Kelli Stanley - The Curse-Maker

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.