The Curse-Maker (6 page)

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.

CHAPTER FIVE

I woke up before she did. She was on her side, turned toward me. A small metal disk on a leather strap spilled out of her tunic. It was an Isis medallion, with the goddess on one side and Isis and Horus on the other. Gwyna had never shown much interest in foreign cults. Maybe Stricta gave it to her.

She stretched and groaned and opened her eyes. Then she smiled, and the sun came out. “Hurry up and get dressed. We have work to do.”

“Aren't you getting up?”

She stretched again, like a temple cat on a warm stone step. “In a few minutes. You get dressed first.”

Stalling so that we didn't dress together. Just like last night. I swallowed my worry and asked: “What should I wear?”

A game she enjoyed. After wrapping up in a cloak and clucking over the few clothes I'd brought, she pulled out a white undertunic, a dark brown outer tunic with gold trim, a studded military belt, and a green cloak—my only fashionable
lacerna.

“I'll have to buy you a few more things. You didn't bring your toga, did you?”

“Why the hell would I drag that moth-eaten old—”

“It isn't moth-eaten, and you look very dignified in it.” She sighed. “Well, if you didn't bring it, I'll have to buy you a new one. Although a ready-made toga with a senatorial stripe will be hard to find.”

“Why do I need it? Why should I wear it?”

She looked at me as if I were a child. “Because, Arcturus. This is a society town, remember? If you're going to fit in and get people to talk to you, you need to look the part.”

She glanced at her own clothes, which almost filled the chest in the corner. “I'm just glad I brought my red
palla.
I wish I'd thought to bring some more jewelry, though.”

I kept forgetting that we weren't really on vacation. This was work—as foul a job as cleaning the Cloaca Maxima. Rome's biggest sewer bore a striking resemblance to Grattius's mouth. I told Gwyna I'd see her in the
triclinium.
She was busy choosing a bracelet but held her cheek up to be kissed.

The household was so efficient I thought maybe one of the slaves could figure out who murdered Bibax. They bustled around, serving a perfect breakfast of oats, figs, honey, hard-boiled eggs, and cream, all at just the right temperature.

Mine rose when Gwyna walked in. A gleaming underdress flashed from beneath a marigold tunic, fastened with a violet belt under her breasts. Her hair was piled in soft curls, and a gold bracelet of native design shone at her wrist.

“You're—you—”

She waited patiently until I regained the power of speech.

“Yes, Ardur?”

I swallowed. “You're beautiful.”

The smile nearly blinded me. “Why, thank you.”

She reached for an egg. To distract myself, I stood up to look at Agricola's calendar.

“
Kalends
of October already.
Fides
's Day.”

“Does that mean it's a holiday?”

“No. We're just supposed to pay honor to Fidelity.” I gave her a dark look. “In that outfit, I don't think it could hurt.”

She swallowed the egg she was eating and burst out laughing.

*   *   *

After breakfast, I found one of the slaves—how many were there?—to take messages to the fort. A military courier would deliver them to Agricola and Bilicho. I scrawled a few lines on a couple of sheets of papyrus while Gwyna told Ligur and Quilla to get our bath things ready.

If the Aquae Sulis
thermae
were like every other bath in the province, there would be separate hours for men and women to bathe—women in the morning, from daylight until the sixth or seventh hour, and men from then until sundown. I thought we'd walk down the hill into town, but Gwyna shook her head at me.

“Arcturus, think. You were invited to dinner by one of the
duoviri.
You're famous—and you're investigating a murder. You must do what is socially expected, if you want to get anywhere. We'll take the litter.”

She said it so decisively I couldn't argue. “But Grattius—”

She raised her eyebrows. “Grattius? What does he have to do—oh, I see. No, silly, Agricola has a litter here, and two litter bearers. They're much bigger and better looking, too.”

I knew I'd hate the goddamn thing.

I grumbled, but somehow we were able to fit bathing shoes, bathing clothes, towels, ointment boxes, strigils, an exercise ball, a perfume case, and makeup equipment. There was no room for Ligur and Quilla; there was barely room for us. They walked. I wished we could.

Gwyna planned everything. “I'll stay all morning, and catch the latest gossip. That's the best way I can help, I think.” She looked at me to make sure I was listening. She smelled like lavender and sandalwood. “Then I'll do some shopping—find you a toga—and perhaps another mantle for me—and then I'll meet you at home when you're done.”

“Done with what?”

“Arcturus, aren't you paying attention? The
baths
. That's where we'll find out everything. Isn't that part of your plan?”

I tried to look as though I had a plan. “Well—yes. I was going to talk to Philo first. I can do that while you're bathing. Then take a look around.”

I tore my eyes from Gwyna, and felt my mind grind into gear like a millstone. “I—I mean, we—need to find out about Rufus Bibax. That
Ultor
curse was used to leave a message, for someone still in Aquae Sulis. And the spring … convenience? Or a warning to the temple? And what about—”