Chapter 13
"This is not what I looked to find," Publius said, sitting down on the edge of the newly purchased bed in the room across the courtyard from Secunda's. "Do you realise that she would sell this house if she could?" He shook his head sadly. "And I still can't figure out what's wrong with her."
Geta cleared his throat. "I know, Master."
Publius raised his head. "I wondered if you might," he said.
Geta grinned. "I've been talking to the girl - Antiope's her name. The lady is suffering from bleeding." Geta gestured towards his groin.
"Ye gods!" Publius snorted. "All women bleed from time to time. It relieves the pressure on their brains or something."
"Yes, Master, but the lady has been bleeding continuously. Nearly twelve years, according to Antiope. She's tried all the doctors, all the cures they've offered - and none of them were cheap. She's been round all the temples and shrines and none of the gods listen to her, no matter how big the offering or expensive the sacrifice "
"Well, we can at least try to fatten her up a bit," Publius said. "Did you get all those things I ordered? My mother always said that there was nothing like chicken broth for an invalid."
"Yes, Master. I wonder, however."
"What do you wonder?" Publius asked.
"Well, Claudius, the legion's doctor, always gave liver to wounded soldiers who had lost a lot of blood. He said that it replaced the blood they had lost. I wonder if it might help a woman who has lost blood?"
"Good thinking," Publius grunted and then shuddered. "It's horrible stuff, though. You have to eat it raw, don't you?"
"Yes, Master. Shall I get some?"
"You could do," Publius nodded. "No, wait. I'd better make sure that she'll eat it. No point getting something she won't touch - it's not as if my palette was craving for the stuff."
The slave girl proved to be a quite reasonable cook and set to work with enthusiasm on the materials Publius provided. Within a short time delicious smells were percolating out from the kitchen and Publius went in to Secunda's room again.
"Love, which is the dining room?"
Secunda shook her head. "I haven't got one," she said. "I sold the couches long ago."
"Fine," Publius sat down on the stool. "I'm used to eating sitting on the ground and so is Geta. You can recline decently on the bed and pretend it's a proper dining couch."
Secunda put out her hand to him. "Publius, darling, please don't be angry with me, but I can't eat very much these days. I don't know what it is, but the least little thing leaves me exhausted. If I sit up suddenly my head swims and if I try to walk or do any work I can only manage a few minutes and then I have to stop and rest. It's so frustrating," she wailed. "I haven't been outside this house once this year."
Publius moved over to sit beside her and put his arm around her shoulders.
"Antiope told Geta about your problem and he told me," he explained. "There's no need to be shy or embarrassed about a bit of blood."
"Yes, but it's not ordinary blood," Secunda protested. "It's not like cutting your finger or falling on your sword. It's menstrual blood: I'm surprised your breastplate didn't go rusty straight away." She looked up anxiously. "You didn't get any on you, did you, when you carried me?"
Publius felt his heart lurch. Everyone knew that menstrual blood was terrible stuff that tarnished metal just by being in the same room with it, that was as poisonous as toad venom and that made you unfit for the society of men or gods. His outward nonchalence by no means matched his inner turmoil.
"I don't think so." He forced himself to speak calmly. "Anyway, it doesn't matter if it did. Geta can wash my things after dinner. Tell me, how long has this been going on?"
Secunda closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. "It started about four years before Saturnus was killed. I remember it well, because he had been off on some affair against the Nabateans and I was fine then, but about a week or maybe a fortnight after he came home, I started to bleed. At first I thought it was just the normal monthly thing, come a little early, but when it went on for two weeks I realised that something was wrong."
"What did Saturnus say?" Publius asked.
"Oh, I didn't tell him then," Secunda smiled wanly. "I just went to my usual doctor, thinking that he'd prescribe leeches or some herbs - and so he did, but they didn't do me any good. He wondered if Saturnus had contracted some disease off a Nabatean woman, because there are always women hanging around an army and men do have these needs. Of course, I couldn't ask him about it."
"But surely he must have noticed something when you kept yourself apart for more than the usual period of time?" Publius protested.
"Oh, he did," Secunda opened her eyes briefly to look at Publius. "I used all the excuses I could think of - I'd made a vow, there was a feast to the women's god, I had a headache, all the usual sort of stuff, and he kept going off on patrols, so that helped to disguise the fact that I had a problem. Eventually, of course, I did have to tell him."
"What was his reaction?" Publius asked.
"Not good," Secunda said sadly. "He said he'd give me three months to get better and then he'd divorce me."
"He never!" Publius gasped.
"I was frantic," Secunda said. "I went to every doctor in Paneas and beyond; I practically lived at the Asclepion, but none of it did any good - if anything, the problem grew worse."
"Did he divorce you?" Publius asked.
"No," Secunda shook her head. "I begged him not to send me away and finally he agreed to keep me and to continue paying for the doctors, but in return I had to let him bring his mistress into the house. For the next three and a bit years that's how we lived: me alone in my room or out at the Asclepion, him and his fancy woman carrying on in the rest of the house."
"What happened to her?" Publius interrupted.
"She left the day after the news that Saturnus had been killed was brought to me. She took just about everything of value in the house - all the silver and all the ready cash - but to be honest, I was just grateful to be rid of her so cheaply. She could have tried to demand a share in the house and lands."
"What lands?" Publius raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, Saturnus was a wise man when it came to money," Secunda sighed. "I have to give him that. For years he put every penny he could into buying land and renting it out to farmers. He was a good man, Publius, even if he was a bit unsympathetic. He didn't drink or gamble and he was kind to me - well, until this wretched disease came along. Anyway, that land has been my saviour. Every six months the farmers pay the rent and I can start going round the doctors again until the money runs out."
"Perhaps you ought to try somewhere better," Publius suggested. "This is, after all, a bit of an unknown little place. They must have better doctors in Alexandria or Athens or even Rome."
Secunda shook her head. "I've had Alexandrian doctors and Greek ones, because this is not the backwater that you might think. They come here, either to bring their wisdom to a greater number of patients, or as pilgrims to the shrines. The priests know me, especially at the Asclepion, and if they learn of a doctor among the pilgrims they let me know."
"I'll bet they do," Publius growled. "And charge you for the privilege."
Secunda shrugged. "Well, of course - but it would be worth it if I could find a cure. It's not just the distasteful aspects of it, Publius; I'm used to those by now. Over the last few years I just haven't had any energy whatsoever, and I'm sure it's linked to this problem."
"Well, I still think that you ought to try actually going to Alexandria or Rome or somewhere. That's where you'll find the best doctors - and they don't go travelling around because they're too busy to leave. Secunda, my love, why don't you marry me and I'll take you to these places if I have to carry you there on my back."
Secunda stared at him and then laughed tiredly. "Oh Publius, my dear. I can't marry anyone. It's very sweet of you but it's impossible. Why, I wouldn't even have enough energy to sit up through the marriage ceremony: you'd have to stop half-way and let me have a sleep!"
"I'm serious," Publius insisted. "Marry me and I'll take you the best doctors in the world. You wouldn't have to walk: there's carts or litters or things. Why, a sea voyage might do you good." Publius hesitated for a moment, remembering his own experience on the sea. "It might," he insisted lamely.
"No," Secunda shook her head. "Even the thought of being jolted for miles makes me feel tired. It wouldn't work."
"Well, think about it," Publius said, getting off the bed to sit once more on his stool. "I can spare a week before I have to set off for Syria, so if you don't mind Geta and I will stay here with you and feed you up and look after you and you can think about it."
Secunda dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her head scarf. "You're very kind, Publius, and you're welcome to stay here, but I don't think it will make any difference. Oh, if only I could be healed of this wretched disease!"
