The Curse-Maker (26 page)

I stood up. It was probably the seventh or eighth hour of night by now, and my legs felt as wobbly as Grattius's stomach.

“Set up a meeting. With your contact. He's got three days to see me before I tell the governor. I'll do what I can for you.”

He whistled like a boiling lobster. “You—you promised! I told you everything! I didn't kill Faro—don't let them—don't let them—”

I pried the mitt of flesh off my arm. “I said I'll do what I can, Grattius.”

He was already preparing a speech for the defense. “Remember—I didn't know, Arcturus. When you tell—”

“Yeah, Grattius. I know.”

We left him clutching his purple blanket and whatever hopes he could cling to and ran like hell out of the room.

*   *   *

I wandered through a burned-out plain, wheat stalks and vines still smoking. The acrid fumes filled my mouth and nose until I retched into an open grave. They gaped between the scorched piles of the harvest. My footsteps led me to one in particular.

The earth was damp and dark and smelled clean. Then I looked again, and Grattius was in it, his body swollen with rot, the sweet odor rising like the smoke from the field. I watched as his body writhed, the maggots and the flies thick and hungry.

I turned my head and fell and kept falling, in one headlong flight that didn't stop until I found myself lying in another grave, staring at the blue sky. Agricola was above me, and Gwyna, and Bilicho, and so were Philo and Octavio and Papirius. Drusius was carving the stone. Papirius bent over and looked at me, then threw in a clod of dirt that hit my head and made me scream. The dirt was coming thickly now, and everyone was helping. I covered my face with my arms and turned over, my fingers grasping toward the dark for a way out.

They touched something soft and warm that liquified in my hands. I opened my eyes. It was Faro, and the flesh was falling off his face.

“Ardur—Ardur!! Wake up, Ardur!”

My heart echoed in my ears. It was a good sound. “Gwyna—I'm sorry—bad dream—”

I was out of breath, as if I'd been running. Which, in a way, I had been. She repositioned herself to sit next to me on the bed and stroked my hair.

“Shh. Take your time. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

I tried to focus on the window. The light told me it was the first hour of morning. I'd been in bed for four hours. “I couldn't, anyway. Best thing for me is work.”

I stood up and held out my hands to her. “Come on. Eat breakfast with me, and I'll tell you all about the Bud of the Nymph.”

She let the worry go when I pulled her toward me and followed that with a hard caress.

“Stop it. I'm barely awake, and the first thing you think about—”

“—is you. See how much better I feel?”

She leaned her head back, eyes closed, and smiled. “That's not the end I'm worried about.”

I took my hands off the small of her back and reached for a tunic. “I can't wait to get back home and have a real vacation. Meet me in the dining room.”

“In a few minutes. It takes me more than one drip on a water clock to dress.”

I arched my eyebrows at her. “Are you accusing me of sartorial neglect? I'll have you know this tunic—”

“Smells like a dead fish. Here. Wear this one. And put on some trousers, Ardur. You never know when you're going to run into Sulpicia.”

“I don't—”

“Yes, I know. I'm the only one you want to—run into. But you won't let me wear my blue linen tunic to Philo's for dinner—and I won't let you go out without protection. Wear some leather underneath. That woman's eyes can see right through cloth.”

I was climbing into the trousers, wondering what sort of conversations women had when they were alone. Then I realized what she'd said. “Philo's? Are we going to Philo's for dinner?”

“I think we should. He invited us in order to help us, didn't he?”

I made a noise in the back of my throat that I hoped sounded noncommittal. “You'll have to send a messenger and let him know.”

She cocked her head. “Ardur. Considering the slaves in this place, that's hardly an objection. Unless, of course, something you found out last night would affect the decision. Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Discover something that would keep us from seeing Philo on a social basis?”

I laced up my sandals and turned to leave. “No. Actually—I think it's a good idea. But he's not sitting next to you.”

She looked at me solemnly. “I promise, darling. If anybody gropes me, it will be you.”

I froze in the doorway. Then I saw she was laughing at me, and I drew my cloak and my tattered pride around my shoulders and marched off with whatever dignity I could.

Goddamn Philo.

*   *   *

Breakfast was a subtle affair. Priscus cooked pheasant's eggs (I preferred chicken) and small rolls with figs and currants (I preferred plain brown bread). The porridge was Egyptian wheat with Cypriot honey (I like British oats and honey from Camulodunum). I was telling Gwyna what happened when I heard huge feet creeping along the hallway.

“Draco! Come in and eat with us!”

Lineus fluttered in from a faraway corner at the same time Draco shuffled toward us. “Have some breakfast. I'm sorry if we woke you.”

“No, sir. I mean Arcturus. I was awake.”

“Did you go to sleep at all?”

“A little.”

He sat in a basket chair as if he were afraid he'd break it and reached for an egg. Lineus was still waiting.

“Everything all right, Lineus?”

“Perfectly,
Dominus.
The slaves are willing to watch the door again.”

I smiled through a fig. “What did you do?”

“I? Nothing, sir. It was you.”

“I didn't do anything. What did I do?”

“You came home, sir.”

I looked at Gwyna and Draco, but neither of them could translate. I spoke slowly. “I—came home. I usually come home, Lineus. What—”

“Excuse me for interrupting, sir, I'm not explaining it well. After the note we received last night, most of the slaves—not I, sir, but many others—thought you'd be killed. The woman who cleans the bath—she's an old woman, sir, a—a northener.” His nose wrinkled as if someone had farted. “She said that if you could survive last night, the curse would be broken.”

I exploded. “Curse?! What curse?”

Gwyna interrupted me. “Thank you, Lineus. That will be all for now.”

He bowed without another word and showed himself out of the room.

“What the hell—”

“Darling—don't mind the servants—it's flattering, in a way.”

“It is a compliment.” Draco's brown eyes were earnest.

“Why is it a compliment?”

He reddened as we both looked at him. “Because if they thought there was a curse—nothing, not even fear of death, would convince them, and they—they can—servants, I mean—cause trouble. They can look like they're working but get nothing done. And gossip.”

“So why is that flattering?”

“Because they think your power is greater than the curse—and it was. So now everything is all right.”

I shook my head. “Poor bastards.”

Gwyna knew what I meant and reached over and took my hand. “They are right to have faith in you, Ardur.”

I changed the subject. “Where was I?”

“Grattius. How he received orders from someone to have Aufidio cursed. That connects Bibax with the mine—if only as a murder weapon. I think that was all. You were starting to describe how Faro was killed.”

“All right. So Faro's paid off with a large sum of money. He leaves with a nice horse for another provincial town but is hired—by someone he knows or trusts—to perform one last bit of ghost-raising. And the ghost is Calpurnius.”

“Who would hire him to raise Calpurnius?”

I leaned forward. “That's just it. Only someone who pretended an interest in his murder. That was the most interesting thing about Calpurnius—that and whatever he knew that caused it.”

Gwyna said slowly: “So you think someone—someone close to a young, pretty girl—unless she was specially hired for this—”

“I don't think so. The tanner said Faro seemed to recognize her.”

“Well, whoever it was baited Faro into going to the cemetery. Someone sent a note, and probably money, and asked him to stop on his way out of town. He was waiting for the note, wasn't he? Why else would he be in that horrid bar?”

“It must've been someone Faro wasn't afraid of. Or at least who he thought wouldn't kill him. Someone with a logical interest in Calpurnius's murder.”

Gwyna's hand was reaching for a fig when she sank back against the couch, her fingers curling into a fist. The knuckles were as white as her face. “Ardur—have you thought—I mean—the most logical person to be interested in Calpurnius's death is you.”

“ ‘Mur-der-er.' Yeah. I thought of it. I'm waiting for a note to be conveniently discovered.”

Draco was looking back and forth between us, his forehead creased with confusion. “What note? I thought—”

I turned to him. “I didn't write a note, Draco. I was on my way to the mine. Its just that Faro's murder looks as phony as the smile on an undertaker. Except he really was killed, and by someone who would like it better if everyone thinks I did it. I wouldn't be surprised if someone finds a message to Faro with my name on it, suggesting we meet at the cemetery and play
iactus
with Calpurnius.”

“Ardur—what about Materna? Secunda is a pretty girl.”

I leaned back in the chair. I couldn't talk about Materna and eat at the same time. “Materna seemed to truly care for Faro. As much as a twisted, cankered mass of hatred can care for anything.”

Gwyna's face was as hard as Egyptian granite. “Hate and love can be exactly the same thing.”

I scratched my ear. “Yeah—but we need proof. I'm trying to stay one step ahead, and I don't even know where I'm going.”

“You're going to Philo's for dinner. If someone is setting us up, we should take advantage of his social position. Not act guilty.”

“Which is why we made that trip down to the spring.”

Gwyna started to rise. “I'll send a message.”

Draco spoke up. “I'll go.”

“Draco—you're a freedman—”

He nodded. “I know. But—but I'd like to help.”

It would give him something to do. Maybe even get him clean. He needed a bath almost as much as the tanner. “Thanks. Why don't you take a look in the baths, too—see if you overhear something useful?”

“That would be fine—I'd—I'd like to go.” The big man seemed glad of an excuse to get up. He stuffed another egg into his mouth, smiled at us, and left for his room.

Gwyna turned and scrutinized me. “Are you sure you'll be all right without Draco? How's your head?”

“I won't be standing on it anytime soon, but I'm all right. I'll be back by the late afternoon.”

“Where are you going? What's the plan?”

“To see Sestius for a little blackmail talk. You said we need to be social—so I'll be social.”

“Wear your nice cloak. The blue one.”

“Men don't think about—”

“Yes they do, Ardur. At least men like Sestius.” She mulled for a minute. “I should chat up his girlfriend. She'll let me know if he's not spending money on her, and she's young and pretty—though we don't know of any link between Sestius and Faro.”

I grunted. “I keep running into cobwebs.”

“Well, I'm going to the baths to talk to people. Flavia, too—she's probably squirming in her bathing suit to hear about—about my miscarriage.”

It was the first time she'd said it out loud. “Will you be all right? I don't want—”

“I'll be fine. Don't worry. I want to do this. It's important.”

I reached across and took her hand. “Be careful.”

“You, too. Where else are you going?”

“On a hunt for Faro's missing horse. I”ve got some ideas about it.”

“Be back in time to dress.”

“I hope to be back in time to undress.”

She leaned forward and took her hand from mine and put a finger to my lips.

“Shh. Focus on the case, Ardur. There are good people here, but the town—the ghosts—the—the soul of the place—it's been infected. Corrupted. The slaves are right, you know. You can lift the curse.”

Her eyes were enormous and earnest. I bent forward and kissed her cheek. I didn't want to disappoint my wife, but I was afraid that whatever was wrong in Aquae Sulis would prove to be too heavy for me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I stopped at Natta's shop at the foot of the hill. It would be a hard day for Gwyna, and I was under the impression that jewelry usually helps. Buteo was outside. He stood with his hands on his belt, staring off toward the town. He jumped when he saw me, coughing, a dry, rasping wheeze that the coming rain wouldn't make any better. I wasn't sure if much would.

“Good morning. I'd like to buy something. Is your—is Natta here?”

I almost said “your father” but remembered in time. They looked enough alike. He gestured with his head toward the small, dark shop while his heavy shoulders shook with the force of the cough.

More dust on the wooden counter. Natta crept out of the back, pushing aside the tattered drape and holding on to it for support.

“Yes? You want—ah, it's the young doctor. Come in, come in. Your wife—she liked the necklace?”

“Very much. I want to buy her a ring.”

He smiled at me indulgently, until memory overtook his features and made them look younger and less ill. “She is—she is a beautiful woman.”

That surprised me. “You've seen her?”

He nodded, still in a trance of remembrance. “On her way to the baths, I think. Yes. She is very beautiful. She reminds me of—of my wife. Yes—my wife.”