Ironroot tote-2

by S. J. A. Turney

  “What aspects?” Sabian was beginning to look annoyed.

  Varro drew himself up straight.

  “If I said the wallet was connected with Petrus, would you expect me to relinquish it, sir?”

  Sabian sat back heavily.

  “Petrus?”

  “Yes, marshal.”

  Sabian waved his hand dismissively at the provosts.

  “Sergeant, this is no longer your issue. Take your men back to barracks.”

  The sergeant blinked in surprise, and then cast an angry glance at Varro before saluting, turning on his heel and marching from the room, followed swiftly by his provosts. Sabian frowned at Varro and the captain cleared his throat meaningfully.

  Sabian rubbed his brow wearily and then turned to the fourth army’s prefect.

  “Cristus, would you be so kind as to allow Varro and myself a little privacy.”

  The prefect nodded sharply and stood, striding quietly from the room, though Varro couldn’t help glimpsing the irritation on the man’s face as he walked past the two men standing in the centre of the room.

  “Sir?”

  He turned to his side and realised that Salonius was awaiting the order to withdraw.

  “No, Salonius. I need you to stay here.”

  Sabian glanced briefly at Catilina and then beckoned to the captain. The room suddenly seemed remarkably large and empty with only four occupants. Varro nodded at Salonius and the two soldiers approached the table. Varro fiddled with the tie on the leather wallet.

  “You remember Petrus, sir?”

  As Sabian nodded, Salonius cleared his throat.

  “Sir, if you’ll pardon the question, who is Petrus?”

  The marshal leaned forward over the desk and cradled his fingers.

  “Do you know the story of your prefect and the defence of Saravis Fork, soldier?”

  Salonius nodded respectfully. “I know the story, sir. And Petrus?”

  “Was my cousin,” Varro stated in a flat voice.

  Salonius turned and blinked in surprise as the captain faced him and continued.

  “My cousin, and the senior sergeant in Cristus’ cohort. We were the same age and both served under the marshal when Velutio ruled, along with Corda. But by the time Cristus pulled back from Saravis Fork, he’d lost three quarters of his men. Petrus had died in the siege.”

  Sabian turned his gaze to the young soldier by Varro’s side.

  “Your captain came to see me on Cristus’ return. He requested permission to take a scouting party out to the mountains to look for survivors; to look for Petrus, I suppose. I turned down his request. Cristus was already being commissioned to lead a punitive campaign.”

  He coughed and reached out his hand towards Varro.

  “I assume you have no objection to me reading this note.”

  “Of course not, marshal. There’s not actually much to it, but… well I gather you’ve heard my news?”

  Sabian let his hand fall to the table, and patted the rough wood reflectively.

  “I have. I was intending to come and see you this afternoon to talk about it, but events seem to have run away with us.”

  “Well, sir” Varro continued, “I’m fairly sure someone within the fortress is behind this and, given that, I’m doing my best to keep anything that might be remotely relevant under wraps.”

  The marshal leaned back.

  “You fear you have been poisoned by one of our own men?”

  “I have reason to believe so, sir. I’m not sure of how all this ties in yet, sir, but I’m pretty sure it does. I was wounded in battle, as you know, but the wound was inflicted using a fine imperial blade coated with poison, albeit wielded by a barbarian. The sword seems to have vanished like a morning mist, but I intend to find it. It’s the only connection I had to my enemy… until this morning.”

  Sabian nodded. “You think someone tried to kill you to prevent you receiving this?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Varro reached out and placed the package on the table.

  “Have a look, and I think you’ll agree.”

  Sabian leaned forward again and slowly unwrapped the thong, opening the wallet and smoothing out the paper flat on the wooden surface. He scanned down the brief missive. Scrawled in an almost childlike script were the words:

  Varro.

  I realise this will come as a shock to you, and you will find it hard to believe this is me, but it is true. I am alive. And I am safe. But the same is not true for you.

  I urge you. I beg you to meet with me as I have the most dangerous information to share with you. I am at the civilian settlement outside the Saravis Fork fort, in a back room of the inn.

  Tell no one, but hurry. It is vital that I see you.

  Petrus.

  Sabian looked up at Varro.

  “I see your point. I assume you intend to go?”

  The captain nodded.

  “Then I’d best send an escort” the marshal said. “Dangerous territory up there. It may be Imperial land, but far too close to the border for comfort.”

  Varro shook his head.

  “No, sir. Considering what’s happening, I’m considerably safer on my own than with anyone from the military. Salonius here can ride with me.”

  Sabian sat back for a moment and then nodded his agreement.

  “I suppose so. I assume you intend to leave quickly and quietly?”

  “Yes sir. I thought tonight, while it’s dark. We’ll need time to get supplies together, and I’ll have to go see Scortius and get some more medication. It’s three days to Saravis even at the fastest pace we can hope for, and I’m on a finite timescale.”

  He turned to Salonius.

  “I trust you’ll come along?”

  “Of course sir,” the young man straightened slightly. Varro faced the marshal again, tapping his finger on his lower lip.

  “I’ll need to speak to Corda about the sword too.”

  Sabian stood and waved his hand gently.

  “You concentrate on getting ready for the journey. I’ll speak to Corda and we’ll find your mysterious sword, Varro. And I want updates whenever something happens.”

  He bent to one side and reached into a heavily bound chest, withdrawing a small bag, which he cast onto the table. It landed with a clink and sagged to one side. Varro raised an eyebrow.

  “Around forty corona. Use it wisely. It should buy an awful lot of loyalty from the commoners en route and you can hire some couriers to apprise me of any changes or anything you think I need to know.”

  Varro reached out and grasped the heavy bag of coins, tying it to his belt for safety.

  “I am grateful for your support in this, marshal. It makes a great deal of difference having someone I trust here; there are so few at the moment.”

  Sabian smiled. “We’ve known each other a very long time Varro. You know I value good men. Now get going and sort things out. And bear in mind that I want you back here in one piece. I shall be making it absolutely clear to Scortius that he’s not to give up on you. Just because no one knows of a cure doesn’t mean there isn’t one there somewhere.”

  With a bow, Varro turned and strode from the room, with Salonius at his heel. Catilina watched them go and then turned to her father to find him looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She felt involuntary tears well up.

  “What is it, father?”

  The marshal smiled and gripped her arm reassuringly.

  “He’ll be back, my dear. And if there is a cure, be certain Scortius will find it. I shall make sure of that.”

  She smiled weakly.

  “It all sounds like a conspiracy. Murders and poisonings and messages from dead people. Not trusting your own men. That’s how you used to describe the civil war…”

  The marshal nodded sadly and stared past her at some invisible point in the air.

  “Strangely, that’s how it feels. Makes me wish Caerdin was still around to sort it out. He had that kind of corkscrew mind.
I think in too straight lines for intrigue. Fortunately, Varro’s clever and resourceful and he remembers the old days too.”

  Scortius tapped his fingers absentmindedly on his forearm as he stared at his dispensary cabinet with its shelves and compartments stuffed with strange herbs and extractions.

  Varro sat impatiently on the bench with Salonius at his side. Glancing round the doctor’s office that occupied but a small part of the fort’s hospital block, he took in the low, wooden beams, the plain whitewashed walls with a strained hint of pink, the utilitarian wooden floor and the scrolls and charts pinned to most of the open surfaces depicting strange and unpleasant visceral body parts with informative labels. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but Scortius waved a hand irritably without turning and made ‘tsk’ sounds. Finally the doctor found what he was looking for and withdrew a small muslin bag. Tipping a small quantity of powder into the mortar, he ground it into the existing mixture.

  The two visitors waited, the captain tapping his fingers on his knee irritably. Scortius returned silently to his shelves and began to peruse them once more. After what felt to Varro like an hour, the doctor located a small bottle of something oily. He held it at an angle above the bowl and watched one of the viscous seeds slide down the glass and drop into the mixture.

  “Right,” he said as he began to grind once more. “This is your last-ditch mixture.”

  With a satisfied air, he tipped the mixture in a waterproof bag and carefully tied the top off. Turning back to his visitors, he marked the bag ‘III’ with an inked stylus.

  “So,” he announced in a businesslike fashion. “The big bag with the ‘I’?”

  Varro looked down at the first bag he’d been given almost an hour ago.

  “’I’ is three times a day, every day regardless of circumstances.”

  Scortius nodded. “Conditions?”

  “Got to have eaten before hand and have something to drink afterwards.”

  “And effects?”

  Varro shifted like a scolded student.

  “Symptoms only?”

  Scortius’ jaw firmed up.

  “Not all symptoms, Varro. Three times a day and that’ll keep your mind clear. It’s purely for your mental state and your wakefulness. But I will warn you right now, the poison’s setting in deeper every day. Even with the best medicines I can give you, you’ll gradually notice some deterioration in the brain. I’ve worked out a regime that should keep you going long after you’d normally be ‘toes up’. You shouldn’t really have more than a couple of days, but you might last two weeks or more on all this.”

  “You’re such an optimistic man to be around, Scortius.”

  The doctor glared at Varro.

  “I’m a doctor, Varro, not a miracle man. If I could cure death, my son would still be around.”

  The captain sat back and sighed.

  “Alright then. The first is to keep me thinking and awake.”

  Scortius nodded and the captain handed the bag to Salonius, who carefully placed it in the saddle bag on his lap.

  “The ‘II’? Scortius prompted.

  Varro lifted the second large bag off the bench and examined it.

  “That’s for the pain. Once a day; twice if the pain starts to get too bad.”

  “Details, man!” barked Scortius. “This stuff’s here to keep you alive. You need to keep on top of it!”

  “Erm…” Varro looked blankly at the bag.

  Scortius reached down and swiped it out of his hand.

  “Every morning as you start your day’s activity. It’s very strong. If you take it and then lie around for a long time the medicine will only affect a small part of your system, but will over-medicate and you risk bringing on a whole slew of new problems. You need to be exercising once you’ve taken it so that the stuff gets pumped round your entire body. Only that way will it get everywhere it needs to be at the right concentration.”

  Varro nodded unhappily.

  “And…” the doctor went on, “if things get truly unbearable, and I mean unbearable, not if ‘it hurts’, you take a second dose sometime in the evening. And then you need to spend at least an hour doing enough to make your heart pump it round.”

  Varro nodded again.

  “And the third?” he enquired. “You’ve not told me that yet.”

  He hefted the small waterproof bag as Salonius collected the second container from Scortius and put it in the saddle bag.

  The doctor leaned back against the cabinet.

  “Important. Very important that you remember this.” He was clearly speaking to Varro, though his eyes fell on Salonius as he tapped his left index finger into his right hand to emphasise his words.”

  Varro and Salonius nodded in unison.

  “This is one of the strongest mixtures I’ve ever put together.”

  Tap.

  “That bag holds four doses only.”

  Tap.

  “So make sure you take some scale to accurately measure exactly a quarter of that.”

  Tap.

  “Don’t take it within an hour either side of your other medicines.”

  Tap.

  “Don’t drink anything but water for three hours either side of it.”

  Tap.

  “Don’t let it touch an open wound.”

  Tap.

  “And be absolutely sure to take no more than one dose within a day.”

  He finished tapping and folded his arms.

  “And you.” He glared at Salonius. “Don’t touch it. That mixture misused could kill a healthy bear, let alone a human. It’s dangerous for Varro, but then what’s he got to lose?”

  Varro stared at him but the doctor leaned over to the young guardsman.

  “If he has too much, for any reason; or if he seems to be having a reaction to it; if there’s signs of a fit or his skin gets a purple tinge to it, make sure he drinks pint after pint after pint of water. Flush him right through. Don’t let him stop drinking water until he’s pissed himself raw. Do you understand?”

  Salonius nodded and Scortius turned back to the captain.

  “Good job you’ve got this sensible lad with you. I have a feeling you’d be dead before you got to the village if he wasn’t there to look after you.

  “You haven’t asked where we’re going, Scortius? Aren’t you a little curious, given my circumstances?”

  The doctor sighed.

  “Varro, I haven’t got time to mess around. You’ve got things you need to do? Fair enough. Stick with my medication plan and you should be around long enough to do whatever it is and come back. In the meantime, I’ve got almost a hundred wounds to track and look after, some of which are life threatening, and the marshal’s sent word that he wants to see me, so I’m going to be busier than ever.”

  The captain nodded and stood gently. Reaching out, he placed his hand on Scortius’ shoulder and squeezed lightly.

  “Thank you. I will be back, hopefully within the week. Look after the men.”

  The doctor smiled sadly.

  “Don’t I always? Now get out of my hospital.”

  As Varro turned stiffly and strode through the door, the doctor grasped Salonius by the arm as he rose to follow suit, hoisting the leather bag over his shoulder. He blinked in surprise and looked up.

  “Look after him, young man. Make sure he’s careful with that medicine and make sure he gets back to me. I’ve a few ideas I need to follow up on.”

  Salonius nodded, saluted and followed his commander out into the cold yet bright afternoon sun.

  Varro tied the pouch tight and put it carefully away in the saddle bag draped across his knee once more. Using his index finger, he stirred the mug of lemon and water, mixing the powder thoroughly until fully dissolved, and then drained the contents in one long draught. He peered across at the window and then back at Salonius.

  “I think it’s time.”

  Salonius sighed gratefully. The two men had been packed and ready now for three ho
urs waiting for darkness to descend before they made to leave. Slowly he stood, squared his shoulders and stretched hard. Deferentially, he stood quietly to one side to let Varro past and the captain stood, shouldering his bags.

  “Salonius, there’s something I’ve got to say…”

  The young man raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

  “I’m not a serving captain and you’re not even serving in an official capacity at the moment. I’m relying heavily on you and you’ll likely have to rely on me. We’re not going to be in camps, among soldiers or anywhere where rank’s going to matter.”

  “Sir?” Salonius looked unsure.

  “I know it seems odd,” the captain smiled, “but I’m Varro and you’re Salonius and I think that’s enough. No ranks. You’re not a soldier right now, nor a guard or a bodyguard. You’re my travelling companion. You understand?”

  The young man nodded and grinned.

  “Got it, sir.”

  “Knock that off!” the captain grumbled.

  Still smiling, Salonius followed Varro out of the room, hefting his saddle bag over his shoulder in the same manner as the captain. The two stopped momentarily in the kitchen area to the rear of the house, where Martis stood holding out a bag of prepared food for them. Varro stopped in front of his body servant and smiled sadly.

  “This is it Martis. I’ll be gone for a week at least, so I doubt I’ll see you again.”

  The stocky man looked up at Varro and cleared his throat.

  “I do not need to rush away sir. I will await your return.”

  Varro’s smile faltered for a moment before returning with a slightly forced look.

  “I’m not going to be around much longer, Martis. You need to look for new employment. I’ve informed the fort commander that you have full control of my house in my absence. Stay as long as you need until you can secure a new position, and I’ve left a few months’ wages in a secure pouch. You know where to look.”

  Salonius was surprised to see tears in the servant’s eyes and straightened, realising he himself was close to showing far more unhappiness than was seemly. He stood quietly as Varro clasped hands with the servant and wordlessly turned, striding out of the door to the stable at the rear.