ Now it was skinny little Tenuis who spoke, hurrying forward with his offering of herbs.
‘Your mistress is a little better now, I think,’ I answered, and Gwellia assented with a nod. ‘Though perhaps you should add those herb-leaves to the pot. Your mistress says she’ll want a poultice presently.’
Minimus glanced at the still misshapen foot and nodded doubtfully.
‘Kurso and I have been attending to the wound.’ (It seemed only fair to include the kitchen-slave in this, and he was clearly proud I had.) ‘But your mistress needs to rest, and he can’t do everything. So I want you and Tenuis to stay and help today. Kurso has my orders. He will explain to you. You are to send to me at once if that is what’s required – birthday rites or no.’ I saw that Gwellia was about to remonstrate, so I added quickly, ‘But if I’m to go to Glevum, I will have to get prepared. It is long past dawn and I’ve neither washed nor dressed.’
‘Nor eaten, husband.’ Gwellia had gestured Tenuis across and was already pointing out the herbs that she preferred, and the quantity to use. She gave me a wan smile. ‘There are oatcakes if you want them, but I fear they will be burnt. I’d forgotten all about them.’ The effort clearly tired her and she slumped back on the bed – though as the slave-boy stirred the new leaves into the pot, she tried a feeble jest. ‘Don’t try eating that concoction though – or we shall be holding solemn rites here of our own.’
‘If Kurso scrapes the bottoms off, they will be edible,’ I said, as the boy blew the embers off the baking tray and – winding a tunic round his hand – removed the lid to show the blackened cakes. ‘I will have one of these before I leave – you four can eat the rest. But I will need some water from that pail – first of all, a cup of it to drink, then Minimus can help me wash and dress, while Tenuis goes to saddle up the mule. And we’d best be quick about it – Junio will soon be waiting for me at the gate. I suppose there were signs that he and his family were awake, when you went out to the spring?’
I was thinking of candles glimmering from within, or smoke and sparks arising from the chimney-space, but Minimus surprised me. ‘Indeed so, master. We met his slave-boy going for water, when we were coming back. He was grumbling that their household had been awake for hours – one of the children was crying with new teeth. I was to tell you that your son would be ready very soon. I’m sorry, master, when I saw my mistress, I forgot.’
I was as quick as it was possible to be, but by the time I hurried out to the enclosure gate – wearing a clean tunic underneath my cloak – not only was Tenuis there to meet me with the mule, but Junio was already waiting in the lane.