Kelli Stanley - The Curse-Maker

“She was-she was outside, Philo.”

He nodded, his fingers playing with a ring he always wore. Papirius and Octavio didn’t know what to do. I heard light steps and looked up to see my wife, a gray mantle covering the filmy white gown. She was staring at Philo, her eyes full of tears.

He sensed her before he heard her. A smile lit his features again.

“Fulviana,” he said softly.

She held a hand out to him. He took it and stood up.

“You have to go with Papirius and Octavio, Philo.”

“Yes, my love. You’ll be with me?”

She looked at me. I nodded. Then she stared into Philo’s eyes. “I’ll be with you, Philo.”

He nodded, and almost looked like himself-but the eyes weren’t the same.

For a moment, he seemed to see Gwyna as she really was. He looked at Papirius, whose face was longer and graver than usual. Draco and Ligur were waiting in the background, but he wouldn’t run. Not Philo. Not even this Philo.

Then he looked at me, and his forehead creased with recognition. He reached out a hand, touching her green necklace. He gave Gwyna a smile-a smile of triumph, even of happiness. A smile of love.

Then he twisted the top of his ring and shoved it in his mouth. He was dead in less than half an hour.

Even in death the bastard craved drama. Trust Philo. Always playing god, down to the end.

“He justified everything in order to build that temple. He bought most of the property down there to make it happen. That’s what made me suspect him. He’d lied about not knowing where Bibax lived, because he owned the property.”

“Did he really-really kill everyone?”

We were at home, no sleep possible.

“Bibax probably killed Aufidio by himself. Philo-at first, anyway-only agreed to kill people who were already sick or old or infirm. You remember what he said at dinner? He told himself they were better off-that he was helping them.”

“You mean like Sestius’s aunt?”

“Exactly. No one thought she was sick. Sestius made a comment about it-said she was more ill than anyone knew. A woman like that would always go to the top doctor in town. Who was Philo.”

She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. “Ardur-do you think Philo wanted you to find out?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. He lied about the strychnos, pretended not to be sure about Materna’s symptoms. He knew the drug-it’s used in temples like his Endovelicus all the time. The worshipper eats a little and thinks she sees the god. Maybe he wanted to be caught, wanted it to be over. I know he didn’t want to kill us. Or at least you.”

“So he killed Materna instead.” She shivered. “How he must have hated her.”

“The slap that day was real. She took over Bibax’s role-and made him pound nails into Faro’s skull. And he was protective of you. Wanted you.”

“Because I looked like Fulviana.”

“Not only that, Gwyna. I think Philo loved you for yourself.” She leaned over and kissed my lips. It had been difficult to say. “He could never kill you. Or see you suffer. I think that’s why he tried to help me. If he had more time, of course, he might’ve convinced himself you’d be happier with him. Then he could’ve gotten me out of the way. Materna hated you, and was cruel to you, and that made him hate her all the more. That’s why he made her suffer.”

“What did Bibax remember, to get him involved in the first place? He must have blackmailed Philo with something.”

I hesitated. “I think something to do with Fulviana.”

“But he loved her!”

“And was responsible for her death.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand it. What about the young girl? The one that met Faro?”

I scratched my chin. “I’m glad you were the only one who remembered that. I left it out with Octavio. Philo’s servant girl.”

“I remember. Were they lovers?”

“Probably. He was a man, after all.”

She squeezed my hand. “So the girl picked up and delivered things-”

“When he needed her to. She doesn’t know anything. I’m sure he never confided in anyone-he was too smart-and what I said about the baths, when Octavio was playing his part-that could really apply to anyone in town. Everyone goes there, every day. Access wasn’t a problem.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Ardur-”

“Yes, my love?”

“I don’t understand why he signed those sheets ‘Ultor.’ Because he hated Bibax? It doesn’t make sense.”

It was almost the first hour of morning. I said it slowly.

“Because he didn’t kill Bibax. Or Calpurnius.”

“What? Who-”

“Fulviana-the woman he loved-the woman he said he couldn’t save, when she became pregnant-”

“What about her?”

“She was another man’s wife.”

* * *

The light was rising over the hills, casting a pale pink light on the yellow soil. The shop was closed. Dust covered the counter.

I tapped on the door; nobody answered. I thought we’d try the spring.

We found him there, leaning against the side of a rail, using it to support his frail body. He was holding a pouch of cut and inscribed gemstones, pouring them one at a time into his hand. I recognized them. His best work, the ones he was saving for the future.

I asked him: “Where’s Buteo?”

He turned away from the water. Aquae Sulis was beginning to wake, the sounds of roosters cackling and open doors banging, echoing through the streets. We didn’t have much time.

Natta kept his back to the railing, his hand, misshapen from years of work, clutching the pouch. He didn’t answer. He looked at Gwyna.

“You brought your beautiful lady, Arcturus? So beautiful. You like the necklace? And the ring?”

She was still wearing them from last night, and her hands drew up to feel the glass between her fingers. He smiled.

“They were hers. Now they are yours. You look-you look very much like her.”

“Natta … where’s Buteo?”

The gems rattled in the pouch as his hands shook. “Where you cannot touch him. Where no one can touch him. It was time.”

“But Philo is dead! I told you yesterday I would-I would take care of everything. Why did you-”

“Because it is my right … and because-because, my young friend-it is difficult to stop. Once you have tasted it-tasted the power-it is hard to end it, and Buteo became a part of it. Part of the curse, the homo maledictus you have been looking for. So I gave him something-something to help him sleep.”

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.”