CHAPTER TWENTY

It was a long walk to Grattius’s house. I used the time to lecture Draco on the evils of bad women. I told him about Dionysia and my misspent youth. I told him about how desirable she was, and how she seduced me. I told him about how she could use her body in ways that—and then I realized we were in another conversation. So I told him how ugly it got. I made some of it up.

When we finally got to Grattius’s door, I told Draco to bang on it. His massive fist hammered the wood five times before a slave opened it a crack, a bleary eye peering through the darkness.

“What do you want? Don’t come any closer, or we’ll—”

“Take us off the guest list? Go get Grattius. Tell him it’s Arcturus, and it’s about Faro, and he’d better get his fat ass out of bed.”

The eye withdrew with a terrified look. I jammed my foot in the door and nodded to Draco. He shoved against the oak, and whoever was holding it on the other side fell down. I extended a hand to the two slaves who’d been bracing it and were now on the floor.

“Sorry.” I turned to the eye, which belonged to a middle-aged man I’d seen on my first visit. He was shaking. “Where is he?”

The slave was loyal, but his eyes betrayed him and darted down a corridor on the right.

“Let’s go, Draco.”

Draco brought up the rear, keeping an eye on the slaves, who were both armed. Vibia wandered out of a room behind us, clutching a long robe. She looked disappointed when she realized Draco wasn’t there to give her a good time. When we told her what we wanted, she turned around and went back to her own bedroom. So much for wifely devotion.

The room was dark and full of raspy sawing. Draco stood by the door, to make sure no one got too courageous. Grattius was lying on his back, his mouth open, an obscene noise erupting from his nose like a lava flow. I leaned in close and made it loud.

“Grattius! Get the hell up!”

The eruption choked itself and sputtered ash into the air. He did a sit-up, his jellied belly heaving with fear. “Wha—what—who—”

“Open the door wider, Draco, and let some light in.”

I took out my little lamp and lit it again. Sat it on a table beside his bed, and sat myself on the corner of the mattress.

“Wake up and talk. This isn’t a social call.”

He scooted back in bed and braced himself against the wall, covering up with a purple blanket. “How—how dare you—”

“Quit with the leaderly noises, Grattius. You’re one step away from court, prison, and maybe slavery. Rome doesn’t like it when her mines are trifled with. She likes to be awake and paid off when she’s getting screwed.”

His eyes darted, landing on Draco. They bounced off Draco’s chin and took in the stubble on my own. Then they narrowed and started to think.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I was tired. I didn’t want to dance with Grattius. He’d step on my feet.

“Look, you stupid bastard. All I have to do is tell the governor about the silver mine that wasn’t supposed to be a silver mine, that wasn’t even supposed to be open—the one you’ve been bragging about—and it’s over. Your house, your wife, your slaves—all gone. Like that.”

I snapped my fingers under his nose, and he jerked his head back. He swallowed and thought it over. It took him about five seconds. Then he whined.

“I—I didn’t kill Faro. You can’t pin it on me. I didn’t know anything about it.”

“I believe you. What do you know?”

His breath was coming out in hysterical little gulps. “I—I knew it was silver. And I paid Faro. To keep—keep talking about the ghost.”

“How did you pay him?”

“The—the baths. Left money in a cubicle.”

“Your money?”

He nodded. “I got—got paid back. Same way. Through the baths. They—they told me what to do—left instructions.”

“Who’s in the syndicate?”

“Don’t—don’t know. A man—not from town. I meet him sometimes near Iscalis.”

“Who else?”

He shook his head. “I—don’t—know. Someone—someone from town. I—I know that much. Someone. Not me.” He raised his piggish, bloodshot eyes to mine. “I’m not taking the blame. I’m not taking the blame!” His voice was a shrill whistle of hysteria.

I grabbed his wrist. “Talk, Grattius, and I’ll see you don’t lose everything. Talk.”

His voice quavered. “I told you! I—I just followed orders. I don’t know!”

I stared at him for a few seconds while his tongue came out from behind his teeth and he opened his mouth to gasp like a beached tunny. Maybe a change in direction.

“Did you curse Aufidio? The farmer’s son? Did you? Answer me, goddamn it.”

He shrank against the wall. The pallor of his skin was frightening. I slapped him lightly on the face.

“Grattius—tell me. Did you pay Bibax to curse Aufidio?”

The covers knotted in his hands, and he held them up to his mouth, exposing his white, bony knees, swimming in a sea of flesh.

I slapped him harder, and he gulped air. Let the blanket down a little.

“Did you curse Aufidio?”

He looked at me, and then Draco, and back to me, and all around the room. Finally, he came back to my face and held my eyes and nodded. Slowly.

I said it softly: “Was it an order?”

He nodded again. I took a deep breath. That made it simpler—and more complex.

“Grattius—listen to me. Have you been blackmailed over this? Has anyone threatened you?”

His wispy eyebrows huddled together for comfort, and he lowered the blanket again. “N-no. No one.”

“Are you sure? You’re telling me the truth?”

“Yes—yes, of course.”

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.