The Curse-Maker by Kelli Stanley Read Free Book Online

garish green palla, was discussing something with Philo. Words separated from their meaning floated by—“Roscia’s new litter” and “a divine new treatment by Audax—such a masseur!” and “haunted mine.”
    â€œHaunted mine?” I couldn’t pin down the source. All I could hear was Octavio’s wife talking about Roscia, who wasn’t a lately pregnant cat.
    â€œI say—Arcturus! The murder, what about this murder?”
    Vitellius hadn’t succumbed yet, but before I could answer, the old haruspex growled: “Wickedness. That’s what it is. Town’s become wicked. Aquae Sulis is cursed.”
    The room was suddenly quiet. The old man glared at the assembled party.
    â€œI know what I say. I’ve seen the changes come. Aquae Sulis is cursed.”
    Grattius leaned over to me from the right and whispered loudly: “Don’t pay attention to old Marcius. He’s only here because Papirius was busy tonight.” He added in a louder voice: “Have some more wine, Marcius!”
    The old man shook his head. “As sure as my name is Aulus Marcius Memor, there is wickedness in this town. And the goddess will make it pay. She already has.”
    His wrinkled mouth turned downward, as he stared at his empty wine cup. Then his eyes closed and he went to sleep.
    The bathmaster’s wife laughed loudly, yellow teeth bared. “Good old Marcius! Always good for a laugh.”
    She caught my eye. “So what about it? What about Bibax? Was he really strangled?”
    Everyone looked at me with an eagerness only stories about death and sex can inspire. I took a shot of the wine, and was proud of myself for not making a face.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow do you know?” the woman demanded. Octavio nudged her in the ribs.
    â€œHis body says so. And someone put the piece of lead in his mouth.”
    Vibia snorted. “Died how he lived, didn’t he? Choked on his own curses!”
    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?”
    â€œBecause 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.
    â€œMy, 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?”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œWell, 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