The Curse-Maker

CHAPTER FOUR

I opened my eyes, watched the sunlight glisten on the river below. The strange sound of laughter-female laughter-was floating from Agricola’s house.

I ran up the path, unceremoniously throwing open the door. She was lying on one of the governor’s elegant couches, smiling … her hand lightly touching the arm of Lucius Valerius Philo.

There was someone else with him I couldn’t see at the moment.

“Arcturus?”

She was wearing a new purple tunic with a midnight blue palla. Her eyes were light and quick. Was this the same woman who couldn’t control Coir? Had five minutes with Philo made her laugh for the first time in weeks? He must be some doctor. I gritted my teeth.

“It’s Philo, Arcturus. He’s come to talk to you.”

He stood up. “Favonianus-may I call you Arcturus, as your charming wife does?”

No, you may not call me Arcturus as my charming wife does. No one calls me Arcturus like that, especially you, you unctuous, wife-stealing sonofabitch.

“Yes,” I said.

“This is Grattius Tribax. He’s one of the duoviri of Aquae Sulis-we’re a municipium, you know.”

So they had some small independence and a direct relationship with Rome, while Grattius was one of the two men who thought they ran it all.

He stood up, a coarse, florid man who dressed as loudly as he talked. Clapped my shoulder as if we were old friends.

“Arcturus-so glad to have you in our little town. Philo tells me you’ve got quite the reputation-not that we don’t get the very best people, mind, we’re used to that in Aquae Sulis!” His mouth opened wide enough to show everyone in the room his gold fillings. Philo looked at him tolerantly and then spoke.

“Arcturus-we’re here to ask you a favor. I know you’re on leave, but your wife said you have no definite plans.”

We both looked at Gwyna, who opened her eyes wide, all innocence. Philo looked a lot longer than necessary before turning to me with a frank expression.

“I’d appreciate your help on this Bibax problem. There’ll be talk in the town, and it will spread. Aquae Sulis is in a delicate position right now. We can’t afford the bad publicity.”

I looked from my wife to Grattius to Philo. My eyes came back to Gwyna.

“What do you want me to do?” The question was aimed at her.

Grattius cleared his throat. “You have a reputation. For solving problems and making sure they stay quiet. We’d like you to take a look at our little problem, and clear it all up so’s Aquae Sulis don’t lose business. Couldn’t be simpler, eh?”

He laughed, and I nudged a wine cup back into place. Philo looked at me earnestly.

“Anything you could do for us would help reassure the townspeople. Would you help?”

He said it to me but turned to Gwyna as well. A smart bastard, Philo. He already knew my weak spot. I took a step closer to her without thinking.

She looked at me expectantly. I had no choice. And somehow-somewhere-I’d known this would happen.

“I’ll do what I can. But as we’ve just arrived-”

Grattius interrupted. “That’s another reason we came by. You’re both invited for dinner.”

I looked at the fat, red, eager face of Grattius Tribax, rich freedman. I looked at the well-bred charm of the handsome Philo. Lastly, I looked at my wife-and saw interest and even some amusement.

I said: “Be delighted.”

I held out my hand to help Gwyna up, and she let me. A slave fetched our cloaks, and I bowed to the superior medical knowledge of the goddess Sulis.

* * *

There must be a special level of hell reserved for people like Grattius. Unfortunately, I was eating dinner in it. Guests included a retired haruspex and Philo-who, I found to my growing irritation, wasn’t married.

The host’s wife, Vibia, was a dull, plain, brown-haired woman, a former gymnast, so she said. She’d kept her figure, which was all she had. Her appetite reminded me of Draco’s. She probably threw it all up again to keep slim. I thought about joining her.

The hors d’oeuvres were duck eggs drowned in garum. The main course, in addition to the roasted dormice, was some unidentifiable fish in a wine sauce, and dessert was honey cakes, figs, and dates cunningly arranged to look like a beehive with bees. God, how I missed Venutius.

I made the mistake of letting the host see my full wine cup.

“Drink up, m’ boy, that’s Trebellic wine, you know. Can’t get any better than that!”

I smiled weakly and glanced at Philo, who was sharing a couch with his hosts. The old man who shared ours nodded off throughout the meal, emitting a loud belch every now and then to wake himself up.

The wine wasn’t really Trebellium, of course-some sort of cheap wine-vinegar, not only phony, but a decade too late to be fashionable. I tried not to touch, smell, or taste the food, hiding as much as I could in a napkin. Gwyna was beside me, animatedly talking to none other than Sulpicia, who was on an adjoining couch to the left with the fop from earlier.

Julius Vitellius Scaevola was a merchant, an equestrian, and an investor in mines to the southwest of Aquae Sulis. He was absentmindedly rubbing the back of Sulpicia’s legs, drunk, and trying to make conversation.

He hiccupped. “So-Favonianus-can I call you Arcturus?”

“Everyone else does.”

“Yes. Well. How about that Bibax? What about the tablet, eh? The Ultor and all? Whaddya think?”

I pretended not to hear, letting the rest of the conversation swirl around us. Snippets from Grattius, talking to Spurius Octavio, the bathmaster of the entire complex. Octavio’s wife, a silly, loud-mouthed woman with henna-dyed hair and a garish green palla, was discussing something with Philo. Words separated from their meaning floated by-“Roscia’s new litter” and “a divine new treatment by Audax-such a masseur!” and “haunted mine.”

“Haunted mine?” I couldn’t pin down the source. All I could hear was Octavio’s wife talking about Roscia, who wasn’t a lately pregnant cat.

“I say-Arcturus! The murder, what about this murder?”

Vitellius hadn’t succumbed yet, but before I could answer, the old haruspex growled: “Wickedness. That’s what it is. Town’s become wicked. Aquae Sulis is cursed.”

The room was suddenly quiet. The old man glared at the assembled party.

“I know what I say. I’ve seen the changes come. Aquae Sulis is cursed.”

Grattius leaned over to me from the right and whispered loudly: “Don’t pay attention to old Marcius. He’s only here because Papirius was busy tonight.” He added in a louder voice: “Have some more wine, Marcius!”

The old man shook his head. “As sure as my name is Aulus Marcius Memor, there is wickedness in this town. And the goddess will make it pay. She already has.”

His wrinkled mouth turned downward, as he stared at his empty wine cup. Then his eyes closed and he went to sleep.

The bathmaster’s wife laughed loudly, yellow teeth bared. “Good old Marcius! Always good for a laugh.”

She caught my eye. “So what about it? What about Bibax? Was he really strangled?”

Everyone looked at me with an eagerness only stories about death and sex can inspire. I took a shot of the wine, and was proud of myself for not making a face.

“Yes.”

“How do you know?” the woman demanded. Octavio nudged her in the ribs.

“His body says so. And someone put the piece of lead in his mouth.”

Vibia snorted. “Died how he lived, didn’t he? Choked on his own curses!”

Her husband’s laugh was unnecessarily loud. “Now, dear, mustn’t speak ill of the dead. At least while we don’t know yet who killed him.” He looked at me hopefully, as if I might produce the solution then and there.

So the piece of lead was a curse tablet. I shrugged. “He didn’t choke. He was strangled, by someone with large hands. Then the tablet was put into his mouth, wedged tight, and they tied him up so he wouldn’t sink to the bottom of the reservoir.”

Philo was quick. “Why do you think there were two people?”

“Because one person could throw him in, but it would take one very strong man or two people to lower him slowly enough to keep him in an upright position.”

An “ah” sound went around the couches. Grattius was beaming. He hadn’t hired musicians for the evening, and his guest was providing the entertainment for free.

“My, you’re clever,” Sulpicia murmured. Gwyna shot her a look I found highly gratifying.

Octavio added: “You don’t become the governor’s physician because you don’t know a leg bone from an arm bone!”

Philo cleared his throat. “Speaking of the governor … any word as to whether he’ll be staying, Arcturus?”

“I really don’t know. You know how politics are, especially in Rome.”

That made everyone nod, as if they really did know how politics were in Rome.

“Well, my boy, you’re welcome in Aquae Sulis anytime. We have so many doctors now, one more can’t hurt! Especially an up-and-comer like you!” Grattius laughed again.

My adopted father was a procurator under Nero, appointed to the Senate. I was the private physician of the governor of the entire province. Yet here I was in a cheap and tawdry dining room, in the small town of Aquae Sulis, being called an “up-and-comer” by a man who couldn’t tell he was drinking his own piss.

Gwyna’s hand touched my leg. I took a deep breath, changed the subject. “What’s this I hear about a haunted mine?”

I was unprepared for the effect. Grattius turned red. Marcius woke up, and so did Vitellius. Octavio opened his mouth like a gasping fish.

Philo chuckled. “Stories always float around this town. Product of the atmosphere. Some people don’t go to doctors, Arcturus. They put their trust in magicians and soothsayers-people like Bibax-instead.”

Marcius growled again. “Wickedness!”

The whole party laughed. I turned my head to look at Gwyna. She was staring straight ahead, thinking.

* * *

The party broke up soon afterward, and Grattius insisted we use his litter.

“You don’t want your pretty little wife to get her sandals muddy, do you, eh, Arcturus?” He elbowed me in the ribs. I thought I heard a dormouse squeal.

Philo cornered me as everyone made their good-bye. “Come see me tomorrow. We can talk more freely. I’m across the street from the east end of the temple.”

He stared at Gwyna, who was saying good-bye to Sulpicia as if they were long-lost sisters. “How long has she been ill?” he murmured.

I tried to keep my face in place, but I felt it slip for a second. “Why do you say she’s been ill?”

He smiled. “I am a doctor, Arcturus. The eyes. The skin. The way she carries herself. She’s a beautiful woman, and I’d be protective of her, too.” He patted me on the back. “The waters really will help.”

I was confused. I wanted to hit him. Nobody told me what to do or how to treat or how to look at my wife. Nobody. Except maybe my wife herself. But he seemed to notice things I hadn’t. Why? Was he a better doctor? Was he a better person? Was he a better man?

I stood there like a statue until Gwyna tugged my arm impatiently and whispered: “Come on. I don’t want to have to go through all that again.”

We clambered into the litter. Grattius and Vibia were waving madly at us, and I waved in return. Gwyna waved, too, then leaned against the cushions out of sight. Her eyes were bluer than they’d been in a long time.

She leaned forward. “Well? What did you think?”

My mind was still on Philo. “About what?”

“About those people. Are Romans usually that decadent and disgusting?”

“These were prizewinners. They’d give Trimalchio a run for his money.”

She looked puzzled. “Who’s Trimalchio?”

“Just a character in a book.”

“Oh.” She looked wistful. “I’d like to read it.”

I was surprised. “Of course. I’ll get you a copy.”

She nodded, lost in thought. “Arcturus…”

“Yes, Gwyna?”

“Was I-did I do everything properly?”

I was surprised again. Gwyna had been to parties before, had experienced the Londinium social whirl when she was very young and married to her first husband.

“You were magnificent. I, er, I was surprised to see you and Sulpicia so chummy.”

She opened her eyes wide. “That cow? Chummy? Ha!”

“But you-you-”

She looked at me with pity. “Of course. How else am I going to make sure she doesn’t sit in your lap and play ‘find the gladius’?”

This time I was shocked.

“But I-I’d never-”

“Yes, I know, Arcturus. But you are a man, and men are easily gulled, especially by women as inventive as Sulpicia.”

“Well, Philo-”

“-thinks I’m attractive. I was only flirting with him to get information. For our case.”

Now I was just dumb. “Our case?”

“I thought Grattius’s reaction to the haunted mine story was odd-of course, I didn’t catch the whole thing-that loud-mouthed woman was talking about it, but she garbled her Latin so much I couldn’t-”

“Gwyna-”

She paused. “Yes, Ardur?”

The old name slipped out naturally. “I-are you-I-”

She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back. “Spit it out.”

“We’re here-we’re here to make sure you’re-you get better.”

She looked at me hard. I noticed, finally, what Philo already had: Her skin was too pale, too translucent. The litter stopped. I opened the curtain and peeked out. Before I could turn back to Gwyna, she jumped out from the other side and ran into the house.

I tipped the bearers and followed her. Two of the slaves were up, and I told them to go to bed. No sign of Gwyna in the dining room, kitchen, or bath. I tried the courtyard.

She was standing in front of a statue of Diana, her head bowed in the moonlight. I thought her cheeks looked wet.

“Gwyna. Listen. I’m doing everything I can to take care of you, but I need you to talk to me, tell me what I’m doing wrong. I love you-I love you more than my life. You are my life.”

She faced me. There was anger in her trembling voice.

“Why did you come home clean, then? Why didn’t you surprise me, like you always do?” She burst into tears, and I pulled her to me. She made fists with her hands and hit me in the chest.

“Why, Arcturus? You don’t act like you love me-you-you keep me at a distance-ever since you came home-ever since you left-you act like you don’t need me!”

She wrenched herself away from me, pushing me with all her strength, and ran sobbing into the house. I stood outside in the cold air for a while, thinking. Then I walked into the bedroom. I didn’t knock. She was sitting on the bed, huddled, facing the wall. I sat down and picked her up and held on to her.

“Gwyna, I need you. More than air, more than than anything. I wanted to run to you-tell you I needed you to manage the house, needed you to manage me. I’ve been stupid, and worried, and cautious, and I’ve just made it all worse. I’m sorry.”

She looked at me, her face soft, while her hand caressed my cheek.

“Do you want me to shave you?” she asked in a small voice.

As an answer, I bent down and kissed her, gently, fully, my tongue exploring her mouth until I felt her respond. Then she pushed me away. An indescribable pain crossed her face.

“I’m-I’m sorry, Ardur. Not yet.”

I looked at my wife. Then I kissed her forehead, and her hair, and I laid her back in bed, tucking the covers around her, and kissed her eyes.

“Let’s get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow, if we’re going to find out who murdered Rufus Bibax.”

She looked up at me and smiled. She didn’t face the wall that night.