“I told Your Excellency it would be no good,” said Maia.
Thorion sighed, frowning at me. “I’m sure no one else in the world has a sister like you. Very well, leave it for now. Maybe you’ll fall in love one day and change your mind. Love’s a very devil for changing minds. I only hope it isn’t too late by then.”
Maia smiled into her cup. “Charis, my dear,” she said, “have something more to eat. You haven’t been eating properly.”
“You’re thin as a fencepost,” Thorion agreed sourly. “Flat and bony. What do you do at that hospital?”
I felt a wave of relief. I’d got off quite lightly. And I’d never expected Maia’s tacit support; she’d always disapproved of my doctoring in Ephesus. I told them a bit about the hospital.
“One thing I want to know,” Thorion said, interrupting my description of the problems with drugs. “Can you tell what sex a baby’s going to be before it’s born?”
I was taken aback, and blinked for a moment. Maia was smiling again. “Hippocrates says you can tell something from the way it leans in the womb. But they mostly move around a lot, so it’s not very reliable.” Maia was still smiling, and I looked at Thorion suspiciously.
“Whose baby is this?”
“Mine,” he said proudly. “I’m hoping it’s a boy. A girl might take after you, and cause no end of trouble.”
I stared at him for a moment, wondering if he’d forgotten to tell me that he had married. But no, I would have been aware of that. This must be some mistress or concubine.
“Congratulations!” I told him. “Is the mother slave or free?”
“Oh, free,” he said happily. “She’s a baker’s daughter from Nicomedia; I met her at the law court there. I’ve given her a good settlement of property, so if I ever do get married, she’ll be all right. But I don’t intend to get married for a long time; it would be hard to part with Melissa.” He stopped, looking wonderfully contented at the thought of his concubine, forgetting for the moment about the improper behavior of his sister. “We think that the baby’s due in September,” he confided, grinning at the thought of it.
“Melissa's a sweet girl,” put in Maia. Maia was, if anything, more excited than Thorion himself at the prospect of this child. She had always been eager to have children of mine to play grandmother to, but a child of Thorion’s, even an illegitimate one, was entirely acceptable.
Inwardly I blessed the unknown Melissa. I would have had a much harder time of it with my family if it hadn’t been for her. “Well,” I said, smiling, “I hope for your sake it is a boy. If you’ll introduce me to Melissa, I’ll have a look and see if I can predict the baby’s sex, but none of the methods is really reliable. But I can probably recommend a few things to make her more comfortable, if she needs them. If you like, I’ll try to come from Novidunum and deliver the baby for you.”
Thorion grinned and nodded. “I told Melissa I’d get her either the best midwife or the best doctor in the province. It seems you’re the best doctor. And I was already thinking of calling the baby Chariton.”
I returned to Novidunum a week later. I felt utterly exhausted. Thorion and Maia on their own had been fine, after the first lecture; Thorion seemed genuinely impressed by my skill at medicine, and by my powerful connections. (“His Illustriousness the Master of the Offices thinks the world of this fellow Athanaric,” he told me. “He said his advice was as good as an edict when it came to Gothic affairs. I’m glad to make a friend of him.”) But Thorion with anyone else had me continually cringing with anxiety. He never let my proper name slip — he’d always called me Charition anyway — but he occasionally referred to me as “she.” Of course, some people do this in reference to eunuchs, but only to be rude. It wasn’t quite frequent enough that people were sure of what they heard, but it was enough to make me very nervous. Athanaric noticed the slip, and asked me privately if Thorion was “the man you mentioned.” I couldn’t think what he meant for a moment, and then I remembered my confession of the torments of desire. “Heavenly God, no,” I declared. “He’s just a very old friend.”
Athanaric looked at me thoughtfully, and I tried to look unconcerned. But I knew that he was trained to notice such things, and I wondered if now he would guess the truth. I wondered how I would feel if he did discover my secret. But he said nothing more about it. And in fact he galloped off on an “inspection of the posts” two days after the trial. Sebastianus remained in Tomis: he would stay for a month or so, sorting out supplies for his men. I was obliged to return to the hospital as soon as possible, since midsummer is a bad period for contagious diseases. But I talked with Sebastianus before I left, about Xanthos.
“Now that he’s lost his case,” I said, “you don’t need to sack him. I don’t mind him working under me, provided he doesn’t interfere with my patients.”
Sebastianus stared at me, then gave a wry smile. “Why the Christian forbearance? The man is your enemy. He wanted to have you tortured and killed. And I’ve already sacked him.”
I shrugged. I kept remembering Xanthos being pulled weeping out of the courtroom. I wondered if he even had enough money to pay his fines. “It was partly my fault,” I told Sebastianus. “I handled him badly. I supplanted him, and then I behaved arrogantly, humiliating him and abusing his methods. It’s not his fault he’s such a bad doctor; he’s not responsible for his own training. And he really did believe that I was a sorcerer and killed his friend. I don’t want him tortured because he can’t pay.”
Sebastianus laughed. “ ‘O integer vitae scelerisque pure!’ Well, if you ask it, you may have him back. I’ll send him a letter to that effect. He’s back in Novidunum now, collecting his things. But I’ll tell him that it was you who interceded for him, and he may not want to come back. I’ve seen hatred like that before. It’s a deadly poison, and if it can’t kill its object, it kills its owner. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you?” He gave me a look of real affection and wrote out the letter. I took it, mounted my horse, and rode home.
I didn’t gallop all the way — the horse wouldn’t have stood it — but I did press harder than I had on the way to Tomis, riding with Sebastianus, and I arrived at the fort around noon on the second day after leaving Tomis. As I rode through the camp, various of the soldiers cheered and waved, pleased to have me back, pleased that I’d escaped. I might be a sorcerer, but they’d rather have me for a doctor than Xanthos. I waved back, but I didn’t stop until I reached the hospital. Arbetio and Edico both came running out, grinning and shouting congratulations. I felt that I was home.
The hospital was quiet no plague cases — at least, not yet. I looked at a couple of cases who had arrived in my absence and checked on some of those who had been ill when I left. Only one had died. Arbetio and Edico had done a faultless job, as usual, and I complimented them on it. They complimented me on my teaching, and then Edico produced a flask of Chian wine. “I bought it to celebrate your acquittal,” he told me, grinning.
We took it out into the hospital garden and sat beside the well to drink it. The sun was warm; cinquefoil, gentian, and my opium poppies were flowering in the garden, and the mosquitoes weren’t too bad. I told the others something of the trial, and they laughed. “Xanthos got back three days ago,” Arbetio told me. “He was saying that you’d cast a spell on the governor. And he came round here and tried to steal half our drugs. I told him to go away or I’d report him to Valerius. He cursed horribly.”
“He was fined for bringing a frivolous charge,” I told my colleagues. “He probably needs the money. I asked Sebastianus to give him his job back.”
“What?” asked Edico, staring at me.
I explained.
Arbetio and Edico looked unhappy. “He is a dangerous man, Your Grace,” said Edico. “I would prefer it if he were far away. He is your enemy.”
“I don’t like having enemies,” I said. “I’m willing to forget the charge if he is — and surely he’ll be willing to, if he gets his job back?”
; They still looked unhappy about it, but said nothing. I finished my wine, then got up, saying that I must take my horse home and have it stabled.
At home, Sueridus and Raedagunda were as pleased to see me as Arbetio and Edico had been. Someone had told them that I was back, and they were both waiting for me in the doorway. Sueridus took the horse into the cowshed and began to rub it down.
“I put some water on to heat if you want to bathe, Master,” Raedagunda said, smiling a bit shyly. “And I made some sweet wine cakes and bought some Chian wine for you, because we had escaped the courts.”
“Bless you,” I told her. I hadn’t been aware that so many people had been studying my tastes, to buy Chian wine and get baths ready for me. I hadn’t had a proper bath the whole time I was in Tomis — I hadn’t had the privacy. And I felt very grubby from the riding. I felt grateful, at ease, myself again. In Tomis I had been walking a tightrope between Charis and Chariton; now I was on solid ground again. I smiled at Raedagunda and went into the house.
Raedagunda followed me, her smile waning. “That wicked Xanthos came here this morning,” she told me.
“What did he want?”
“He wanted to know when you were coming back.”
Perhaps he was going to beg me to intercede for him with Sebastianus. He’d swallowed his pride before. If so, I could simply hand him the letter and make peace. I liked the picture, and smiled.
“Well, tell me if he comes again. I’m willing to talk to him.” I put the letter down on the kitchen table and went into the bathhouse. It was only one room, and a small one, but it was private. Raedagunda put the water for the bath in a sink behind the oven, where it grew warm. The sink was set against the wall of the bath itself, on the other side of the kitchen wall, and you could let the hot water run in from inside the bathhouse. Raedagunda always filled an amphora with cold water from the well and left it beside the bath, so that I could mix the water for myself in privacy. The room had two doors: the entrance from the kitchen, and a back door, which Raedagunda used to empty the ditty water into the garden; I locked both. There was also a stool, a shelf for the oil and strigil, and a couple of empty amphorae standing in the corner. My towel hung over these today, and I was a bit surprised: Raedagunda usually left it against the opposite wall, where it would grow warm. But it was a hot day. I ran some hot water into the bath; I heard Raedagunda on the other side of the wall, leaving the kitchen to fetch some more water from the well. I untied my riding boots, kicked them off, threw my cloak over the spare amphorae, undid my belt, took off the horse-scented trousers, and then reached under the tunic to unfasten the corset. I checked the water and added some cold to it. Then I took off the tunic. I was just stepping into the bath when I heard a noise behind me, a gasp of astonishment. I spun around and saw Xanthos standing behind the amphorae. He had the towel which had concealed him in one hand. In the other he held a long knife.
Oh God, I thought. For a moment I was actually unable to move, paralyzed with the shock. Then I stepped back against the rim of the bath and grabbed my tunic, held it protectively in front of me. I felt quite sick.
“It’s too late for that,” whispered Xanthos. He grinned, a very slow unpleasant grin. “I already got an eyeful. I never yet heard of a eunuch where they not only cut everything off, but left a hole. You’re a lot more interesting to look at than I thought you’d be — Chariton.”
“How did you get in?” I whispered. I had to whisper; I was afraid of alerting my slaves.
“Through the back door. Your slave left it open while she prepared the bath. I was going to wait until you were in the water, and then kill you. I don’t think I will now. It would be a waste.”
“Get out,” I said, a bit more loudly. Sueridus was in the cowshed, Raedagunda had gone to the well: they would only hear a shout. “I already asked Sebastianus to reinstate you here, and he’s agreed. I’ll pay you what you like to keep this secret. You know I get money from the Goths. You can have all of it, if you’ll keep this quiet.”
“Oh, you’ll pay,” said Xanthos, still grinning. “Who are you really? One of the duke’s mistresses?”
“No. He doesn’t know. Nobody knows this. Nobody must know.”
“It would be the end of your career as fort doctor, wouldn’t it? You’d be sent back to your family in disgrace — or to your master. Are you somebody’s slave? I suppose it doesn’t matter. Put that tunic down. I want to look at you.” He pushed one of the amphorae aside with his knee and came out from behind them, then stood in front of me, staring. I stood there clutching the tunic to my breast, unable to move. He pushed the tunic aside with the point of the knife and looked at my groin, then lifted the knife slowly, collecting the folds of cloth up until the point rested at the base of my throat. I started shaking. I could feel the blood mounting to my face. “You’re even beautiful,” he said. “Thin, but the right shape. I should have realized that you were too pretty to be a eunuch. Beautiful big eyes.” He sneered. “You will pay me everything you earn from the Goths.” His voice went hard on the terms. “You will get me my job back. And you will sleep with me.”
“No.”
“Yes. What would you do if I took you right here and now? Scream? Then they’ll all know, even if I don’t kill you: they find you like this and the whole camp will know you’re a woman. That will be the end of you, won’t it?” He laughed. “By all the gods, I never dreamed this. The perfect way to put you in your place!” He pushed his hand between my thighs.
I might have reasoned with him. I might have said that I was a noblewoman, and that he would suffer horribly if the rape were discovered; after all, an executioner who had led a noblewoman convicted of adultery naked to her death was burned alive for his insolence. I might have told him that the governor was my brother, and that he could guess what would happen to a man who raped the governor’s sister. But I wasn’t sure by then whether I wanted to reason with him or whether I just wanted him dead, and I couldn’t bear for him to touch me. When Xanthos moved, so did I. I threw my tunic over his head, catching the knife in its folds, and I hooked my foot around his ankle and shoved him in the face. I was strong with desperation, and he was off guard with gloating and lust: he fell over backward, crashing to the floor with a grunt. I kicked him in the groin, then pulled the tunic off him. The knife was imbedded in its folds. I pulled it out. He rolled over onto his knees, groaning with pain — though my wild barefoot kick couldn’t have really hurt him. He looked up at me with the old basilisk stare of hatred and began to climb to his feet. I jumped onto him, knocking him down again. I put the knife into his side just under the armpit, caught the big artery that runs to the arm, twisted slightly, and took the knife out. Xanthos screamed, and his blood splashed out over me; I jumped back. He collapsed onto his face. The blood jetted out, again and again. Then it slowed. I stood there naked, trembling, the knife in my hands.
Someone was beating on the door. “Master!” came Raedagunda’s voice, then Sueridus’, shouting, “Master!”
“Yes,” I said vaguely. They stopped beating on the door and shouted questions — what had happened, was I hurt? I had to get dressed. I picked up my tunic, but it was soaked with blood. There was blood everywhere; I was covered with it. I stepped into the bath and splashed some of it off myself, then pulled my cloak on. Holding it closed in front of me, I opened the door. Sueridus and Raedagunda tumbled in; they looked at the body, and Raedagunda screamed.
“He was hiding in here,” I said. “He tried to kill me. He was hiding behind the amphorae.”
In the eyes of the camp, I was a hero. I had been acquitted on the charge of sorcerous murder, and had magnanimously interceded for my accuser. Xanthos had hated me; Xanthos had come back threatening vengeance; Xanthos, worst of all, had not attacked me openly but prepared an ambush in a cowardly fashion. I had bravely wrestled the knife away from him and killed him. Even Valerius was impressed. Sebastianus, when he heard the news, wrote a congratulatory letter and made jokes about my superior
ity to the hero Agamemnon, who hadn’t managed to escape his final, fatal bath. Xanthos, everyone agreed, had got what he deserved.
Perhaps he had. But I knew that I was guilty too. I was not sure whether I had killed him to defend myself or to preserve my secret. If I had indeed been a eunuch, Xanthos would certainly have succeeded in killing me. It would have been a simple matter to wait until I was busy washing my hair or whatever, then jump out, stab me quickly, unbolt the back door, and slip out of the camp. Vengeance and escape. Because I was a woman, he had changed his plans. Vengeance and blackmail. Rape is a good substitute for murder, less permanent but more humiliating to the victim, and he was not immune to greed. But I might have been able to talk him out of the rape. And if I had refused to be blackmailed, if I had screamed for help, it wouldn’t have ended in blood.
The whole incident was hateful to me. I never used that bathroom again, and I burned the blood-soaked tunic. Valerius had Xanthos’ body burned and the ashes thrown into the Danube, to wash his ghost far away — but I thought that it would always haunt me.
About a month after killing Xanthos, I decided to buy a new slave.
By this time my workload had eased somewhat. The Goths were long gone up the river for their crossing into Moesia, and there was still no plague among our own troops; I had little to do, and time to think about my own house. Raedagunda was now heavily pregnant, with the baby due in a couple of months, and she was unable to do a lot of the fetching of water and washing of clothes that she normally did, though she’d had very little trouble with sickness, thank God. I decided to buy a girl to help her — one about twelve years old, perhaps, who would run errands and help with the baby after it was born. I would need a larger house when the child was more than a few months old, of course, but I would be glad to get rid of the present one. I couldn’t bring myself to enter the bathhouse, and kept it locked up like a tomb.
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