Kelli Stanley - The Curse-Maker

Priscus was supervising the evening meal, directing an understaff of two on the proper way to braise a rabbit. He looked surprised, then irritated. “Yes?”

“Do you have any sage?”

“Sir, the rabbit will taste much better-”

“It’s not for dinner. I need it for the donkey.”

He raised his eyebrows until they touched his hair. Clearly the governor’s taste in houseguests had declined. He opened a wooden cabinet built into the huge kitchen wall, took down a sprig of hanging sage, and handed it to me wordlessly.

“Thanks. How about some melted meat fat?”

This drew a stare from the undercooks as well. Priscus swallowed. “Do you-do you want it flavored-”

“No. It’s also for the donkey.”

He clicked his mouth shut and dragged out a cheap pot with a floral pattern on it. “I keep extra meat grease in this, for the candles and soap.”

I turned to go and sniffed the air appraisingly. “Priscus-”

“Yes, Dominus ?”

“Too much savory in that seasoning. Reduce it by half.”

His jaw went slack before it clenched together and ground like a pepper mill. “Yes- Dominus. ”

Gwyna was waiting. “Did you get everything you need?”

“Yes. Not without the impression that I was born with no culinary taste.”

She looked amused. “That’s their job. The more expensive the cook, the worse sort of snob he is.”

I started grinding the willow bark into a dry pulp. “Seems like a long time since we got here.”

“Doesn’t it? And it’s only four days before the Nones. ”

“So what happened yesterday?”

“You left for the mines-”

“-and you were heartbroken.”

“Ardur, it’s hard enough to talk without you-”

“All right, all right. Go on.”

“I thought I should go out. Talk only gets worse if you pay attention to it. I wanted to show people that I didn’t give a damn for what they said or what they thought.”

I looked up from the pestle. “That’s why I married you.”

Her lips curved for a moment. “That’s not what you told me last night.”

I was grinding the willow into sawdust, so I stopped, shook it out on the table, and untied the sage. “A man can have a whole list of reasons. So who did you speak to?”

“Pompeius and Crescentia. I thought-well, since we’d both been put through it, it would be natural. So I took the litter and brought Quilla with me, and found out where they lived-”

“Where?”

“Northeast side of the city, closer to the cemeteries. A nice little villa, rather modest, really, considering he’s a tax collector.”

I took the yew wood box from the kit and scooped some of the meat fat into it with my fingers. “What sort of tax collector? Imperial, local…”

“I hope you don’t intend to wipe your hands on your tunic. We have to take it to the fuller’s as it is.”

I’d just been on the point of smearing grease down my front. I sighed and tiptoed into the kitchen, where everyone made a point of ignoring me. Stole one of Priscus’s rags and a wooden stick for stirring. Showed them to Gwyna. “Is this better?”

She gave me a mock reproving look and continued. “Pompeius is a local collector for the municipium of Aquae Sulis, and he collects both the land tax and poll tax, based on whenever there’s a new census. There hasn’t been one for two years.”

I grunted. Scraped the green-brown paste from the yew box into the grease pot, and started to grind more willow. “So he’s not imperial. Which means no direct information about the mine syndicate, since all mine lease fees go straight to Rome. What else?”

“A few things. They’re leaving in a few days-West Country. Heard there’s more sunshine farther west. For Crescentia’s health.”

“How long have they been here?”

“About seven years. He said it’s changed. Used to be a smaller town, rather sleepy and restful, but now-well, the word he used was ‘rotting.’ Pompeius said the town is rotting from within.”

I dumped the willow into the fat and picked up the sage. “From within, huh? Did he give you any examples?”

“He said once the baths and temple became so big-and such big business-everything else went to hell. No one pays any attention to the streets, or proper inns for the tourists-no real town planning at all. He swore that since Rome made them a municipium, with more civic independence, there’s been less money circulating. Even the grain and sheep market is slow.”

“Strange. What about the investment people keep talking about, the development of those other springs?”

“He mentioned it. He said the only person who stood to profit was Octavio.”

I dropped my wooden stir-stick. “Octavio? Why the bathmaster?”

“Because he owns a lot of the land down there. According to Crescentia, though, he’s absolutely drowning in debt. Cash poor and land rich.”

I retrieved my stick from the floor and scraped the sage into the pot. Then I scooped a big glob of everything into the yew box, careful to wipe my hands on the rag afterward.

“Yet he presumably pays his taxes.”

“In cash.”

“Did they mention what sort of development it is?”

“Crescentia said something about Philo being involved. Something to do with a temple to Aesculapius and another bath complex.”

She turned red and looked away for a minute. “She likes Philo. It seems most women do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Several are after him, but he’s never responded.” Now she was definitely red. “Crescentia said she’s never seen him act over anyone like he does over me.”

My head gave a sudden jolt, and I realized I was about to break the pestle. “We can discuss Philo’s taste in women later. What else?”

She cleared her throat. “Crescentia needed a good gossip-she’s the one who told me about Octavio. She knows everyone’s financial standing, and she said that Octavio gets a share of the baths’ profits but is always borrowing money. She thought it might be gambling. Oh, and something else interesting: He used to be a medical orderly. That’s how he talked his way into running the baths.”

“An orderly? He’s as useless as tits on a Vestal.”

She pursed her lips at me. “What an erudite and sensitive remark.”

“Who else did you talk about-other than Philo?”

“Papirius. No one seems to know much about him. He came up through the ranks, was elected head priest a few years ago. Not well liked.”

“How’d he get his money?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think anybody mentioned it.”

I stirred the paste again. The yew box was full. Three days’ worth of medicine for the donkey. “How the hell did he get the position if nobody likes him?”

She shrugged. “He brought in business.”

“For himself.” I wiped my hands off on the rag and settled back in the chair. “Who else?”

Her eyes got big. “Oh, of course. Grattius.”

“Something to do with the mine?”

“He brags about being the contact man, but other than throwing his mouth around, he doesn’t have a whole lot of money. There was something else, too. Crescentia said Octavio wanted in on the investment deal with the mine but was pushed out.”

“Strange. Especially if he owns the land they’re going to develop. Did they explain how everything would work, the mine and the new baths?”

“It was all about getting the mining consortium-whoever they are-to finance a building by the other springs. So in that sense, the two projects are tied together, I guess. There’s a reservoir down there now, just like the main temple, but that’s it.”

“What would the consortium get out of it, other than free baths?”