The Curse-Maker (9 page)

Some were getting massaged, some getting their hair plucked here instead of in the baths themselves. The hell with fashion. My chest hair wasn't in anyone's way. Besides, there were too many hairy asses strutting around for anyone to pay attention to me.

I'd brought a handball, started throwing it at one of the walls. The sounds from the bath area filtered through the doorway, making it harder to concentrate.

“Sausage—fresh sausages with basil!”

“—all night long. She just wouldn't stop! I thought my back would—”

“Perfume from the East—perfume from the East! Only two
sestertii
!”

“—and watch as this amazing performer will thrill you with her ability to fold herself into this tiny little box—”

“Quit splashing, you buffoon!”

“And I said—you won't believe it—and I said—”

“Ouch! Goddamn it, that's not a hair!”

I threw the ball and caught it on the return. A throaty chuckle made me feel even less dressed.

I turned to the window. Sulpicia was leaning on it with both arms, staring at me—and my kilt. I felt myself flush.

“Hello—Doctor. How do you like the baths?”

I threw again, missing the rebound. It hit a fat man with a furry back, who shot a venomous look in my direction. I picked it up, careful not to bend over toward Sulpicia.

“I haven't been inside yet.”

“The water is special. Not the building, so much. You'll see. Everything's at just the right temperature.” Everything except me.

“Where's Vitellius?” I asked abruptly.

She laughed. “He's in the big bath. He never exercises.”

Her eyes crawled all over me. I felt like a slave at an auction. Measured, weighed, assessed.

I retrieved the ball from where I'd dropped it yet again. “I'll go find him.”

“I'm sure he's getting rubbed down. He likes his oil. I'd do it for him, but…” She shrugged. “Proper ladies don't bathe with men.” She winked. “Unless they have private baths.”

I smiled weakly, took the ball, and retreated to the dressing room. I'd had enough exercise playing with Sulpicia. I told Ligur to follow me with the oil and strigil, then beckoned to a young boy in the corner.

“I need someone to watch my belongings. What's your name?”

“Aeron, sir.”

“You're hired. And Aeron … if you notice anything unusual that happens in this room, I'll give you two
sestertii
.”

“Yes, sir!”

He reminded me of Hefin. I winced. Not here, not now. I'd gotten fat enough on the guilt diet. I tightened up my stomach muscles and moved on.

I turned left, to the artificially heated section on the west side. The water was plain, still, and cold, straight from the ground and heated by man. These pools weren't as popular as the Great Bath, since it wasn't Sulis's water, and no one knew who its mother was.

The usual assortment of flesh displayed itself. Propped against alcoves, slumbering on the paved stone, a shoal of beached tunny on a stretch of yellow sand. I poured some oil on my skin, stepped into the
tepidarium,
and did some requisite splashing while I looked around.

Public baths were always hailed as the great leveler. The rich could rub elbows with the poor, and the poor could rub something else, if you paid them well enough. Baths were cleaner than whorehouses, and there were plenty of dark corners you could get to know each other better in.

Dandies with a ring on every finger strutted by in tight, wet kilts, advertising the daily special. Middle-aged merchants entertained whores in the
caldarium
, too fat to do anything but pant over the smell and sight of wet, jiggling skin.

Then there were the artistic entertainments. A poet croaked a turgid epic in a dull monotone while a younger version in the opposite corner recited naughty lyrics, punctuated by the snores of an old man who obviously didn't find them naughty enough.

No lyre player today, but a juggler was doing tricks with a discus. When it landed on a muscular specimen in the
caldarium,
he proved his feet were faster than his hands. Various sellers of cakes, candies, sausages, and snacks wandered by, each item less appetizing than the one before it. I bought a mint breath freshener from a freckled man who obviously never tried his own product.

I climbed out of the
caldarium
disappointed. A typical day in a typical Roman bath. Nothing of particular interest.

Ligur gave me a vigorous strigiling, and I headed for the cold plunge. I was holding my breath, preparing for the shock of the water, when I recognized an eager voice behind me.

“It's Arcturus, isn't it?”

I exhaled and turned to see Octavio, who was clearly delighted to see me, because he raised his voice several levels and shouted: “Wonderful to have you, Arcturus! And how is the governor?”

“The same as he was yesterday, Octavio. Nice baths you have here.”

“Oh, but you haven't seen the best of them yet. You must go to the Great Bath.” His voice went up again. “A doctor of your skill will appreciate the waters.”

My sarcastic smile bounced off of him and made a plunking sound in the pool. People were looking at us. So much for anonymity.

“Thanks. I will.”

Before he could advertise a free corn removal by the governor's
medicus
, I jumped into the
frigidarium
. I stayed in as long as I could, which was exactly as long as Octavio lingered before someone told him something about a clog in the drain, and he went running.

Ligur met me with a soft towel while I dripped on the soft yellow stone. I looked out the
frigidarium
windows to the waters of the Sacred Spring, undulating like a Babylonian belly dancer. They were hiding something. Maybe I'd find out what in the Great Bath.

When I walked into the hall, I finally understood why so many people limped, hobbled, and crawled to Aquae Sulis. The misery outside was lessened just a little on the faces of the men waist deep in the pool.

A green-blue haze rose from the steaming water, dissipating by the time it reached the soaring yellow vaults and high windows. Statues—good ones—lined the aisles, reminding you of what you looked like when you were nineteen, and whispering words of encouragement that you could look like that again. Seats for slaves and companions lodged in commodious niches, and warm, secluded alcoves allowed for private conversations and secret assignations.

The whole room was big, even by Roman standards, and it filled itself with light and air, balancing the heat of the water. I sniffed. The smell was brisk, unmistakably of the earth, with a pleasant volcanic tang that reminded me of Baiae—but cleaner somehow, softer. The water droplets beaded like sweat on my arm hair and soothed my skin as they wetted it.

On the eastern end, more pools of the water tapered into two separate, smaller chambers, each one less warm than the previous. The entire complex was designed to give the greatest pleasure to all your senses. Even the noise was subdued, as if it melted away with the steam. I was starting to like the place when another voice I knew and didn't like reminded me why I was there.

“Arcturus! Hallo, there! Arcturus!”

Vitellius was stretched out on a stone above the middle of the pool, getting a back rub from a young boy, whom he eyed with evident interest. I wondered if Sulpicia knew—or cared.

I walked around to his side and looked down at his vacuous face. “Hello, Vitellius.”

“Marvelous, isn't it? Have you been in yet?”

“No. I'm about to.”

“Oh, go on. Don't let me keep you.” He closed his eyes in ecstasy as the boy's short, strong fingers plied his butt cheek. I stepped down into the green water, which was a little deeper than the usual baths.

It was as hot as the hottest
caldarium,
but not harsh or jarring. I dipped my arms. The water was like a smooth, gentle hand that packed an invigorating slap. I closed my eyes and felt my muscles relax. They fought the water, but the water was winning.

I let myself be seduced for a while, and only opened my eyes and looked around when I started to feel cheap. Then I wet my hair and face and tried to wake up.

There were a lot of old men in the pool, squeezing the last drop of pleasure from a dying body. One face I recognized: the
gemmarius
who gave me directions. His swarthy son or apprentice was with him, helping him walk without a stick. Our eyes met. I was on the point of saying hello when Grattius made his entrance. Octavio was following him as if he thought gold
aureii
might drop out of his ass.

“You see, Grattius—Arcturus”—a louder voice—“the governor's doctor—is already here.”

Grattius waddled his head complacently. “Good, good. Of course, I never arrive before the eighth hour. Best time, you know.” That would be the Roman Book of Etiquette under Nero. Let's see—he was only six emperors behind.

He settled his freckled, hairy bulk on a chair one of his slaves carried in. Then, with an arch of his eyebrow and a crook of his finger, he summoned a depilator. That would be my cue to find a different view.

I stepped out. Ligur dried me off, and I walked over to pay my disrespects to Grattius. He was holding court next to Vitellius, who wisely kept snoring. I wanted to bring up something to irritate him, and the elusive mining conversation of the night before seemed promising.

“So, Grattius,” I said in my best jovial tone, “tell me about this haunted mine?”

He raised his eyebrows and yelped. “Don't pull my goddamn ear out!”

The hair-plucker was used to both abuse and cries of pain. He changed his focus to Grattius's nose.

“Haunted mine? Nonsense. You shouldn't listen to rumors.” He swiveled his neck to yell again. “Can't you see I'm talking? Do my armpits.”

I stepped back quickly and walked to his other side. I was a doctor. My stomach was supposed to be strong enough for anything. Still, no sense taking chances.

He turned in the chair to look at me, a little irritated. “Don't know who started it. It's a damn mess, is what it is. Can't find people to work in it—slaves too expensive for the consortium—go through 'em too quickly in mines, you need to have a high output to pay for new ones every six months. This is just lead, a simple lead mine, and now people won't go near it. Idiots!”

“Are you one of the owners?”

He looked gratified. “Not me, my boy. I have too much to do to run the town. I represent their interests, though, if you know what I mean.” He rubbed his nose knowingly. “We're trying to get it going again—always a need for lead in this town, what with the pipes and the curses—good pewterware made here, too. Opening it up can help get those other springs developed. Make a nice little profit on it.”

More noise from the doorway. It was Philo, and he, too, was escorted by Octavio. Various men pressed around and mobbed him, seeking medical advice. Octavio managed to shoo most of them away. It was dangerous being a doctor in a hot room full of desperately ill people. Dangerous—and judging from Philo, profitable.

The
gemmarius
stepped out of the water and limped toward him. Their physical difference was striking—both about the same age, one feeble and shrunken, the other looking twenty years younger than he was. The smarmy bastard.

The jeweler plucked at his sleeve. “Got some help for a bad leg, Doctor? Any advice for me?”

Philo smiled down at him, and outside the clouds parted and the birds sang.

“You've done the best thing you could do for it—you came here.” Then he grasped the man's arm warmly and walked toward us. The jeweler wouldn't, or couldn't, let go, and Philo graciously but firmly unbent the man's fingers from his arm, gliding away.

Between Grattius's armpits and Philo's smiling perfection, I couldn't stand the smell. Not even the water could clean it. I motioned to Ligur, and Grattius's piggish eyes didn't miss it.

“What? You're not taking the cold bath, Arcturus?”

“Already did, Grattius.” Ligur ran up with more towels and some lightly scented oil. He rubbed it quickly into my back and arms while I stood waiting for the all-over scrutiny and inevitable word from the good doctor.

“Hello, Arcturus. Glad to see you here. What do you think now?”

“It's a special place.”

Grattius chortled, as if I'd made a funny. “Of course it is, my boy.”

Ligur rubbed some oil into my hair. When Grattius was busy arranging himself for the depilator, Philo leaned over and whispered, “Did you find out anything?”

I shook my head, partly to disperse the oil and partly to make Philo get away from me. “Not much.”

“Keep me informed, if you would.”

“Of course.”

I crooked my finger at Ligur. That's apparently how they did it at Aquae Sulis.

“Off to dinner, eh, Arcturus?” Grattius's mouth stretched into his version of a sly smile. “And who knows what else that nice little piece of yours will have waiting?”

Vitellius woke up from his nap, and said: “Sulpicia?”

The subsequent laughter saved Grattius from needing Philo's professional attention. I gave him a stare that made him go white. Quite an accomplishment, considering he looked like a hairy boil. I turned my back and walked out.

The waters were good. Whatever was wrong here had nothing to do with the waters.

When we got back to the dressing room, I changed my clothes and gave Aeron a whole
sestertius
, more than a day's worth of tips.

“Anything happen?”

He scratched his head. “N-no. Not that I can figure.” He sounded disappointed.

“Offer still stands. You see anything around here you think qualifies, you come get me. All right?”

He nodded. He was smart and poor, and therefore invisible.