Nox Dormienda

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Yesterday began like most yesterdays in Londinium in December. Venutius roasted some partridge eggs for breakfast and served the stuffed figs with cheese curds. I was hungry for plain oat porridge. We ate, anyway.

There were people waiting to see me. There were always people waiting to see me, especially in December. Rheumy eyes, runny noses, aches and creaks of all descriptions-the list was long and the day was short. Bilicho made it easier by figuring out who really needed me and who just wanted a peek at the governor’s medicus. I always disappointed people who expected to meet a prodigy.

“Aulus Scaptia.”

“Pipe-Maker. Loss of appetite, losing weight, hair falling out. Looked a little pale. Legitimate.”

“Decimus Clodius Super.”

Bilicho chuckled. I looked up.

“Sorry. Just that he’s more of a Minor. Clerk at Headquarters, keeps the bank records. Wrist hurts, but make it quick. He’ll talk your ear off about how important his time is.”

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