The Curse-Maker

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Gwyna was where I’d left her, with Ligur and Quilla. We walked home. She told me what happened.

Materna died as she lived-without a gentle thought, without mercy, pain her only companion. Except this time it was her own.

Her heart beat fast enough to echo against the stone. She burned but couldn’t sweat, opened eyes that couldn’t see. Lost the power of voice, her massive body helpless, limbs convulsed and thrashing. Unconciousness a gift she probably didn’t deserve. Materna wasn’t merely murdered. She was tortured along the way.

“What about Sulpicia? Did she-”

“Sulpicia snuck a taste of Materna’s wine, but only a drink. Said it was too sweet.”

The light was weak and pale. Natta’s shop was closed. Silence followed us home. She sent the servants ahead of us and turned to me, her eyes roaming my face.

“Ardur-I’m glad she’s dead. She was an evil thing. Not even human.”

I took a deep breath, couldn’t find any air. “As human as evil always is. Human and living. Inside all of us.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “The curse on Aquae Sulis is still alive, Gwyna. It won’t be buried with Materna.”

She stared at me. “You know something.”

I looked past her. “Let’s just say I’ve figured out a few things.”

Her voice was the first soft thing I’d felt since morning. “Do you-do you need time by yourself?”

I held her fingers to my lips to kiss them. “I’ll be in as soon as I can.”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek, then hurried up the hill. I watched until she was a small white speck, opening a door, disappearing inside to safety.

I looked around. I was standing near a blackthorn tree-the same tree where a wagon, two people, and a dead man waited one night. I put my hand on the gnarled trunk. The bark was rough and harsh, like it needed to be. Like I needed to be. I closed my eyes.

Strychnos killed Materna, almost killed Sulpicia. In her dreams, Materna saw Faro. She was ordering a mask to be nailed into his skull.

Poison killed Calpurnius, too: aconitum. He thought he’d joined the oldest business in the world, but he couldn’t afford the buy-in price.

Aconitum could be bought for a whisper and a wink if you had enough money, and it was offered for sale with the bottles of piss and oil and the rough-cut wooden breasts. Everything was for sale in Aquae Sulis.

Poison killed Dewi, too. A simpleton everyone tolerated, and most liked, and somebody murdered.

I leaned away from the tree trunk and walked around it, careful not to step on the grasping, gnarled roots.

Dewi reminded me of Aeron, and how much he was like Hefin. Age-mates. Age-mates and their special bond. A bond of memory.

The crickets were starting, a comforting sound. The wind gusted through, cool against my face, while a knot of birds expanded and contracted, black against the darkening sky, until they chose a tree for the evening and alighted, taking shelter from the dark.

Memory. Memory played the starring role, in this and every act. The food of love and the goad of hate, and in Aquae Sulis it played both parts.

I wondered who would remember Sestius’s aunt, or Sulpicia’s husband. Old and querulous and sick, hard to live with, too harsh and stern to understand the pleasures of the young, dying slowly, hurried along, no prosperity in their deaths. Too many ghosts, too much memory. Blackmail made them live again. Bibax, the only one to profit. Cui bono, cui bono …

Everyone made something from the mines. Octavio, Philo, Grattius, Vitellius, Papirius, Secundus. The mine promised them all what they wanted: money, power, a temple, another bath. All of them lost, some more than they could bear.

But this was more than the bankruptcy of dreams. I was looking for curses, the cursed and the curser, the cursed man, a homo maledictus. A human being, full of desperation and hope, greed and desire, love and hate. Above all, love and hate.

No, Calpurnius, may the earth rest lightly upon you, in your foolishness and your greed. You were wrong. And you paid for it.

The wind blew harder, and dry leaves once more tumbled down the path into town. They would blow past the temple, where the face of the goddess gazed down from the pediment and waited for the final cleansing to begin.

It would be difficult. I needed a confession. A lot of the story was still guesswork. But I was a good storyteller.

I felt the tree trunk again, my fingers tracing the dry, harsh ridges. Time for another town meeting.

* * *

The stone was golden now, bouncing off the orange torchlight. Flickers fell on the water, looking like fires on the sea. The gift of the goddess was patient. It lapped against the sides of the pools, the rhythm of forever.

Grattius hunched in a corner. He’d lost weight, strictly from nerves. His eyes roamed, and his legs twitched at every shuffling footstep.

His matching duovir, Secundus, drooped against a wall. We were standing near the first healing pool, next to the room overlooking the spring. Moonlight splayed shadows on the floor, dancing and twisting with the torchlight. Secundus stood with his hands in his battered toga, staring at nothing. His daughter stared at me.

Papirius’s eyes flickered over the scene, lingering on no one, while the garnet robe he was wearing drank the light the way Prunella drank everything else. She was sitting on a stool her husband brought out for her. He stood in Papirius’s shadow, as he always did.

Sestius couldn’t quite figure out how he got there. His eyebrows formed a permanent tattoo of surprise against his white skin.

Vitellius stood with an arm around Sulpicia, who sat on another stool. She’d insisted on coming. Her eyes were a little dimmer, and the smile even lazier, and I had no doubt what she’d do as soon as she felt better. Drusius stood on her other side, an awkward third but maybe not so awkward, judging from what Sulpicia was smiling at.

Philo was looking at me, his face gray and suddenly old. Ligur and Draco stood between the rooms, closing off the circle.

It took all day, several meetings, and a lot of explanation-some real, some imagined-to set it up. I hoped it would work. I disliked the melodrama; the assembled cast of players was too Aeschylean, too deus ex machina. It wasn’t my style. But Aquae Sulis liked its theatricals.

“Not so long ago-less than nine days, in fact-I rode into this town and expected to find a quiet health resort. What I found was a dead man. Murdered, strangled, and propped in the spring.”

Grattius shuddered. No one else moved.

“You all played a part in why it happened, why other crimes happened before and after. Along with other people who can’t be here tonight-at least not physically.”

A small gust blew through the window. Prunella stifled a whimper.

“There was Calpurnius-junior priest, chief drain cleaner, and all-around greedy bastard. Poisoned with aconitum, if you remember-and even if you don’t. Of course, anybody with a little money and the right smile can buy aconitum outside this window. But you live here. You know the secrets of the marketplace. They’re about as secret as the graffiti in the public latrine.”

Octavio stepped forward, his eyes like two bright coals. “Can you get on with this? You ask us to come in the middle of the night-”

“There are a lot of dead people in this story. I figured we should talk at a time when they could hear us. They might say something useful.”

He mumbled something under his breath. Shrank into his tunic, shuffled closer to his wife.

“Where was I? Oh, yes-Faro. We could’ve used Faro Magnus tonight, but he only performs for Pluto these days.”

Secunda sputtered, and her father put a hand on her arm.

“He was strangled-like Bibax-but not by a self-styled ‘Ultor.’ Though somebody hated him enough to nail a mask into his skull. That brings me to Materna. Hate always does. It killed her, finally, master instead of servant.”

Secundus stared at me, said nothing. His daughter held her arms across her chest and looked away.

“In between I was attacked, my wife was humiliated-shamed and threatened-I was accused of murder, set up with so-called evidence, and finally … finally I became a target, too.”

“Gwyna-is she all right? Is she not coming?” Philo spoke softly, as he always did when repeating my wife’s name.

“Doesn’t feel up to it. She’s a little sick of Aquae Sulis. That’s the problem. It’s a health spa, a resort town. Only instead of feeling better you fall down and die.”

I looked around, holding their eyes when I could. “You see, there were other murders. A young man who fought a boundary line. An old woman with a profligate nephew. An old man with a short leash on a younger wife.”

Sulpicia turned white and shook off Vitellius’s hand. Sestius was trembling and leaned against the wall to support himself.

“Maybe the most tragic one-the one that seemed to start it all-was a boy. After he was killed-cursed, by Materna, for allegedly stealing a bath robe-the mine-the mine that would put Aquae Sulis on every map, the mine that would make everyone rich and everyone happy, give everyone what they wanted as long as they promised not to look-the mine found a ghost. Well, actually it didn’t find a ghost. It made one.”

The spring gurgled and lapped in the cold stillness. Their breaths made little puffs of smoke.

“The story begins with Bibax. He had a gift-the gift of memory. He remembered things, especially if they could make him money. He sniffed out the sickly odor of health spas, traveling from health resort to health resort, a funeral procession of murder for hire and blackmail right behind him.”

Another puff of wind blew in from the spring, making one of the torches sputter and spit. Prunella gasped, and Octavio put a hand on her shoulder.

“In Aquae Sulis, Bibax met somebody he remembered. Somebody he pushed and threatened, somebody who could help him. Curse-writers are cheaper than the whores down the street from your temple, Papirius-but Bibax was expensive. He’d give you what you wanted, what you dreamed about. Best of all, you could blame it on the goddess.”

Sestius crumbled to the floor. No one helped him up. The groups drew together in little clusters.

“So the murders started. And around the same time, a mine syndicate formed. Crime follows crime like flies follow shit. I happen to know the former procurator of Britannia, the man who awards mine contracts, and he was the biggest pile of shit of them all.

“You see, a lead mine turned into a silver mine, and when the vein was found, the miner wasn’t. He became the ghost. The syndicate wanted to make sure Rome wouldn’t hold her hand out and ask for more, and they needed a place to dump the lead and hide the silver and wash it until it was good and clean. They chose Aquae Sulis.

“They planted a figurehead on the council. That would be you, Grattius. Yet their real representive would stay behind the scenes, directing the drama. That would be Materna.”

Secundus was chewing something, his eyes glossy, not really looking ahead. His daughter’s face was red and sullen.

“Everybody agreed to play blind. The lead was dumped over by the other spring, and the curse-writers picked it clean like so many vultures. The silver passed through hands and workshops, and some of it fell into your pockets. The syndicate promised to build a temple, for you, Philo”-he nodded, his face pale-“and build a bath, for you, Papirius.”

The priest turned his cold eyes in my direction, looking at me as though everything I said were supremely unimportant.

“You’re the leaders of the town, one and all. You closed your eyes, and opened your palms, and you let it happen. In that sense, ladies and gentlemen … you’re all guilty.”

“We didn’t all kill Bibax, Favonianus.” The priest’s voice was icy. “I was under the impression that we were here to find out who did-not to be lectured like a pack of naughty schoolboys.” He looked around the room to the accompaniment of several murmurs.

My smile was enough to shut them up. “Very true, Papirius. You didn’t all kill him. One of you did. I’ll sort out the crimes for you, since some of you may not be able to count that high. One-the crimes of murder and blackmail. Committed by Bibax and an unknown partner.”

Vitellius leaned forward and licked his lips, his balding head glistening with sweat.

“Crime two. Bibax and his partner were employed by Materna-to get rid of Aufidio, and any other minor problems for the mine. Materna knew every dirty secret in Aquae Sulis and made them all that much dirtier. She used people, that’s how she got her kicks. She used Faro, who helped spread rumors about the haunted mine.

“Dewi was probably a test case. She suspected how it worked but wanted to make sure. So she cursed the boy, and when Bibax tried to blackmail her, he finally found something more foul and rotten than himself. Materna was a hulking mass of envy and hate. Power was her desire, and cruelty was her lover, and Aquae Sulis gave her both. For a time.”

I stared at Secundus. “I don’t think there’s a person in this room who isn’t glad she’s dead.”

He held his daughter and looked through the wall. I wondered what he saw.

“Materna was at the crux of every crime in this city-until Ultor. He’s crime three. Somebody killed Bibax. Was it his partner? Or someone else? Someone they were blackmailing, perhaps?”

My eyes lingered on Sestius. His mouth was open, froth on his lips.

“I was asked to solve Bibax’s murder, and do it in a hurry. Then Calpurnius was killed. He tried to join the murder team, the oldest business in the world. Still killed by Ultor-still crime three.

“Faro was next. Materna ordered him murdered. Seems her cock wouldn’t crow for her. She ate him instead.”

Secunda began to make noise. Her father hushed her, held her tight. She struggled. It was too late for that.

“The person who helped her was Bibax’s old partner. Remember him? Doomed to be used, to be blackmailed?

“She tried to frame me for Faro’s murder, stupidly, in a hurry. Then the mine pulled out, and we were next on the murder list. My wife and I. Instead of killing us, though, Bibax’s partner decided to get rid of Materna. To free himself. From a long history of bowing and scraping, always playing the master but living the life of a slave. First to Bibax, then to Materna, but always-always to … Papirius.”

I looked at him. “Isn’t that right, Octavio?” I asked. My voice was gentle.

Prunella needed a drink. Badly. Her hands shook as she held on to his arm. “What-what does he mean?”

“You needed money. You’re a gambler. It’s a disease with you, and it’s eaten away your life like a leper’s face. You sold land to Philo-for cheap, because you needed the money. But he won’t buy more. The mine’s gone. You were an orderly and knew enough about medicine and drugs to help Bibax. Above all, you had access. Access to the baths.”

He took a step toward me, but Ligur and Draco blocked his way. He looked from side to side, trapped.

“You could blackmail people here. Leave notes. Listen to conversations while you scurried through the walls like a rat. I don’t know what Bibax remembered about you-maybe you embezzled some money, maybe you murdered a man-but he used you, didn’t he? Used you to murder.”

Prunella collapsed in a heap on the floor, crying and hanging on to his legs. He stared at me, looking straight ahead. Papirius drew away from him.

I said softly: “You killed them all, Octavio. You and your greed, your hate, your desire for power. Materna recognized it. She smelled it, rooted it out. She used it-and you-like everybody did. So you killed her.”

Ligur and Draco stepped behind and around Prunella and held his arms. Papirius looked at me. I nodded. He motioned with his hand, and slaves appeared from the other room. They took Octavio from my men. Still he said nothing.

“Arcturus-Arcturus-are you sure…” Philo sounded worried.

“Yeah, Philo. I’m sure.”

Papirius led Octavio away. Prunella screamed, throwing herself in front of them, and Draco helped pick her up. We all watched as if it were a play. Which, in a sense, it was.

Footsteps echoed on the stone, and we could hear the creak of the big door shut behind them. Voices erupted, and some-like Grattius and Sestius-took the opportunity to drift away.

Secundus and Secunda sniped and quarreled, voices filled with bitterness. They finally left, the daughter casting one more baleful look over her shoulder at me, before she gathered her mantle around her and glided out of the room.

It was about the sixth hour of night. The warm human bodies left the bath, and cold took their place, curling up against the yellow stone. I listened again to the lap of the water.

Sulpicia and Vitellius walked ahead slowly. Drusius kept behind them, sulking. As they crossed the opening-the window where she’d thrown her bracelet-she looked up. Her voice rose, panic in it, filling the room.

“What-what’s that-do you see it, Vitellius? That white thing…”

Drusius and Philo rushed to the window. The figure of a woman hovered over the spring. As white and cold as a good death. The mouth opened, and a sound came out.

“Philo … Philo…”

His hand crept up to his face. “Oh-my-God-”

“Philo-why? Why did you-did you make me-”

Tears welled and ran down his fine-boned face. He leaned as far as he could through the window, the others backing away. Stretched his long, dexterous fingers toward the vision.

“It was for you, Fulviana-the temple-don’t you see-it was for you-”

His back arched suddenly, as stiff as if he were already dead. He turned around, light burning behind his eyes.

“You see her-don’t you? You see her, Arcturus? You understand. The temple. I could make it up to her. I-I waited, all these years, until I could start over, and I found Aquae Sulis, and I was happy. Until … until Bibax came.”

He turned his head to look again, to make sure she was still there. She said nothing to him, but her gown was still billowing on the wind. A gust blew in from the spring where she hovered, floating.

He looked again at me, excitement contorting his face. “But I found a way to make it better. He remembered me-from Hispania. But the money-I could get money, and build the temple-for her. I only agreed on sick people. Or old people. The boy-he was better off. And I could build it, Arcturus, and she would come to me-and she has-don’t you see? Don’t you understand?”

He turned back to the vision, but it wasn’t there anymore. He swung his head in a panic.

“I understand, Philo.”

“But where is she-she isn’t there-where…”

Then the horror of it hit him, and hit him hard enough to make him crumple, and his long, lean body folded like a lady’s fan. There was nothing left in Philo. The delusion, the hope, the guilt, the love, the hate. All gone.

Papirius came out of one of the other rooms with Octavio. They looked at him. He was still kneeling on the floor.

He raised his face to mine. “Where’s Gwyna?” He asked it with tenderness.

“She was-she was outside, Philo.”

He nodded, his fingers playing with a ring he always wore. Papirius and Octavio didn’t know what to do. I heard light steps and looked up to see my wife, a gray mantle covering the filmy white gown. She was staring at Philo, her eyes full of tears.

He sensed her before he heard her. A smile lit his features again.

“Fulviana,” he said softly.

She held a hand out to him. He took it and stood up.

“You have to go with Papirius and Octavio, Philo.”

“Yes, my love. You’ll be with me?”

She looked at me. I nodded. Then she stared into Philo’s eyes. “I’ll be with you, Philo.”

He nodded, and almost looked like himself-but the eyes weren’t the same.

For a moment, he seemed to see Gwyna as she really was. He looked at Papirius, whose face was longer and graver than usual. Draco and Ligur were waiting in the background, but he wouldn’t run. Not Philo. Not even this Philo.

Then he looked at me, and his forehead creased with recognition. He reached out a hand, touching her green necklace. He gave Gwyna a smile-a smile of triumph, even of happiness. A smile of love.

Then he twisted the top of his ring and shoved it in his mouth. He was dead in less than half an hour.