A Roman Ransom by Rosemary Rowe Read Free Book Online

hot.’ I smiled to myself, knowing that Gwellia would have made them to tempt my appetite. They are my favourites, as she is well aware.
    He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, master. My mistress did make them especially for you, but the medicus has been here and says that you must not have them after all. Only some thin gruel or broth at first, he says, because the seeds of poisoning are in you still and liquid food will help to wash them out. He’s left another of his potions for you, too.’ He crossed to the table by my bed and picked up a drinking cup. ‘He said you’d have a headache when you woke.’
    ‘He was right,’ I said, but I submitted to the drink. This one was cold and yellowish and thick and tasted just as dreadful as the last, but to do Philades justice, I did feel a little better afterwards. My brain was still full of those confounded rocks, but at least they didn’t clash together every time I moved my head.
    I propped myself up a little more. Gingerly. My head did not fall off. ‘Surely one little oatcake wouldn’t hurt?’
    Junio grinned. ‘What, waste this barley gruel your wife has made? And after all the pains I’ve taken to keep it warm for you?’ He gestured to the little pot on the hearth beside the fire, just visible where he’d heaped the embers up round the sides of it. ‘Besides, I told you what the doctor said. I would not dare to cross his will. My mistress thinks he’s halfway magical, because of what he’s done for you. Though if you ask me, I think the potions that she made herself had started the cure before he came along. You were already beginning to sleep sound again, and be less raging hot.’ As he spoke he squatted down and raked the ashes from round the pot. Then he hooked the lid off neatly with a handy stick and, using a beaker as a dipper, began to serve up the steaming contents into a wooden bowl.
    ‘Gwellia was making herbal draughts for me?’ I said, warmed by the thought of her concern, and watching all this in a kind of daze.
    ‘Master, she has done little else since you were taken ill. She must have brewed a hundred recipes. All the ancient Celtic remedies – and some Roman ones as well – but of course you couldn’t eat or drink. All we could do was bathe your lips from time to time and try to force some drips into your mouth. It was not until that physician came and showed her how to press your tongue down with a spoon that she was sure you’d swallowed anything. He got a cup of potion down you then.’
    ‘A hot one?’ I enquired, suddenly making sense of all those fiery demons in my dreams. Poor Gwellia!
    He had filled the bowl of gruel by now and was getting to his feet. ‘Up till then, every time we put water in your mouth you struggled like a landed fish and dribbled it all out. But of course once you began to drink you started to improve. So now she thinks the medicus has saved your life, and his every word must be obeyed. He said you needed gruel, and so she made you some.’ He took down a glazed pot from the shelf, and added a little honey from it to my breakfast dish. He waved the spoon at me. ‘Marcus sent this for you as well – a present from his bees.’
    He brought the spoon and basin over to the bed. I expected him to hand them both to me but he did nothing of the kind. Instead he got to his knees beside me and prepared to feed me as though I were a child.
    ‘Junio!’ I protested. But he ignored my pleas.
    ‘Doctor’s orders.’ He grinned up at me. ‘You are not permitted to exert yourself today, not even so much as to raise a spoon. I am to get you to eat as much as possible and report it to the physician afterwards. Open wide.’
    Perhaps my patron and his medicus were right. It was exhausting swallowing the food, without attempting to hold the bowl and feed myself as well. I could manage only tiny sips, although – for some reason – it tasted quite ambrosial today. In general I’m not very fond of gruel.
    ‘Tell your