The Curse-Maker (29 page)

I swallowed the bile that crept up my throat when I thought about her. There was no one in this place, no one I had ever seen, who was more eaten away by hatred than Materna. It was her lover, her bed partner, her constant companion.

And she sat in her house, and brooded, and squatted in the bath, and brooded, and threw her parties, and played the social scene, and all the time she plotted and planned and desired, her thoughts and wants stretching to Faro, to other men and women she could trap and snare and jerk like pet birds on a string.

My doorway was solid and warm, and it comforted me when I shivered. I'd been looking for cobwebs. Maybe it was time to look for the spider.

*   *   *

I dreamed of horses. Manes danced in the wind, the ripples on their flanks shimmering with the pulse and throb of their hooves. Black and chestnut brown, dark gray and cream, they outran the sun, and their shadows fell on the wheat field like the passing clouds.

They were running too fast. The leader, a strong black horse with fine bones, was galloping toward a cliff that stretched to the sea. Nimbus was beside him, and all the horses were mad and joyful, even the donkey, twitching her ears and cantering at the back of the herd.

The wheat gave way to gorse and shrub. Dust rose like smoke, and still they wouldn't stop. I was running, too, trying to get in front, trying to keep them from falling, but they were too fast, and too glad, and they didn't see me. I was shouting, but my mouth was full of dirt, and still the horses kept on running.

I woke up to a hand on my forehead. My chest hurt.

“Ardur—are you—are you all right? You were turning back and forth in bed and breathing hard and—and whimpering. My poor darling—I wish I could keep the bad dreams away—”

I took her hand off my forehead and kissed the fingers while I caught my breath. “What time is it?”

“Almost the tenth hour. We should be getting ready.”

“When did you get home?”

“Not too much later after you arrived. I bought you another tunic for tonight.”

I grinned at her. “If it doesn't smell like dead fish, I don't want it. I like my clothes to be lived in.”

“You've been living a little too much. Ardur—stop it. We don't have time. We have to talk about the mmmff—”

She was sitting next to me on the bed, so I just reached over and pulled her on top of me and covered her mouth with my own. After a while, she was out of breath, too.

“Ardur—we don't have time—”

“We would if you quit telling me we didn't.”

“But—but the case—”

“We'll talk about it. Afterward. Besides—it's raining. And in Aquae Sulis—”

“Oh. Oh, yes, Ardur—”

“—the thing to do when it rains—”

“Don't—don't stop—right there—”

“Is this.”

*   *   *

I liked rain. I sat against the wall of the bedroom and thought about it while Gwyna nestled on my chest. I looked down and stroked her hair while she stretched an arm out over the side of the bed and made a sleepy, satisfied noise.

“Now we really need to get ready.”

“We have been. When we get to Philo's, I want my smell all over you.”

She turned red and tried not to smile. “You're such a beast.”

“It's why you love me.”

This time she gave me a sideways look. “One of the reasons.”

“So tell me what happened at the baths.”

“I always go first. You tell me what you found out from Sestius.”

While I put on the new blue tunic she bought me, and she started putting on powders and fixing her hair, I told Gwyna about my day.

She made noises of disgust at Sestius, and incredulous ones at my description of Hortensia. Her eyes got big over Mumius and Secunda, and finally narrowed when I told her my suspicions. Then she nodded and put down the mirror.

“Ardur—Ardur, it makes sense. Prunella told me this morning—Materna is the one whose cloak was stolen. You know, the theft that boy Dewi was blamed for. She bought a generic thief curse—‘whoever stole my robe, slave or free, male or female,' et cetera. Prunella didn't know whether Bibax wrote it or not. That's not the kind of thing anyone remembers, especially anyone like Prunella. Bibax was too low for her to notice—until he was murdered, anyway. She knows Dewi's grandmother, and she said there was a rumor the thief was Dewi, and then—then he just died. You said he was killed. So there must be a connection. Materna must be guilty of something!”

“Other than a capital case of the mean and uglies. I think so, too.”

“What do we do now?”

“What we've been doing. We need proof. And remember, whatever she's done, she didn't do it alone.”

Gwyna thought for a few minutes while she rubbed some rouge on her cheekbones. “Ardur—I didn't learn much today—”

“That was enough!”

“No, I mean the women weren't so gossipy around me—they didn't want to talk. Sestius's girlfriend was complaining about how he wouldn't take her anywhere, or buy her presents—”

“That reminds me, I've got something for you.”

“You're sweet. Thank you. But let me finish.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I did find out from Prunella—after bringing her another bottle from the cellar—”

“Agricola will think I'm a lush.”

“Will you quit interrupting? Anyway, she said Octavio hasn't been sleeping well—”

I started to say something, and she shut me up with a glance. “And—it's true—he gambles. He's in debt.”

“She told you that?”

Gwyna shrugged her shoulders elegantly. “In so many words. She'll talk to herself. If you get her drunk enough.”

I smoothed the nap on the tunic down. “Will I do?”

“Brush your hair, and put some oil on it. You look like a wild man from the hill country.”

I uncorked a flask and started to pour a liberal amount onto my palm, then Gwyna made a horrified noise and got up from her chair.

“What are you doing, Ardur?”

“Putting oil on my hair, like you said.”

“Not that much!”

She shook her head and took the flask away from me. “How you were able to look as good as you did before we were married—”

I grinned. “Did I look good?”

She answered my vanity by scraping the oil from my hand into hers. My palm had already absorbed some of it.

“You're too dry all over.”

“Not all over.”

“Will you stop it? Now, hold still.”

She pushed me toward the bed and made me sit while she rubbed my scalp and hair, then stepped back to look at me. “Go comb it—and use the mirror.”

I fished out a comb. My hair was wavy and thick, but Gwyna had gotten the oil all through it, so I didn't pull out too much. She was pinning her own hair up, and I came over to nibble on her neck.

“Is this better?”

“Yes, but use the mirror and straighten out that lock on your forehead. You look like Pan.”

I looked in the mirror and wiped the leer off my face—and fixed the horns.

“We need to find out as much as we can about Octavio. See how well he knows Materna.”

“We have a chance to tonight. They've been invited to Philo's.”

I was frowning. “That's convenient.”

“Not really. This is a small town, after all. Grattius is shut in his house, waiting for Rome to call, and Secundus is tainted by association and has run away, and Philo knows you don't like Papirius. That left Octavio.”

“How come Philo knows I don't like Papirius? I never—”

“Darling, it's obvious when you don't like someone.”

“Is it obvious when I do?”

“Ardur—get your hand off my—”

“Oh—your present.”

I took the small package out of my old tunic. It was still damp from the rain. “Open it.”

She unwrapped the twine, gasping when she saw the green glass against the dark brown piece of scrap leather he'd wrapped it in. “It's lovely.”

“Let me put it on you.”

I draped the necklace around her neck and fastened it. She was holding up the mirror and studying the effect. “Who made it? The one that—”

“Yeah. The
gemmarius
at the foot of the hill. Nice old man. Good work, too.”

“It certainly is.”

She turned the mirror back and forth to catch the waning light better and wrinkled her brow.

“What is it? Don't you like it?”

“Of course I do. It's just—it makes me sad for some reason.”

“Sad? Sad!? I'll have you know I paid—”

“Hold me, Ardur. I love the necklace, I just got melancholy for a moment.”

She settled herself in my arms. I held her and tried not to wonder about women too much. Then she took a deep breath and seemed to be herself again.

“See? Just a passing fancy. Don't pay attention. It was so thoughtful of you—and I truly love the piece—”

“Hmm. Me, too.”

She pushed away, pretending to scold me. “How can I get dressed if you keep—”

“Am I presentable now?”

She looked me up and down. “Yes. You are. If you put on a ring.”

I stuck an onyx signet on my finger. “If I stay in the room with you we'll be late. I'll wait for you outside.”

She smiled at me. “Thank you, Ardur. Don't you dare smell like the barn when I come out.”

I turned around to look at her from the doorway.

“How did you know—”

“You were talking about that donkey in your sleep. Go on.”

She closed the door on me gently. I thought I'd better check on Draco and take him to the barn with me—and tell him to forget I ever said I could teach him about women.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“She's built well.”

“Yes—a little thick in the hind end, but that's to be expected.”

The donkey was looking over her shoulder at us while I checked the welts on her back. My ointment had helped, but she still wasn't out of danger. I turned to the slave I'd appointed her chief caretaker.

“How much ointment is left, Marchoc?”

He shook his head. “Not so much. After tonight, we will need more.”

“I'll make some. Meanwhile, tell Priscus to give you some cooking wine—like
posca
—and keep pouring it over the cuts here, and here, three times a day. No—make it four times. Once in the morning, once before bed, and twice during the day. And keep her stall mucked out and dry.”

“Yes,
Dominus
.”

He was a native, a small, wiry man with an instinct for horses. Looked as though he'd taken his share of falls in more than his share of races. The donkey pushed at his side with her nose.

“She'll be all right, won't she?”

Draco was stroking her neck, an unusually thoughtful expression on his face. More than dirt rubbed off at the baths. There was more energy to his step, maybe some life after Coir.

“If she doesn't get a fever from those sores. We have to dry them out—can't let them make pus.”

Marchoc nodded his head in agreement, a smile cracking his face like old parchment. “She's a good beast, she is. Brave, too. Never complains. Only bit me once.”

I grinned. “So far. Give her time.”

We all shared a good laugh at the temperment of female animals, until I could feel Nimbus glaring at me from her stall. I patted the donkey's behind and walked over to see her. I opened my palm and gave her a turnip green I'd swiped from the kitchen.

“See? I saved this for you.”

She wasn't impressed but allowed me to scratch her neck while she ate it. The lamplight fell on her gray coat, made it glisten in the dark. It was getting late. I was surprised Gwyna hadn't come out to yell at me yet.

There was a sudden increase in the amount of noise by the donkey's stall, where I'd left Draco and Marchoc. I took the lamp and gave Nimbus an absentminded pat good-bye. When I reached the others, I was surprised to see Lineus. He didn't care for the barn.

“Tell the mistress I'm coming.”

“No, sir, it's not the mistress.”

His voice was squeaky, his eyes too wide, and he looked back and forth between Draco and me as if he wondered if we were enough.

“What is it then?”

He bit his lip. It was almost completely dark outside, and the shadows from the barn lantern made even Lineus look faintly sinister. I grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Talk, man! What is it?”

“Someone—someone to see you, sir.”

“Who?”

Marchoc was watching us with his mouth open, and now Lineus frowned at him. The stableman retreated back into the stall with the donkey. The head slave turned to me and lowered his voice.

“He refuses, sir, to say who he is. He refused to take off his mantle, too. He keeps it wrapped around his face. He won't even come in the house. He—he stays in the shadows, sir. He says he won't leave until he talks to you.”

I could feel Draco move to my side. “Where is he? And the door—my wife—”

“She knows, sir, and the door is bolted, and the largest slaves are behind it.”

“Where is he?”

“By the hawthorn tree, sir. On the right side of the house. He said—he said he'd be waiting there.”

A covered face meant he was afraid of being caught. That meant he'd done something worth catching him for. “Tell him it'll be a few minutes. Did he say anything else?”

Lineus paused while his face fell on the ground and didn't get back up. “Only that you're to come alone, sir.”

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but I brushed him quiet with a gesture. It wasn't my game, but I had to play anyway. Fortunately I owned more than one pair of loaded dice.

“Lineus—does the governor keep any weapons around here? Javelins, swords—”

“There are a few swords we keep locked in the tack shed—for emergencies, sir—we're alone here much of the time, and—”