He glanced in my direction and pointed a finger at her before he continued in a quiet voice.

“If Tribunus Faustus dies, we will likely pay the price for it. Do not leave him for a second. Do anything he asks of you, provided it will not do him harm, and watch his wound. We cannot risk any infection. Do you understand me, slave?”

“I will do as you ask,” she replied softly. She dropped her gaze to the ground and nodded her head in deference.

The old surgeon moved back to my side, checked the dressings once again, and nodded to himself. He withdrew his wrinkled fingers from my...