Medicus by Ruth Downie Page B

administrative arrangements."
    The administrative arrangements were impressive in their complexity: so impressive that once Ruso had spotted the underlying theme—that every decision was referred back to the hospital administrator—he stopped listening. He was wondering whether Priscus knew who was responsible for breaking into the linen closet when something caught his attention.
    "I'm sorry, what did you just say?"
    "As I was saying, a scribe could be extraordinarily useful. I think we can find a suitable man."
    Ruso frowned. "A scribe?"
    "My men aren't used to African writing, I'm afraid."
    The man had only been back for a day, and already he had found time to scrutinize the patient records. "It's the same as any other writing," said Ruso. "The dispensary's never complained."
    Priscus's head inclined in agreement. "No, they are very professional. But I took the liberty of discussing the matter with them just now and they agree that a scribe would be the best way forward. And of course, so much more convenient for you. Many of the medical staff with whom I have had the honor of serving have found it very useful. No need to keep stopping to take notes. Nothing to carry Both hands free."
    Ruso scratched his ear. "I suppose I could give it a try."
    "That's the spirit, Doctor." As Priscus moved to indicate a stack of writing tablets on one side of his desk, a reflection of his hand glided across the polished surface. "I'm sure it won't take long to copy these."
    "You're intending to rewrite all my notes?"
    "It will give your man a chance to learn what's required. He won't bother you unless there's something he can't make out."
    "Is this really necessary?"
    "It would be extremely useful for the hospital. There must be a great deal of valuable information in there."
    "I suppose so," said Ruso, realizing how neatly he had been outmaneuvered.
    "Excellent! Now . . ." Priscus leaned across the desk and lowered his voice. "Let me tell you, in confidence of course, something I heard in Viroconium. I was told on good authority that not only do the procurator's office have orders from Rome to prepare for a major audit, but it is quite possible that our new emperor may inspect the province in person."
    Ruso said, "I see," since the man was clearly waiting for him to express amazement before carrying on.
    "In the meantime," continued Priscus, "every unit is to be scrutinized. Any waste and inefficiency is to be rooted out."
    This was hardly a surprise. Hadrian was reputed to be the sort of officer much approved by poets and taxpayers: a man who marched bareheaded with his troops, wearing the same clothes and eating the same food, perpetually inspecting and commenting and suggesting improvements. The sort of leader who was either an inspiration or a pain in the backside, depending upon your point of view.
    "So naturally, Doctor," the administrator concluded, "we will need to reconcile any irregularities in the hospital books before they are opened for scrutiny."
    "Naturally," Ruso agreed. As he was wondering if Priscus really expected the emperor to read his medical records, the administrator reached down beside his desk and brought up a file. Ruso recognized the admissions log from the porter's desk.
    "On the subject of efficiency, Doctor, perhaps you could help me with this? We seem to have a duplicate entry. Back on . . ."
    Ruso gazed at the top of the administrator's head as his finger traced down the columns. As if he could read Ruso's thoughts, Priscus lifted his hand from the records and ran it lightly over his hair again as he said, "Five days before the Ides of September . . . " He glanced up.
    Ruso tried to pretend he hadn't been staring. Priscus returned his attention to the admissions log.
    "This entry says quite clearly, Female, 18-23 years. Then a word that perhaps you could help me with, then farther down the list on the same day, Female, 18-23 years again—and this time the entry states, to set broken arm."
    He's painted