The Curse-Maker

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I don’t remember how I got home. I squeezed her arm, made sure she was still there. “You all right?”

“I’m not the one who talked to Papirius. Ardur-there’s nothing they can-”

“I’m tired. Particularly of threats. We’re close, Gwyna. Otherwise they wouldn’t give a shit.” I fell on the couch. “Lovely little town, Aquae Sulis. With just a touch of leprosy.”

She sat beside me. “It’s late. I think we should go to sleep.”

My muscles uncoiled and stretched, agreeing with her. I overruled them. “You go. I should check on Draco.”

She stood up. “Are you sure? Can’t it wait until-”

I held my hand out to her, and she pretended to pull me up. “Until I can eat a leisurely breakfast, and take a leisurely stroll to survey the estate, and stop by the flower beds to gather some petals, and-”

“Go on, Ardur.” She held her face up for me to kiss, and I started with it and ended elsewhere. She smoothed my hair off my forehead and traced a finger down my cheek.

“Don’t be too long,” she whispered. And walked out of the room like an invitation.

Several of the servants were guarding the door. They saluted me as I walked by. Arcturus. General of slaves and breaker of curses. A man who was tired of running, and tired of wondering, and just plain goddamn tired.

The hired thugs were sleeping. They snored and smacked, stretching their legs in the cramped room, curled on the floor as if it were a featherbed. A gift, the last sleep. Draco was still awake, though there were three slaves standing watch.

“Anything?”

He shook his head. “They’re from out of town. Near Iscalis. Some worked the mine, some he just picked up.”

“Did they give a description?”

“Small man, Roman, educated. Not from Britannia. That’s all they knew.” He looked embarrassed, as if he should’ve found out where their second cousins were born.

“Thanks, Draco. One thing-ask if they heard about our visit to the mine. If they did, make sure they make a statement of that fact to the soldiers.”

His eyebrows wrinkled in puzzlement. “Yes-but-”

“Someone’s trying to set me up-like I thought they would.”

Bewilderment deepened the lines in his forehead and made him look sinister in the flickering orange light. I patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Draco. You’ve been magnificent. There’s no one I’d rather have with me in a fight.”

His smile lit the room better than the lamp, and I turned to leave. “Send someone to wake me when the soldiers arrive.”

I stood outside the villa, looking at the violet-black sky. The air was fresh and clean, like the magical water. I should break the pipes, flood the town, let the waters wash away the evil.

The faint whirr of bat wings came to rest in a tree somewhere. I felt old. I liked my wounds clean and my crooks obvious. I liked murderers who looked like monsters, and decay and corruption to stink as it oozed. But nothing in this yellow-gray town was what it seemed, nothing was straight, nothing was clear. Except for the water.

I held out a palm to catch the soft rain. It’s why I was here, why everyone was here; it was the alpha and omega of this place. The waters of Sulis. I had to go back to the beginning. Back to Bibax.

* * *

She was already asleep and didn’t wake up when Lineus came to get me before dawn. The legionaries wanted to know exactly what happened, and they wanted to hear it from someone other than a recent freedman.

I yawned my way through the story, making it sound less dramatic. I told them about the leg wound in case it made identification easier, though from the condition of their uniforms, these men weren’t exactly vigiles caliber. Small detachment, filling time before retirement. Nothing much happens around here, they told me. Especially if you don’t look.

They took the mercenaries away. The bright spot for them was that maybe the soldiers would be too lazy and out of shape to torture them properly. One of them remembered my visit. His friend-the one who hit me-quit for parts unknown. The soldiers listened, writing it all down on a bark book.

The legionaries hauled them into a wagon, and they cried and pleaded, the leather thongs cutting into their wrists until they bled. Desperation is always pathetic. But the same men would’ve been happy to kill me, loot the villa, and rape my wife. They were lucky. They’d get what they deserved. So few people do.

I went back to bed, the squeaking sound of the wagon wheels revolving in my head. I kissed Gwyna, and she turned to nestle against me, still asleep.

It was well past the first hour when we woke. We yawned at each other while we dressed, then stumbled into the triclinium for breakfast. The cook was all smiles this morning. He even boiled chicken eggs and made the oats just the way I like them. We were enjoying an illusion of normality when Lineus appeared.

I groaned, and Gwyna’s egg froze on its way to her mouth. “Who is it? Philo? Papirius? Why can’t they just let me-”

“I beg your pardon, Dominus, but the visitor has never been here before. He needs your help.”

I looked at Gwyna. “That’s what they all say. And before you can-”

“He’s a little boy, sir.”

The only little boy I knew was Gywna’s brother, but he was safely in Londinium with Bilicho. She’d reached over to grip my arm. Her face was pale. “Show him in, Lineus-immediately.”

I took her hand. “It’s not Hefin. It can’t be.”

A ragged boy about eleven years old was pushed into the room by one of the slaves. He was staring at the ceiling with his mouth open, his feet filthy. The side of his face was red and swollen.

“Aeron?”

My voice made him jump. He started to back out of the room into the ample stomach of Lineus, who propelled him forward again. I stood up. So did Gwyna.

“Aeron-let me take a look at you.”

His eyes wavered from one to the other of us, and he swallowed. Then they fell on the food and lit up with the fever of the hungry. Gwyna brushed his hair from his forehead. He flinched, then looked at her with a shy smile, and went back to gazing at the food.

She said: “Sit down, Aeron. Eat breakfast first, and then tell Arcturus what happened.”

She coaxed him to a chair, and while he ate I gently felt along his cheekbone. He’d been hit. Hit hard.

He wasn’t shy about devouring eggs, and we called Priscus for more. He couldn’t chew so well on the left side. Gwyna watched him, a fond look on her face. We met each other’s eyes over his head.

I went to get my tools and a basin of water from the kitchen. I ran a sponge down his cheek, pulling his hair to the side. His ear had been clubbed. He was quiet.

“This might hurt, son. I’ve got to check for broken bones.”

Gwyna gave him an encouraging smile and held his hands tightly while I felt all over the left side of his face. Nothing broken.

I took out some valerian root. Not as fresh as I’d like, but it would have to do. I cut off a section and wrapped it up in a chamomile leaf and gave it to him.

“This is medicine to help with the pain. You cut this root into five slices-about this thick. Then take it and this leaf, and put it in some wine-not too much-mixed with hot water. Then drink it before bed. Can you remember that?”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell me who hit you.”

He flinched again. “That’s not really why I came.”

“It’s reason enough. Who did this to you?”

He looked at the floor. It wasn’t in the boy to whine or complain, and he didn’t want to seem less tough than he was. I knew the type.

“Does it have something to do with what I asked you? About keeping your eyes open around the cubicles?”

He looked up and his eyes answered for him.

Gwyna leaned forward, her voice tender but urgent. “Won’t you tell us, Aeron? It will help Ardur.”

He bit his lip, then blurted it out. “It was her. The big woman, the ugly one with the daughter.”

Could only be Materna. She’d be ugly to a blind man. “Why did she hit you?”

“Because-because I found something. A note. She left it in the cubicle, and I thought it was an accident. Then when I ran after her with it, she-she took it from me and kn-knocked me down and told me-told me not to tell anyone.” His eyes roamed back and forth between us. “Then I thought of you, and what you said-and I thought-”

“You thought right. You’re a good lad. Now-what did it say?”

He wrinkled his brow. “I don’t read so good, but I wrote down the letters. Here.”

He dug around in a fold of the tunic that didn’t have a hole and pulled out a scrap of tattered bark with writing on the back. He grinned, lopsided. “Somebody left it. One of the depilators told me it was a love letter. I wrote what her note said over it.”

It was hard to make out, and Gwyna sat next to me so we could both try.

“This looks like-finis maybe?”

“Yeah-Finis est. Then-illos-or maybe istos-and I think it says-caede.

We looked at each other. Aeron’s face was eager. “It is important? I know what ‘finis’ means-the end-but what about-”

I looked at him. The boy was old enough and poor enough to understand evil. “It says-‘It’s over. Kill them.’ ”

* * *

We had one of the slaves walk him home with ten denarii and two bottles of the best healing wine in Agricola’s cellar. It was enough money to quit working at the baths for a while, provided his mother and father didn’t drink it away.

Gwyna said: “Materna. I felt it. All along I felt it. But the proof, Ardur-how will we get the proof?”

“Without getting killed? I don’t know. The mine man is gone-he won’t be back-and he’s the only one who could identify her as the Aquae Sulis connection. I figure he sent word to Materna they were closing down. Maybe for her to handle any residual problems-like us. He wasn’t here to kill us that night. Just scare the hell out of us. He knew his bull mastiff was on the case.”

“Then why did they fire at you? And the mercenaries-”

“Because I stabbed him. I made the first move. I didn’t like the words in his mouth.”

She leaned forward. “I can take care of myself. I want you to know that.”

“I do know it. That’s not the point.”

We studied each other for a few moments. “All right,” she said grudgingly. “So then what?”

“That’s just it. The missing piece. Materna was leaving that note for someone else. A man.”

“Why a man?”

“Because only a man could’ve strangled Bibax and Faro.”

“But she’s big-and I’m sure she’s strong-”

“Materna is guilty of ordering murder, I’m sure, but she’s not physically capable of carrying it out-at least not that kind. Faro was quick, and muscled for his size. There’s no way she could’ve strangled him.”

“So she was leaving the note for a man. He’d know to go to a particular cubicle-”

“She always uses the same one, that’s what Aeron said-”

“-and he’d be in line-one of the early crowd. Unless he had a slave he could send in to reserve it for him-”

“-which is probably the case-”

“-and then he’d read it, and then…”

I let it dangle. “Then he’d do something about it. Exactly.”

We looked at each other again.

She took a deep breath. “Well, let’s go to town and see who tries to murder us.”

* * *

It took a couple of hours to prepare. We couldn’t trust any food or drinks not from our kitchen. Thank God the slaves were loyal.

Draco woke up late, and I told him what happened and asked him to go with Gwyna. She protested, not too much. She was scared. She’d been the focus of Materna’s bile, and she’d be in the same building, at the same time. If I knew Materna-she would want to watch Gwyna die.

I threw the thought against a wall. It made a small red splat of fear and slowly oozed down to the floor.

Materna, queen of the maggots, empress of the spiders. She’d leave a trail of slime and putrescence in her wake. All we had to do was follow it. Without getting killed.

I kept to my original plan. Start with Bibax. Go to where he lived. On the way, ask a few questions at the temple.

Gwyna and Draco left before I did. We kissed each other with a bit of desperation. I could feel her heart beating.

Trust wasn’t in my upbringing. I didn’t watch comedies, and I didn’t believe in happy endings. Watching your mother die can do that to you. So I figured I’d walk along the cruel streets of Aquae Sulis, my hands ready and my mouth mumbling a few prayers to the goddess.

I took Ligur with me. When we reached the foot of the hill, I sent him on ahead. Heavy footsteps always choked ideas. Gwyna would be mad at me, but that wasn’t exactly a new sensation.

Natta was standing outside his shop. He was leaning on a cane, stooped over more than usual. He didn’t see me at first; then a smile cracked his leathery face.

“Hello, my friend. More jewelry today?”

“Not today. How’s Buteo? His cough better?”

He was staring down the hill toward the town and spoke as though he couldn’t hear me.

“He will never be better.” His tone was final, and almost without pity.

“It didn’t sound that-listen, I know he wants to see Philo, but-”

Awareness flooded his face, and he smiled again. “Do not pay attention to an old man and his rambles. Buteo and I-we had a small disagreement. That is all. Some things-some things are best left wrapped. Hidden. Hidden and forgotten, even when you do not think you can forget. But he is a young man-like you-and disagrees.”

My mouth was a little dry. Maybe Buteo and I were alike in more than age. I put my hand on Natta’s arm.

“Listen-I’m not sure how to say this-but I think you’ll understand. There’s evil in Aquae Sulis, and it’s getting worse. There have been threats. Threats against me-and my wife.”

His eyes narrowed until the thick puffs of skin were all I could see. “Someone-someone has threatened your beautiful lady? No. No. That is wrong. It cannot be permitted.”

“Look, if Buteo knows anything-anything that could help-”

“I will tell him, Arcturus. I will tell him. Now, go-go help your lady. Protect her. Leave an old man to his thoughts.”

He hobbled back to the shadows, his stick dragging against the yellow stone. I stared after him, and waited, but all I heard was the wind, and the skittering of a dry oak leaf as it was blown along the path.

* * *

The rain cleaned the surface scum from the marketplace, not its foulest residue. Desperation called itself hope and tarted itself up in bottles of piss and vinegar, still hawking, still promising. Youth, beauty, health, love-sorry, can’t promise money, unless you use this to kill your aunt.

I looked around. I felt like I’d lived here all my life.

On the way to the temple, I checked the stalls selling eye ointments. Most of them would only blind you temporarily. All of them stank, and any of them could’ve been used to kill Calpurnius.

A few booths, far in the back and huddled in the shadow of the temple, offered dried aconitum root, if you knew the right way to ask. I did. Tell them you’re going away. To a place with a lot of scorpions, and you need something for the sting. Then when they show it to you, under the plank of mildewed wood, you pay them, and pay them well. Then they forget your face, and you forget you just bought deadly poison. Forget, that is, until you need it.

So anybody in Aquae Sulis-anybody at all, with the cash-could buy aconitum. Bibax and his partner-probably ordered by Materna, for reasons I couldn’t figure out yet-killed Dewi with it. Ultor-or a phony Ultor-killed Calpurnius.

I was staring at the sickly yellow of the sunshine on the temple wall when I heard the whoosh of a long, old-fashioned robe and looked up to see old Memor walk by. I hadn’t seen him since the first dinner with Grattius. I was glad he wasn’t dead.

“Memor-Memor, wait.” I ran to catch up to him. For an old man, he could move fast.

“Can I help you with something?” His pale blue-white eyes peered closer.

“It’s Arcturus, Memor. The doctor. The one who’s trying to solve the murders.”

“What? You’re still here, young man? Why haven’t you gone home-can’t you find the villain, and have done with it?”

“There are too many. That’s one problem.”

He looked as though he could suddenly see me. “Yes-I told you so once. The curse. The curse on Aquae Sulis.”

He made a sign against the evil eye and turned to leave in a hurry.

“Wait-I want to ask you something.”

He paused, his back still to me, his creaky voice wary. “What do you want? I’ve told you what you need to know.”

I put my hands on his shoulders and turned him around to face me. “You’re a haruspex. Probably one of the few in Britannia-we don’t get much call for your gift in the North.”

“That is true.”

“In your professional opinion … is the source of the evil here-in the temple?”

His shrunken body seemed to grow in height. Or maybe I’d bent too close to the oculist creams. “You know your stories, boy. Think of the Hydra.”

“You mean all the different-”

“I mean one body. Many heads, heads that grow back, but with one body. It makes the curse grow. It is the curse.”

He held out a withered arm and lightly brushed my shoulder. “Memory lives longer than men do, and it feeds both love and hate. Until sometimes-sometimes-they become one.”

He hobbled away quickly, leaving me with a headache. Never ask a haruspex a direct question. All you get is lines lifted from the Sibylline books, and no smoking tripod to help you figure out what the hell they mean.

I rubbed my forehead. Love and hate. Memory. Feeding on a nice diet of bile mixed with greed and apathy. The mine was crooked. So what? The mine was money. Bring it into Aquae Sulis, build another bath, take some free lead. Turn a blind eye. They’re easy to come by-just buy some of this ointment.

I shook my head and walked on. I wasn’t there yet.