The Emperor Series Books 1-4. Conn Iggulden
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to drive in the iron blade.
‘This bow will kill you, boy. Put the sword down.’
Renius looked Marcus in the eyes, seeing madness there for a moment. He knew the lad would kill him and then the light was gone and control had come back.
Even with the heat of his own blood warming his limbs, the yard seemed cold to the old man as he watched Marcus glide backwards out of range and then turn to look at the newcomer. Renius had rarely been so certain of his own death to come.
There was a bow, with a glinting arrowhead. An old man, older than Renius, held the bow without a shiver of muscle, despite the obvious heft of the draw. He wore a rough brown robe and a smile that stretched over only a few teeth.
‘No one has to die here today. I would know. Put the weapon away and let me summon doctors and cool drinks for you.’
Reality came back to Marcus in a rush. The gladius dropped from his hand as he spoke.
‘Gaius, my friend, is injured. He may die. He needs help.’
Renius sank onto one knee, unable to stand. His sword fell from nerveless fingers and the red stain widened around him as his head bowed. Marcus walked past him without a downward glance, over to where Gaius lay.
‘His appendix has been ruptured, I see,’ the old man said over his shoulder.
‘Then he is dead. When the appendix swells, it is always fatal. Our doctors cannot remove the swollen thing.’
‘I have done it, once before. Summon the slaves of the house to bear this boy inside. Fetch me bandages and heated water.’
‘Are you a healer?’ Marcus asked, searching the man's eyes for hope.
‘I have picked up a few things on my travels. It is not over yet.’ Their eyes met.
Marcus looked away, nodding to himself. He trusted the stranger, but could not have said why.
Renius slid onto his back, his chest barely moving. He looked like what he was, a frail old brown stick of a man, made hard but brittle in the Roman sun. As Marcus' gaze fell on him, he tried to rise, shuddering with weakness.
Marcus felt a hand press down on his shoulder, interrupting his rage as it grew again. Tubruk stood beside him, his face black with anger. Marcus could feel the ex-gladiator's hand shake slightly.
‘Relax, boy. There'll be no more fighting. I have sent for Lucius and your mother's doctor.’
‘You saw?’ Marcus stammered.
Tubruk tightened his grip.
‘The end of it. I hoped you would kill him,’ he said grimly, looking over to where Renius bled. Tubruk's expression was hard as he turned back to the newcomer.
‘Who are you, ancient? A poacher? This is a private estate.’
The old man stood slowly and met Tubruk's eyes.
‘Just a traveller, a wanderer,’ he said.
‘Will he die?’ Marcus interrupted.
‘Not today, I think,’ the old man replied. ‘It would not be right after I have arrived – am I not a guest of the house now?’
Marcus blinked in confusion, trying to weigh the reasonable sound of the words with the still swirling pain and rage inside him.
‘I don't even know your name,’ he said.
‘I am Cabera,’ the old man said, softly. ‘Peace now. I will help you.’
Gaius lifted into consciousness, woken by angry voices in the room. His head pounded and he felt weak in every bone. Pain from below his waist heaved in great waves, with answering throbs at pulse points on his body. His mouth was dry and he could not speak or keep his eyes open. The darkness was soft and red and he tried to go back under, not yet willing to join the conscious struggle again.
‘I have removed the perforated appendix, and tied off the severed vessels. He has lost a great deal of blood, which will take time to be replenished, but he is young and strong.’ A stranger's voice – one of the estate doctors? Gaius didn't know or care. As long as he wasn't going to die, they should just leave him alone to get well.
‘My wife's doctor says you are a charlatan.’ His father's voice, no give in it.
‘He would not operate on such a wound – so you have lost nothing, yes? I have removed the appendix once before, it is not a fatal operation. The only problem is the onset of fever, which he must fight on his own.’
‘I was taught that it was always fatal. The appendix swells and bursts. It cannot be removed as you might cut off a finger.’ His father sounded tired, Gaius thought.
‘Nevertheless, I have done so. I have also bandaged the older man. He too will recover, although he will never fight again, with the damage to his left shoulder. All will live here. You should sleep.’
Gaius heard footsteps cross his room and felt the warm, dry skin of his father's palm on his damp forehead.
‘He is my only child; how can I sleep, Cabera? Would you sleep if it was your child?’
‘I would sleep like a baby. We have done all that we can. I will continue to watch over him, but you must get your rest.’ The other voice seemed kind, but not the rounded tones of the physicians that tended his mother. There was a trace of a strange accent, a mellifluous rhythm as he spoke.
Gaius sank into sleep again as if he held a dark weight on his chest. The voices continued on the edge of hearing, slipping in and out of fever dreams.
‘Why have you not closed the wound with stitches? I've seen a lot of battle wounds, but we close them and bind them …’
‘This is why the Greek dislikes my methods. The wound must have a drain for the pus that will fill it as the fever strengthens. If I closed it tight, the pus would have nowhere to go and poison his flesh. Then he would surely die, as most do. This could save him.’
‘If he dies, I will cut your own appendix out myself.’
There was a cackle and a few words in a strange language that echoed in Gaius' dreams.
‘You would have a job finding it. Here is the scar from when my father removed mine many years ago – with the drain.’
Gaius' father spoke with finality: ‘I will trust your judgement then. You have my thanks and more if he lives.’
Gaius woke as a cool hand touched his forehead. He looked into blue eyes, bright in skin the colour of walnut wood.
‘My name is Cabera, Gaius. It is good to meet you at last and at such a moment in your life. I have been travelling for thousands of your miles. It is enough to make me believe in the gods to have arrived here when I was needed. No?’
Gaius couldn't respond. His tongue was thick and solid in his mouth. As if reading his thoughts, the old man reached over and brought a shallow bowl of water to his lips.
‘Drink a little. The fever is burning the moisture from your body.’
The few drops slid into his mouth and loosened the gummy saliva that had gathered there. Gaius coughed and his eyes closed again. Cabera looked down at the boy and sighed for a moment. He checked that there was no one around and then placed his bony old hands over the wound, around the thin wood tube that still dribbled sluggish fluid.
A warmth came from his hands that Gaius could feel even in his dreams. He felt tendrils of heat spread up into his chest and settle into his lungs, clearing away fluid.
The heat built until it was almost painful and then Cabera took his hands away and sat still, his breathing suddenly harsh and broken.
Gaius