by Nick Morris
“You know more than you realize, and I need an assistant who I can trust.”
“I would very much like to assist you. My thanks.”
“You’ve earned it.”
Neo reflected on how much Clodian had learned during his brief time with him. He quickly learned that the physicians of Rome encouraged the prevention of diseases as well as the methods to treat them -public health being encouraged by the government of the time. They’d discussed the benefits of the building of Bath houses and the use of aqueducts to pipe clean water to the cities, with the larger cities boasting advanced sewage systems. Prior to operations, he’d learned to boil instruments such as scalpels, forceps, catheters and bone drills in hot water; as this seemed to reduce the risk of infection.
Clodian told him that he’d learned from his mother the value of various salves and tinctures to treat common maladies. He’d been quick to add to this knowledge. He’d learned how to use painkillers such as opium and henbane, and to use vinegar and willow extract to wash wounds and prevent the accumulation of pus. Yet, it was Clodian’s compassionate, assured manner when treating patients that impressed him more than anything else. He was able to quickly put them at their ease, reducing their fears before a procedure was carried out. He’d found himself staring at the youth when he was carrying out his work, and at first he was puzzled by this. Then one day he realized why. Clodian was very much like Diocles, his own father. Perhaps that was why he was so fond of him?
At the close of his home surgery, when they shared a cup of wine, Clodian would listen in avid silence as he told the old stories of the famous Greek physicians of antiquity and their contribution to medicine – such great men and women as Alcmaeon, Agnodice and Hippocrates. In truth he enjoyed retelling the stories as much as Clodian loved listening to them.
“I wish I could spend more time with you,” said Clodian. “Between my martial training and the time I need to spend with my father, there’s not a great deal left.”
“Your priorities are the right ones,” said Neo. “And, I’m sure your father benefits from you company.”
“I think he does. But, there is no improvement, and he gets thinner each day.”
“My offer to see him still stands. It’s not that I wish to interfere in your family affairs, and despite what the new domina says I think it would be prudent for him to see a physician, if not me, them someone else. There are one or two I could recommend.”
“I agree. I will say nothing to Flavia, but will speak again to my father. I believe I need to be frank with him regarding his failing condition. The time for tactful words is past, because I fear that his life is at stake if nothing is changed.”
“I should point out that there is no cure for some internal ailments, Clodian, and that this might sadly be the case with your father. Yet, a proper diagnosis needs to be made following a thorough examination.”
“I understand.” Clodian sighed deeply. “Now, I must take my leave, because I need to bathe, as I have an important meeting with a young woman of some beauty.”
Clodian had told him about his recent meeting with Belua, and he knew how nervous he was.
“I would suggest another cup of wine before you meet, but, not too many afterwards, because…”
“I know, Belua gave me the same advice,”Clodian replied, his face reddening. He picked up his cloak and strode to the door.
“Good luck with both your ventures,” said Neo.
“I’ll need it,” said Clodian, fleetingly glancing back.
Perched on the edge of the bed, Clodian tried to stop his hands from nervously wringing. He inspected the second floor room for the tenth time. It was large and clean. During the day-time its single window boasted an impressive southerly view of the harbour and the sweeping crescent of the bay. The bed was big enough for two people and a small table sat in the middle of the room. It was laid with fresh bread, cheese and olives, together with an amphora of wine and a small jug of water. An oil lamp cast guttered light into the dark recesses of the room, bringing the animal murals to flickering life. Two well-worn couches had been arranged around the table.
Clodian took another sip from his wine cup. He’d become steadily more nervous as the first meeting had approached. Would she think him a foolish boy, inept in his way with women? He prayed that she would be patient with him. He remembered how he felt last summer in the family bath-house, when Didia, the young maid had joined him in the pool, naked. He’d always carried out his ablutions in private and the girl’s presence had taken him by surprise. More so when she began to caress his body, his man-hood. He recalled the sweet taste of her tongue in his mouth, the firmness of her breasts, his overwhelming desire to mount her. And then the panic. He’d fled the bath-house, his man-hood standing to attention, Didia’s surprised giggling bidding him a premature farewell. He guessed afterwards that his father had arranged the encounter. Gods, many was the time since that he’d wished he’d stayed.
There was a noise outside the door and he jumped to his feet, spilling some of his wine over the front of his bleached white tunic. He tried to wipe it away with his hand, but his efforts only succeeded in smudging the blemish.
The door opened and it was Belua. Clodian saw that he wore that crooked grin again. Clodian hurriedly straightened his tunic, and then folded his hands in front of himself in an effort to hide the wine stain.
Belua stepped into room, holding the door open for a second visitor.
A slim figure entered, her face hidden by a cloak’s wide cowl.
“This is Orbiana, the young woman I spoke of,” said Belua, in his most refined voice.
Clodian held his breath, his face as hot as a furnace.
The slim figure pushed back the cowl.
Clodian had to force down his spit. The young woman’s black hair had been pinned back from her forehead, accentuating the fine lines of her nose and high forehead. Her bow shaped lips were unpainted. Hazel eyes were framed by long black lashes and had a wary look. A cleft in her chin gifted her otherwise refined features with an aspect of strength, resolve.
“Welcome, Orbiana,” said Clodian, eventually finding his tongue. “Let me take your cape and please…sit down.” He indicated one of the couches.
The young woman unfastened then handed him her cape. She was wearing a simple cotton tunic underneath. She cast her eyes to the floor. She looks nervous, and sad, he thought, but can I blame her?
“Would you like some wine?” he asked, just wanting to hear her speak.
“I would, thank you,” she replied, her voice soft but clear.
After handing her a cup, he turned to Belua to offer him a drink also. The doctore had already left.
“Is the wine to your liking?” Clodian asked, sitting on the opposite couch.
“It’s fine,” replied the young woman, her eyes focused downwards on the contents of her cup.
“It’s Falerian, a local wine that we are proud of,” said Clodian, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
She turned towards him, her eyes a little less nervous. “I’ve tasted it before…in Rome,” she replied, with a hint of bitterness perhaps. Clodian was not sure.
He was familiar with her tragic family history and he was eager to move the conversation away from the mother city.
“I understand from Belua that this is where you will continue to live.” He indicated his surroundings, before shuffling uneasily on the couch and taking another swallow of wine. “The view from the window is excellent. Come, see…”
He walked to the window and she came to stand at his side. Her head barely reached his shoulder and he realized how delicate she was.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could make out the Great Theatre shaped like a giant horseshoe, that when full seated five thousand spectators. Close by he picked out the tall pale columns of the Temple of Isis that sat alongside the dark rectangle of the Samnite Palaestra that regularly hosted athletic competitions. Beyond, the southern spread of the city
tumbled away, vague shapes in the darkness divided by wavy lines of street lamps. The illuminated areas stopped abruptly where the harbour met the sea. Far out in the blackness of the bay the solitary lights of night fishers winked at the land. The sound of laughter carried up from the street and a baby cried in the distance against the ubiquitous ticking of cicadas. Salt fresh air and the aroma of stones bleached by the sun blew in, partly sweeping away the smell of roasted goat and crushed ginger that wafted up from below.
“It’s beautiful,” the young woman agreed.
Clodian reached down to hold her hand, at the same time wondering if she would snatch it away. It was small, the skin cool. “As you are,” he said, almost without thinking. The young woman looked puzzled.
Embarrassed, he looked out into the night. “You should see it at night, when the sea is enraged. I used to watch it with my mother. I felt close to something powerful.”
“The doctore told me that your mother is dead,” the young woman ventured quietly. “Do you miss her greatly?”
“Very much,” said Clodian. He felt a flush of sadness at the memory.
“What an expressive face you have,” said the young woman, looking up at him.
“My thoughts on my sleeve, those who know me would say.”
“A virtue. The last remnant of innocence.”
“Maybe,” he said with a smile.
He led her back to the couch, and they both sat. He still held her hand.
Gods, I wish I had the right words, he chided himself, his stomach churning as he considered what to say next.
“Although Belua spoke about you,” said Orbiana, “you are different to what I imagined.”
“I hope that I have not been…disrespectful.”
“No, not at all.”
“I’m glad,” he said, relieved. “I’ve had little experience with women, and I’d planned very carefully what to say when we met. Now that you are here, my chosen words have abandoned me.” He looked away, feeling awkward.
Orbiana held his hand in both of hers. She edged closer.
“You have been very kind, and you are different in a good way.”
“This…this is difficult for me too, Orbiana.” The sound of her name felt comfortable on his lips.
“I can see that it is,” she said, wearing a small smile for the first time.
“I thought that tonight we could just talk, if that’s acceptable to you?” he suggested.
“Yes, it would.” She then hesitated a moment before asking, “What shall I call you?”
“Just Clodian, no more.”
Unbidden, she leaned forwards to kiss him lightly on the cheek.
He felt the tension slowly ease away.
Prudes clubbed the knife-blade aside with the outside of his forearm, and then cut his own blade roughly across Clodian’s bicep as he lunged in. Clodian yelped as he jumped back.
“You’re lucky the knives are blunted or you’d be finished! You must learn not to over-commit yourself when you attack.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t concentrating,” said Clodian, red-faced. He rubbed the welt on his arm where he’d been raked by the pugio.
Prudes shook his head. “Do you remember the rules I taught you when facing a man with a knife?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, then.”
“If unarmed and you face a man with a knife – run. A knife in a closed space is more dangerous that the sword. When armed and in a knife fight accept the fact that you will be cut. Keep good balance and look to attack your opponent’s knife arm on its underside, where it’s most vulnerable.” He hesitated before continuing. “Use any tactic that will help you...and don’t lose focus for a moment. When your knife enters your opponent’s body, twist the blade as it will ensure that there will be greater damage and the wound will be fatal…later if not immediately.” He scratched the side of his head, before adding, “That’s it.”
“Well, your memory’s fine.” Prudes took guard position and then instructed. “Again, attack!”
Clodian went into a crouch; his pugio held before him, covering the centre line of his body as taught, his elbow slightly bent. He edged forward, then feinted to Prudes’s left side, seeking an opening, but now with more caution. Good lad, acknowledged Prudes.
Clodian attacked in a flurry of good strong slashes and stabs. He was fast and committed. He stepped back to get his breath.
“Better, but let’s make it easier for you.” Prudes slowly bent down and never taking his eyes off Clodian placed his pugio on the ground.”
“Attack!” was the command.
“But, you’re unarmed.”
“Do not make that assumption, and believe me when I say you are the one in danger here. Are you deaf? Attack I say, if you have the nerve!”
Clodian darted in, his blade spearing forwards towards Prudes’ belly, the disembowelling cut.
Prudes’ hand punched forwards, opening, the dirt and sand he’d collected when laying his knife down splattering into Clodian’s face and eyes. Clodian gasped, blinded, his empty hand streaking to his eyes.
Prudes struck Clodian’s wrist with the edge of his hand, the pugio dropping to the ground. He walked briskly to a nearby jug of water.
“Hands away, head up and open your eyes,” he instructed. He proceeded to wash out the young noble’s eyes.
Clodian blinked rapidly, his vision clearing. Prudes slapped his hands down, telling him to flush them with more water and not to rub them.
Once completed, Clodian accused, “That was unfair.”
“Everything is fair in a fight for one’s life, and don’t forget it. Remember that the seemingly helpless opponent is often the most desperate and dangerous. You must not let your guard down for a second, nor let your mind wander during training, because your life will one day depend on the discipline forged here.”
“You’re right, as usual,” said Clodian, his head dropping a little.
Prudes cleared his throat. “It’s probably this young woman of yours, the one I’ve heard is very pretty.”
“I think so,” said Clodian, looking up.
Prudes was now smiling. “You may think that I’m too hard on you, but it’s for a good reason. You must try your best to keep love matters in the bed-chamber and survival matters on the training ground.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Clodian, looking brighter.
Draping his arm around the young noble’s shoulders, Prudes guided him towards the bathing rooms. “Training’s now officially ended, so you must tell me about this young woman that Belua’s so impressed with.”
Chapter 17
FRUIT OF THE SERPENT
The garden smelled delightful, a marked contrast to the effluvium of the bed-chamber. Flavia hoped that the honey’s work would soon be complete and then she’d no longer have to suffer the ordeal of being in her husband’s presence.
Eyes closed she enjoyed the feel of Akana brushing her hair. She felt relaxed, the sun’s rays pleasantly warm on her skin. Her mouth felt dry and she reached up from her wicker seat to pluck a ripe damson from an over-reaching branch. She bit into it, the sweet juice wetting her tongue. She finished it quickly, flicking the stone into the nearest fountain. She used the hem of Akana’s thin dress to wipe her mouth clean. She closed her eyes again.
“I need to speak to you,” Clodian’s voice disturbed her reverie. She’d not heard him approach.
“As always, I’m at your service Clodian.”
“My father deteriorates more with each passing day.” Flavia saw the dark pouches under his eyes, proof that he’d not been sleeping well.
“We are doing everything we can, but, I agree that he shows no improvement.”
“No improvement!” Clodian raised his voice, a rare occurrence. “There’s barely any flesh left on him, and he’s awake for only moments. And he can hardly tolerate a mouthful of that honey that’s been fed to him.”
“It’s what he likes,” stated Flavia matter of factly.
“My father liked many things, and I mean to try him with other foods that will be gentle on his stomach.”
“As you wish,” agreed Flavia, thinking, it’s too late for that, boy.
“I will also ask Neo to see him. "
“The Greek?”
“Yes.”
“Trust me, there is nothing that he could recommend that Akana has not tried. “
“It’s not something that is open to debate. I will ask him and he will come.”
There was steel in his eyes when he spoke.
So the young lion is showing his teeth, she admonished. No matter, the Greek will not change things.
Her step-son was clearly maturing. She’d noticed insidious changes since he’d been under the tutelage of the doctore. Having always regarding him as a weakling she now recognised resolve beneath that mellow façade. He talked more assertively and there was a subtle confidence in the way he carried himself. In fact, there’d been times when she’d seen his father in him: evidenced when he was committed to a chosen task and in the firm set to his jaw when he’d made up his mind. Thankfully, he’d not inherited his father’s ruthlessness when it came to dealing with those who opposed him. Despite these changes he’d not stand in her way – the young lion was no match for the tiger. He’d also made new friends; but the feeble Greek and the crippled swordsman would pose no threat. Now the doctore was a different proposition. He was a fighter and survivor, with the reputation in the city as a man not to be crossed. But, she had no doubt that he could be dealt with if he stood in her way.
“You must do what you think is best, and with my blessing,” said Flavia, shaping one of her most empathetic expressions.
“Very well, then I’ll bid you a good day,” responded Clodian, before briskly turning about.
“Take care,” she replied in her most gentle voice, watching his back as he headed towards the house.
“His efforts will be in vain,” stated Akana, when he was out of ear-shot.
“I know,” acknowledged Flavia. “And, my step-son will soon have more than his father to worry about.” She took Akana’s smooth hand and placed her middle finger into her mouth, sucking it gently, rolling her tongue around its length. Akana stopped her brushing and began stroking the back of her neck, the sensitive place that sent a tingling right through her, made her wet.
