The Curse-Maker (38 page)

He looked at Gwyna. “But your lady does not understand us. Let me try.”

I nodded. He fixed his brown eyes on hers.

“Once, lady—a long time ago—there was a woman. A woman who looked—who looked much like you. Her family married her to a man, not so poor, not so rich—but … ambitious. Yes. He was ambitious, once.

“The lady desired children. But after one year, she was not with child. And she grew impatient, and thought perhaps a god could help her.

“So she went to the temple. The god there promised many things and many children. But the priest—the priest told her she must stay the night, and the god will come to her. If she prays hard enough, the god will give her a child himself.”

He lowered his head and plucked at the pouch in his hand. “The priest was an age-mate of her husband's. A man who saw her once, and—and fell in love. That night—only Endovelicus knows who came to her. The god—or the priest—or both.”

He brooded for a moment, his mind a thousand miles away and forty years in the past. Then he looked at Gwyna again. And smiled.

“They did not lie. The woman became pregnant. And—and visited the temple often. But there were problems. It was not easy for her. And when it was time for the birth, her husband was away. So she went to the priest, who was a doctor, too, as all priests of Endovelicus are. He tried to save her and the baby. He could not.”

Tears rolled down Gwyna's cheek. Natta looked away from her and turned to face the waters again.

“Some said it was the priest's child in the woman, and he was shamed. And when she died … some said he killed her, before the truth could come out, a baby born who looked like him. He was thrown out from the temple, left Hispania in disgrace.

“He thought the baby died with its mother. But the midwife delivered it, slapped it harder, and it began to breathe. A baby boy. The midwife gave it to the woman's husband and helped him raise the child, until she, too, passed away.”

He brought the pouch out and held it in front of him, staring past it to the bubbling water.

“The boy learned the story from his father when he was old enough. They left Hispania and traveled, moving from one town to the next, and one day they came to a certain place. There, in the town, was the priest—the priest who long ago had loved the boy's mother and left the child to die. And the boy—who was now a man—became enraged.

“The priest was now a doctor. And the man wanted revenge on this priest who had wronged his father, who had killed his mother. So he followed him—watched him—saw what he did. Sometimes in the name of mercy, sometimes for money. Always for reputation. A temple, the priest wanted. Another temple.

“The man saw the evil and thought he could rid the town of it. First one, then the other. Ending with the priest. Hydra heads, he called them. Hydra heads. But they poisoned him. Poisoned my Buteo.”

Gwyna took a step closer to him. The pouch made a small splash, the brown leather bobbing against the blue and green, drawing the sacred water in like breath. Becoming sodden and heavy and finally drifting, waving, falling to the bottom.

Natta whispered, facing the spring.

“These stones—our future—belong to the goddess. I will follow Buteo. But do not weep, lady. I will see her again. I have waited long enough.”

The spring churned and made little waves against the stone. A few people stood, some staring at the water. Some threw in a wooden carving or a small silver piece. I held on to Gwyna. Natta drew himself up from the rail and limped away, his faded robe trailing in the pale dust.

*   *   *

It was difficult to say good-bye after all. The slaves were still talking about the curse and how I broke it, and about the night we formed a small army and defeated Hannibal at the gates. Draco was coming back with us, a free man in more ways than one.

The donkey was healing well but couldn't work anymore, and no one else was willing to pay for her feed. I'd board her out with Nimbus and Pluto. Maybe it was time to start thinking about that farm I always wanted.

We looked around the villa again, thanked it for making us welcome, a safe house in an unsafe town. That was changing.

The market square was cleaner. You couldn't get
aconitum
quite as easily anymore, though the bottles of piss would always be big sellers. Grattius and Secundus disappeared, Grattius running from the legion, Secundus from ghosts more terrible than Rome. Papirius was still chief priest, but he would keep his nose cleaner and his hands out of the spring. Natta's jewels would go to the goddess, disappearing in the water and mud, waiting for a future he'd never see.

Gwyna fingered the necklace she was wearing when we rode by the closed
gemmarius
shop, the horses' hooves clomping on the paving stone.

A breeze blew against our backs, a warm spell that came out of nowhere, but maybe down from the green hills that ringed Aquae Sulis like a crown. It was dawn, the first hour of day, and the spring, as it had been when we met the old man, was empty. Draco waited for us up the hill.

She took the mask Papirius had given her and held it between her fingers. The splash of water rose like a little fountain. Together we watched the tin sink, the water washing over the face like a drowning man's. When it was gone, she shuddered. I held her.

We climbed out of the valley until we were on the hill. Draco was ahead, holding the donkey. A pale sun shone on Aquae Sulis, and the stone was cleaner than it had been in a long time.

We reined in the horses and looked back. By the spring, facing us, was a group of people. I couldn't make out their faces—one of them looked like the old lady who told me about Bibax. There was another old woman, a younger man, and a boy. Other figures crowded behind them. To the side of the water, by himself, was another man—dressed in the garb of a priest.

The old lady saw us, raised a hand. I looked at Gwyna. She was staring straight ahead, rigid. I raised my hand above my head. One by one, they seemed to dissolve in the dawn and the mist from the spring, until only a flicker of sun on yellow stone was shining from the waters of Sulis.

It was time to go home.

GLOSSARY

aconitum:
highly poisonous flowering plant used as a medicine, particularly in eye crèmes; also known as wolfsbane, and a common poison in Roman lore

Aesculapius:
Roman version of the Greek god of healing (Asklepios)

animus:
a word with profound meaning to the Romans: mind, will, character, force, spirit; the essential element of being

apodyterium:
changing room at the public baths … where notes were left, clothes and possessions were stolen, and assignations made

as/asses:
bronze coin and basic unit of the Roman monetary system for everyday transactions … and virtually the only coin the poorer classes would commonly see

auctoritas:
a supremely important concept within the culture and difficult to define; more than authority, more than importance,
auctoritas
implied leadership, strength and trustworthiness, as well as another prized Roman characteristic:
gravitas
(significance or seriousness)

aureus/aureii:
Roman gold coin at the top of the monetary hierarchy, worth approximately four hundred
asses,
one hundred
sestertii
, and twenty-five
denarii
, and—like silver
denarii
—minted based on bullion weight

balneator:
manager of the public bath—a position of great importance in a spa town

caldarium:
the hot, heated pool in a Roman bath

Caledonii:
Northern British tribe of Celtic origins; defeated at the battle of Mons Graupius by Agricola

canis:
a canine—as in “
cave canem
,” beware of the dog

Cloaca Maxima:
the largest sewer in Rome

contubernium:
group of eight soldiers who shared a tent (while on campaign) or barracks quarters

cui bono:
phrase popularized by Marcus Tullius Cicero (lawyer, orator, consul, and political figure of the Late Republic) which means “who profits?”—an excellent question to ask after a murder

defixio/defixiones
derived from a verb meaning to tie down, bind, or fasten,
defixio
was the Latin word for a curse tablet

denarius/denarii:
silver coin worth four brass
sestertii
and minted by bullion weight like the gold
aureus

depilator:
bath worker with the unfortunate job of plucking body hair; hairy bodies were considered uncouth

deus ex machina:
a theatrical contraption used to suddenly lower an actor playing a god onto the stage; a sudden and improbable resolution, with the ends too neatly tied

dominus/domina:
master/mistress, typical address of respect by a slave to his owner

duovir/duoviri:
one of two head councilmen who sometimes managed the affairs of a
municipium

Endovelicus:
a native god of fertility and healing within the Roman province of Hispania

fibula/fibulae:
large Roman safety pin, used to close cloaks and other items of clothing

Fortuna:
the notoriously fickle goddess of luck

formula/formulae:
a spell, incantation, or other set of ritual words used in magic or curse-making

forum:
marketplace and beating heart of an ancient city—where politics, business, meetings, legal transactions, and much of daily life transpired

frigidarium:
cold pool in a Roman bath

garum:
a very popular condiment and spice used in many Roman dishes, made from liquefied fish guts; similar to anchovy sauce, and definitely an acquired taste

gladius:
short, two-edged Roman sword

gemmarius:
a jeweler, particularly a gem cutter

haruspex:
a man who practiced the art of Etruscan divination by reading the livers of sacrificed animals—usually sheep

iactus:
a game of throwing dice, derived from the Latin verb meaning to throw or toss

Ides:
fifteenth of the month in March, May, July, or October, and the thirteenth of the month during the rest of the year—Julius Caesar did not heed the warning to “beware the Ides of March”

insula/insulae:
an apartment building usually located in the middle of the block; derived from the Latin word meaning “island”

Kalends:
the first day of the month

kylix:
shallow Greek drinking cup with handles

lacerna:
an outer cloak worn by a man, sometimes with a hood, and fastened on the right shoulder

medicus:
doctor—not always intended as a compliment

municipium:
in Roman Britain, was more of a ceremonial title awarding a town the status in between that of a
colonia
(usually settled by retired legionaries) and a
civitas capital
(city independently managed by the local tribe of the area); a
municipium
could enjoy some independence from Rome and was granted the right to a local government

Nones:
seventh of the month in March, May, July, and October; fifth of the month in the rest of the calendar year

ordo:
local town council in a
municipium

palaestra:
exercise room in the public bath where you were expected to work up a sweat

palla:
a large outer wrap or mantle worn by respectable Roman women, rectangular in shape, and reaching at least to the calf

posca:
diluted vinegar and herbs: the cheapest sort of alcohol

rufus:
an apt name for a redhead

salve/salvete:
singular and plural forms of the common Roman greeting; literally means “Be well!”

sesterius/sestertii:
brass coin below the silver
denarius,
which was worth four times as much; one hundred equaled an
aureus

stola:
a somewhat dated fashion choice by the late first century CE, only Roman matrons could wear this feminine version of the toga, which featured a plunging neckline, was belted below the breast, and was worn over a tunic

strychnos:
a hallucinogenic drug derived from deadly nightshade—better known as belladonna

thermae:
the public baths

triclinium:
the dining room

tunica:
an undergarment worn by both men and women; often the only clothing of the poor

Ultor:
the Avenger

veritas:
the truth; “
in vino, veritas
”

vigiles:
the fire/watch/police force of Rome—singular term is
vigil

vino:
wine, the gift of Bacchus

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Authors are rightly very grateful every time they get a chance to write acknowledgements. Book publishing—particularly fiction—not only requires the work and dedication of a great many people … it requires luck. Or, in Arcturus's adopted language, Fortuna.

The Curse-Maker
would not be in your hands or on your e-reader without the support of my original publisher, Five Star, who brought out my debut novel, my first Roman noir, and thus introduced Arcturus and friends. Though a small-press book,
Nox Dormienda
was blessed with Fortuna and the good wishes of many readers, winning the Bruce Alexander Memorial Historical Mystery Award as best historical mystery of the year in 2008. I'd like to thank Marty and Roz Greenberg, John Helfers, my first editor, Gordon Aalborg, and most particularly the angel of Gale publishing, Tiffany Schofield, for all their support and belief in my work.