Champion in Love (bxb)

CHAPTER 17. The Price of Healing

Our ancestors saw a sign of gods' favor in the hilly landscape around Fidelium beyond the protection they offered. They stood as a reminder of Rome and her destiny, pushing them to expand Fidelium and make it as glorious as Pax Romana was on the Lost Earth.

With Victor dying in the cart, the outlying hills felt more like a curse to me. I drove through their succession, then started climbing the Healers' Hill toward the temple. This early in the spring, the orchards on its slopes stood barren. The trees' skeletal branches, grabbing for the cart from the sides of the road, did nothing to comfort me.

One moment, I would hold my breath, and I wouldn't hear Victor's breathing, and I sent my donkey into the headlong gallop to get help sooner. The next moment, Victor's sharpened features would swim up in my minds' eye, and I would tighten the reins, taking every twist in the winding road at a crawl.

The last thing I wanted was to shake his soul loose. What if it flees to join the Great Hunter and Victor's clan's foremother, or wherever the barbarian souls reside after death? I didn't even ask which of the Great Hunter's wives he counted as his foremother... another thing I might never ask him about, if I rode like a madman who set his own pants on fire. The donkey brayed in delight when I slowed it down even more.

So slow I went, that by the time my cart made it to the top of the Asclepius' Hill, a litter caught up to me. Next to it, Rufius Fulgentius rode on a mule with a slightly smaller potbelly than his rider's. My boss' short legs stuck to the sides at comic angles and never touched the ground.

Were I in a laughing mood, how I would have laughed and pointed, because the sight was too absurd for japes. Alas, the hair at the nape of my neck rose instead: neither the litter, nor the slave carriers bore insignia, but I didn't need it to know whom it belonged to. Messalina Augusta hid behind its opaque curtains, I was sure of it. Only her gaze burrowed into me with such sharpness, such persistence.

So what? Let her watch, I decided. She always enjoyed watching, ever since she was sneaking around her father's villa to spy on my lover and me.

Messalina Augusta's slaves also seemed to love the pace of my climb up the Healers' Hill. Despite this road leading to an only destination, they didn't overtake me. We arrived at the crowded temple yard together: the Empress and her slaves, the mule and the donkey, Victor and me.

The cedars on the hilltop had budded with their spring cones already. Their fluffy branches shadowed the yard to bring relief to the sick eyes, unable to stand even the pale sunlight. Those unfortunate people lay everywhere, barely leaving a space to pull up my cart. They convulsed on rugs, on straw pallets, or straight on the cold, hard ground. Relatives or friends tucked threadbare blankets around the bony figures, stroked matted hair, dripped water into gaping mouths. Moans, crying and prayers filled the air. Through all this, healers stepped like storks, kneeling once they spotted a patient who needed urgent care.

One priest, a man with a young and already stern face, approached my cart, then went right past me with a sketched greeting to throw open the fold of a blood-stained cloak that covered Victor. I liked his attitude: a healthy guy was uninteresting.

Spark lit in his eyes, as his long-fingered hand ran over and under Victor's body. "Who saw him in the city?"

"Fulvia the arena surgeon. She sent us here," I said, then coughed and added, "He is Victor." It felt important to mention his name.

He clicked his tongue. Did all healers click their tongues all the time? "We have the remedies to ease his passing," the healer said.

"No!"

He didn't reply, didn't flinch, but I lowered my voice. 'his wasn't my training yard, 'or crows' sake. He was calling the shots here.

"Sorry. Fulvia said that Victor's only hope is your Sanctuary. Fulvia the arena surgeon? You know Fulvia?"