Medicus by Ruth Downie

matter how careful he had been, the blame for failure always lay with the doctor.
    The rest of the urgent bench consisted of a man who had stepped on a nail and an unremarkable collection of conditions painful to the owner but mercifully palatable to the medical student.
    "Finish your notes," he ordered the observers. "I'll be back in a minute."
    The imminent arrival of Officer Priscus seemed to have had the same effect on the staff as a heat wave on a nest of ants. They had all emerged from wherever they hid during the day and were scurrying around clutching blankets and bandages and bedpans and brooms.
    The girl's room was quiet. She was sitting on the bed with her knees drawn up under her chin, apparently listening to the sounds of activity around her. Ruso glanced out into the courtyard garden. One man was busy scything the grass and another was on his knees ripping weeds out of the herb bed.
    "I need to move you," he said, automatically glancing around the room to see what possessions needed to be gathered up before realizing that she had none. Even the rags she came in with had been burned. He retrieved his comb from beneath the window and wondered if she had been trying to throw it out. Glancing at her hair, he concluded that it had sacrificed several teeth in vain.
    He leaned down and placed one arm around her shoulders, the other beneath her knees. He was acutely aware that, underneath the rough wool of the old tunic, she was naked. He was going to have to face the business of finding more clothes for her very soon.
    "Up!"
    She seemed no heavier than when he had carried her in. The matted hair rested against his cheek. He hoped he had been wrong about the head lice. He hooked one toe around the door and pulled it open, stepping out into the side corridor and pausing to crane around the corner and make sure no one was approaching.
    The hospital formed a large square around the courtyard garden, with the long admissions hall and the operating rooms on one side of the square and the wards and other rooms along the remaining three. The quickest way out was to turn right and carry the girl up toward the admissions hall. They could then escape through the side door beside the baths, which would surely be unlocked for the maintenance staff to get in and out during the day.
    He had made it about twenty feet along the corridor when an unfamiliar voice sounded in the distance. The tone sounded authoritative and it was growing louder as the owner rounded the corner behind him.
    Ruso dodged into another side corridor like the one he had just left. On either side of him were doors to isolation rooms. The voice was growing louder. " . . . and have it all scrubbed through immediately," it was saying.
    "Yes, sir!"
    "Isolation rooms," announced the voice, almost upon him now."Your responsibility, Festus Junius."
    Moments later Ruso emerged from one of the rooms, alone. At the sight of him, a tall thin officer whose face was ten years older than his hair paused in the doorway of the room opposite.
    Pulling the door closed behind him, Ruso said, " Optio Priscus, I presume?"
    "Indeed," replied the man, inclining the hair slightly toward him.
    The orderlies with him were stone-faced.
    Ruso introduced himself. "New surgeon."
    "Ah, good morning, Doctor. Welcome to the hospital. I am your administrator. We conduct a daily ward inspection so if there is anything you require . . ."
    Ruso jerked a thumb back toward the door he had just closed. "Leave this one till later, will you? The old boy's only just got off to sleep."
    A flicker of something that might have been displeasure moved the muscles of the administrator's face. Then the hair inclined toward Ruso again and the man murmured, "Of course."
    Back in the isolation room, Ruso gathered up the girl from where he had dumped her on the end of the bed. The old centurion had woken up. His eyes were wide and his chest was heaving with the effort of drawing breath to speak.
    "Wrong room," said