Читать книгу Journey of the Pearl - A. E. Smith - Страница 17

Adas slapped a hand to his belt, forgetting he was unarmed. He braced himself for an attack, but the figure stood and spoke. “Sir, you are injured. Do you need medical attention?”

It was Demitre, the slave trained as a medicus in Rome. He was fifty-four years old, but looked much younger due to his dyed, black, wavy hair and short-cropped beard. It was not vanity, but rather secrecy that motivated the disguise. Any aging around the eyes and mouth were shielded from casual observation by his hair and beard. He rarely revealed his true feelings. His jet-black eyes were shiny with intelligence, but the irises seemed too large for his eyes giving him a disconcerting stare. People often felt uncomfortable under his gaze, and would complain about Demitre’s disrespectful scrutiny. Valentius would angrily rebuke them. Demitre maintained a subservient manner, yet he watched for the faults and vices in others to use for his advantage.

Demitre padded closer, silent as a cat. “Centurion Longinus, I did not mean to startle you. Do you wish for me to check your injuries?” Adas hesitated, knowing Demitre would report to Valentius, but decided he might learn something as well.

Adas responded in Greek, “Fine. Come in.” Adas was surprised to find an oil lamp already burning. He shot a withering glare of reprimand at the slave.

“My master told me to put your possessions in your quarters. I left my lamp there for you.” Demitre used the lamp to light the others. He set his medical kit on the table.

Adas saw his knapsack lying on the bed. He opened it to see if his sword and dagger were undamaged. He slumped into a chair at the table, and gestured for Demitre to sit.

Demitre remained standing. “Sir, you will need to remove your armor. Let me help you.” The slave helped him out of the armor and set it on top of a wooden chest. “And your belt, Sir?”

Adas realized that when Lucius took his knapsack and weapons; he might have taken Dulcibella’s eilat stone. Before he unfastened his belt he pressed his fingers around the coin pouch. He relaxed when he felt for the eilat stone in the pouch. He unfastened the belt and hung it off the back of his chair. Demitre saw the gesture and wondered what was in the pouch.

Demitre held an oil lamp to the head wounds and inspected them. He fumbled through the vials in his kit. Adas watched without really seeing; his vision was blurred with fatigue. He couldn’t remember ever feeling more exhausted.

“Demitre, how long have you served Centurion Valentius?”

“Many years, Sir,” Demitre answered in Latin.

“Greek, if you would, Demitre. I need the practice.”

“Yes, Sir. I was a young man when I came into his possession. If you’ll put your head back, Sir, I don’t want the vinegar to get in your eye.”

Adas was about to tell him his rescuers already applied acetum, but thought better of it. Demitre poured a small amount in the gash. Adas grimaced and squeezed his left eye shut.

“I am sorry, Sir. The vinegar has a powerful sting, but it prevents infection and aids healing.” He patted the wound dry with a clean wool cloth. He then applied willow powder.

The willow stung, but Adas managed to talk. “Did you serve his family?”

“I’m sorry, Sir. The willow is unpleasant, but it also prevents infection.” He put the vial back in his kit. “You asked about my master’s family. Once his parents died, he had no family, not really. He was the youngest of the children, but they were much older and he has lost track of them. In fact, I never met them.”

Demitre put a patch of wool over the wound. He took a clean strip of linen, wrapped it around Adas’s head and tied off the bandaging. He felt the knot on the back of Adas’s head, but said nothing. He followed the same procedures for the neck injury, but did not apply bandaging.

Demitre picked up a lamp. “Please, keep your eyes straight ahead. Something I learned at the Army Medicus Schola in Rome.” He moved the lamp back and forth close to Adas’s face. “Ah, a good sign. Your eyes are equally reactive. May I remove the bandage on your hand, Sir?” Demitre didn’t wait for an answer. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and a hint of pleasure on seeing the cross. “Sir, may I ask—what caused these cuts?”

“My dagger.”

The corner of Demitre’s mouth twitched. “I’ll clean the wound, Sir. These cuts are deep. You must have a high tolerance for pain.” The vinegar burned like the sting of hornets.

“Forgive me, Sir.” The medicus firmly pushed Adas’s fingers down and pressed his own fist over them while the acid sterilized the wound. “I am sorry, Sir. I will wash away the vinegar in a few moments.”

Adas thought it was much longer than a few moments before Demitre brought the water pitcher and basin from the pedestal table to wash the cuts. Again, he apologized.

“Demitre, stop apologizing. You’re just doing your job.” Adas was surprised to see a sly smile on the man’s face, but it vanished quickly. His face was again an impassive facade.

“I’m almost done. I will apply the willow to help the vinegar. They work better together. And I will apply henbane seed for the pain.”

“No, nothing for pain.”

Demitre eyes narrowed. “Why do you refuse it? Do you doubt the quality of my medications?”

“Should I?” Adas shot back. “Have there been complaints?”

Demitre lowered his gaze. “No, Sir. Please forgive my insolence. It was inexcusable.”

Adas closed his eyes and leaned his head on his hand. Demitre quickly took a roll of bandaging from his kit. There were several rolls, some tied with white string, some black. He stuffed a black string out of sight in the kit, and wrapped Adas’s hand. He selected another vial containing opium. “Take this, Sir; it will help you sleep and ease the . . .it will help you sleep.”

“What is it?”

“Just a bit of new wine.” Demitre watched with relief as Adas drank the liquid without argument. “Sir, if you will tolerate my curiosity, may I ask why you cut a cross in your hand?” Adas could barely focus. “Sir, perhaps I should help you to bed?”

“I will answer you first.”

“Perhaps you are too tired.” The opium was affecting Adas too quickly. “Come, let me help you to your bed while you can still stand.”

“This scar is a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?” Demitre put a shoulder under Adas’s arm and helped him stand. “To refuse . . .immoral commands.” He collapsed in his bed.

“Sir, you would refuse a direct order from a superior?”

“Will not . . .execute . . .innocent man.”

“Are you speaking of Yeshua, the Nazarene?”

Adas could only manage a nod. Demitre unlaced the centurion’s caligae and pulled a blanket over him. Adas still wore his blood-stained tunic, but Demitre didn’t try to remove it. He peered into Adas’s eyes. The centurion’s pupils, despite the low light, were small, nearly pinpoints. The opium had taken effect.

The slave repacked his kit. “I know who you speak of. It’s a shame he’s dead.”

“Wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not dead. He smiled . . .today.”

“What? You are confused, Centurion. Your head injuries are worse than I thought. You executed the man yourself!”

“Yes. Split heart . . .with spear. He’s ali . . .” Adas fell asleep.

“Sir? Sir?” Demitre shook Adas by the shoulder. He cursed himself for offering the opium too soon. Valentius would want to know more about the centurion’s hallucinations. Demitre decided not to waste an opportunity. He opened Adas’s coin pouch and tapped the contents into his hand. Along with a few coins, the eilat stone dropped out. It was a common item in Judea, but evidently, the centurion valued it. The stone must be a gift from a loved one, perhaps a girlfriend. Valentius would value this information.

Demitre put the eilat stone back in the coin pouch. He picked up the body armor and cleaned off the dried blood. There was no display holder for the armor. He opened the clothes chest and carefully set the lorica musculata in with the rest of the armor and clothes. The fact Longinus kept his armor out of sight would interest Valentius. Most officers liked to stroke their egos by displaying the quality and quantity of armor they could afford.

Demitre padded to a chair and sat down. His thoughts turned to his own life and the many luxuries he once could afford. His black eyes dulled with bitterness as he thought about the event which forced him into slavery. Even though Valentius caused him to suffer, the Roman had saved his life. However, over the last few years his master had become increasingly unstable. Demitre worried that Valentius’s obsession would be his undoing.

The medicus needed to report to his master. He retrieved his medical kit and blew the lamps out. Automatically, he picked up the water pitcher and set it outside the door. A slave would refill it early the next morning. He walked down the lane between the rows of officers’ quarters and crossed the quad. Demitre paused and beheld the night sky. A bright light tore a path through the darkness. There was a faint hissing as the light changed from white to yellow, and then orange. It broke off into several separate trails of light and disappeared. Demitre stood very still, wondering what the appearance of the streaming light meant. He waited, but when nothing else happened, he padded up to his master’s door and knocked with his personal signal. The door opened and Demitre disappeared inside.