restorative. I have one ready that I’ve prepared for you.’ He picked up the still steaming basin from the cabinet and lifted it gently to my lips.
I drew my head back, ready to refuse, but then I caught the scent. It was not, as I had feared, another of the doctor’s brews. It was a bowl of mead, hot and mixed with spice, which my slave had obviously prepared for me himself. It has always been a favourite drink of mine, and today it tasted like the nectar of the gods. I took it from his hands and drained the bowl.
Junio gave me another of his conspiratorial grins. ‘Don’t let Philades see you drinking that. You’re fortunate that he’s allowed you gruel. His patients are usually given oxymel, he says. Nothing but mixed vinegar and honey for days and days if they awake from fever. Apparently he was holding forth about his methods at the feast the other night. But obviously you were progressing well enough to make him change his mind, and you are to be moved on to a light food diet, with hydromel to drink. But I don’t think that he would approve of mead.’
I had already made a mental resolution not to swallow anything further that the doctor made for me, unless it had been tested by a poison-taster first. Marcus had promised me one, after all. However, I did not say that to Junio. He would have volunteered his services at once – and his life was as precious to me as my own.
‘Hydromel is not too bad,’ I said. ‘Honey and water mixtures I can stand. But a light food diet!’ I feigned a playful groan. ‘Snails, green vegetables and vinegar? How could anyone get well on that?’
Junio took the bowl away and laughed. ‘Well, you can have some fruit and seafood too. That’s what Celsus recommends, apparently, and Philades is a follower of his. He’s got all his prescriptions written in a scroll and he has been into the kitchens to instruct the cooks. But there is a long list of forbidden foods, I fear. No cheese, bread, poultry, meat or roots until you are safely on the mend.’
I looked at Junio. I wondered about voicing my uneasiness to him. ‘I don’t altogether trust that medicus,’ I said.
Junio clearly thought I was referring to the food. ‘I’m not surprised. I know that you hate snails. But don’t despair. There are other recommended remedies which he has in store as well, some of them a bit more interesting. He is talking about visits to the steam room here, when you are well enough. Marcus has the bath-house furnace stoked in readiness. To cleanse the blood, apparently. And even carriage rides are good, it seems. I heard him telling Marcus that it’s “passive exercise”. A little rocking will improve your health, he said, that’s why he decided to put you on the cart this afternoon and give you a little outing through the fields.’
I felt that stirring of alarm again. I had intended to complain to my patron about that uncomfortable ride, but clever Philades had got ahead of me. Of course, it was still possible that what he said was true – even I had heard of ‘rocking therapy’ – but earlier that very day he’d been concerned that I should avoid the jolt of carriages in my weakened state. I did not think he’d simply changed his mind. However, I did not wish to cause Junio alarm.
‘Well, I hope there are not too many treatments of that sort,’ I muttered. ‘That journey almost killed me. I confess that I prefer your remedy.’ I gestured to the bowl. ‘That mead has done me good. I feel stronger than I’ve done for days. And more clear-headed too. Though I don’t think our physician would much approve of it.’
Junio gave me a look of wide-eyed innocence. ‘There was no mention of spiced mead on his forbidden list, so I did as I thought fit and made you some.’ He winked at me. ‘He didn’t mention oatcakes either, I recall. Not specifically. So if I should happen to find one in my pouch . . .’ He produced one, as he spoke, and handed it to me with a grin.
I drew my head back, ready to refuse, but then I caught the scent. It was not, as I had feared, another of the doctor’s brews. It was a bowl of mead, hot and mixed with spice, which my slave had obviously prepared for me himself. It has always been a favourite drink of mine, and today it tasted like the nectar of the gods. I took it from his hands and drained the bowl.
Junio gave me another of his conspiratorial grins. ‘Don’t let Philades see you drinking that. You’re fortunate that he’s allowed you gruel. His patients are usually given oxymel, he says. Nothing but mixed vinegar and honey for days and days if they awake from fever. Apparently he was holding forth about his methods at the feast the other night. But obviously you were progressing well enough to make him change his mind, and you are to be moved on to a light food diet, with hydromel to drink. But I don’t think that he would approve of mead.’
I had already made a mental resolution not to swallow anything further that the doctor made for me, unless it had been tested by a poison-taster first. Marcus had promised me one, after all. However, I did not say that to Junio. He would have volunteered his services at once – and his life was as precious to me as my own.
‘Hydromel is not too bad,’ I said. ‘Honey and water mixtures I can stand. But a light food diet!’ I feigned a playful groan. ‘Snails, green vegetables and vinegar? How could anyone get well on that?’
Junio took the bowl away and laughed. ‘Well, you can have some fruit and seafood too. That’s what Celsus recommends, apparently, and Philades is a follower of his. He’s got all his prescriptions written in a scroll and he has been into the kitchens to instruct the cooks. But there is a long list of forbidden foods, I fear. No cheese, bread, poultry, meat or roots until you are safely on the mend.’
I looked at Junio. I wondered about voicing my uneasiness to him. ‘I don’t altogether trust that medicus,’ I said.
Junio clearly thought I was referring to the food. ‘I’m not surprised. I know that you hate snails. But don’t despair. There are other recommended remedies which he has in store as well, some of them a bit more interesting. He is talking about visits to the steam room here, when you are well enough. Marcus has the bath-house furnace stoked in readiness. To cleanse the blood, apparently. And even carriage rides are good, it seems. I heard him telling Marcus that it’s “passive exercise”. A little rocking will improve your health, he said, that’s why he decided to put you on the cart this afternoon and give you a little outing through the fields.’
I felt that stirring of alarm again. I had intended to complain to my patron about that uncomfortable ride, but clever Philades had got ahead of me. Of course, it was still possible that what he said was true – even I had heard of ‘rocking therapy’ – but earlier that very day he’d been concerned that I should avoid the jolt of carriages in my weakened state. I did not think he’d simply changed his mind. However, I did not wish to cause Junio alarm.
‘Well, I hope there are not too many treatments of that sort,’ I muttered. ‘That journey almost killed me. I confess that I prefer your remedy.’ I gestured to the bowl. ‘That mead has done me good. I feel stronger than I’ve done for days. And more clear-headed too. Though I don’t think our physician would much approve of it.’
Junio gave me a look of wide-eyed innocence. ‘There was no mention of spiced mead on his forbidden list, so I did as I thought fit and made you some.’ He winked at me. ‘He didn’t mention oatcakes either, I recall. Not specifically. So if I should happen to find one in my pouch . . .’ He produced one, as he spoke, and handed it to me with a grin.
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