At least I wasn’t wearing a toga.
By the time I reached the stoneyard, the storm was over and a chill had set in. Drusius was surveying the pieces of newly washed stone. He stood with his hands on his hips, waiting. He couldn’t miss me-I was the tall man in a dirty wet tunic, too stupid to take a goddamn litter on a cloudy October morning in Aquae Sulis.
“Thought you’d come around.”
“I don’t like mysteries, Drusius. They piss me off.”
He shrugged. “Then why are you here?”
“Because you know something that will help me. I want the hell out of this town, but I’d like to leave it a little healthier than it was when I walked in. Call it a gift to Sulis.”
He kicked some mud away from a large rectangular slab of yellow rock. “Come inside.”
We walked through a small doorway, where the smell of cabbage and mutton overwhelmed the odor of rock, dirt, and sweat. An old man was lying on a nearly flat rush bed in the corner, facing the wall and snoring loudly.
“My father,” Drusius said abruptly. “Sleeping one off again. He won’t wake up.”
I followed him to the opposite corner, where a crooked wooden table crouched on three legs. He pulled up a clay flask from the floor underneath.
“Want some ale?”
“Yeah.”
He poured some dark brown liquid into two wooden cups covered in yellow dust. We drank at the same time, while he watched me. I smacked my lips.
“Local. Nice flavor. A little on the malty side, but maybe the barley was picked too late.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise, and he put down his cup. “Maybe you can do something in this town.”
“If you open your goddamn mouth and tell me what you know.”
He glanced over at his father. The sawing noise continued without a break. “I don’t want him to hear.”
“I can barely hear.”
He looked over at the old man again, then turned to me, his face hardened by resolution. “My best friend-a farmer-was murdered.”
“How do you know?”
“I knew him, I tell you! We were age-mates-grew up together-best friends. His father was an old crony of my father, same way. He was getting too old to do the work, same as mine. They said Aufidio had an accident.”
He leaned back in the willow twig chair, grimacing. “Accident-load of bullshit. He knew that property, every rock and tree on it.”
I poured some more ale. “When did this happen? And what was the accident?”
“About two years ago. His father found him. Looked like he’d fallen and hit his head. But goddamn it, Aufidio was more sure-footed than a goat.”
Drusius shook his head darkly and threw back another shot. “No. It was the boundary. That’s what killed him.”
“What boundary? Between the farm and another property?”
He nodded. “Farm and a mine. The one everyone says is haunted. That’s when I started to think, add things up.”
He crouched forward, eyes burning. “This town has been changing. Getting mean, getting greedy. I saw things. An old lady died-nothing wrong with her but needing some attention and a holiday. I put up a big stone for her in the temple, paid for by her nephew. Inherited a hell of a lot of money. Guilt, I say. Guilt.”
I said: “That would be Rusonia Aventina.”
That surprised him again. “You heard about it?”
“I hear a lot of things. What about the mine and the farm? What was the boundary problem?”
“They said he couldn’t keep sheep nearby. Said it wasn’t Aufidio’s land, but goddamn it”-he pounded his fist on the table so hard, I thought he’d wake the old man-“goddamn it, it was. Aufidio wanted to go to court. His father didn’t have any fight left, but Aufidio did. Last time I saw him was here, in town-he came out to the baths, said he had trouble sleeping. He was determined to fight. Then I hear it a week later. He’s dead.”
Drusius stared into his cup as if the ale were talking.
“What happened with the mine afterward?”
“Nothing. His old man kept away from it, like they wanted. He went last year, and the farm sold. Lots of land sells around here.”
I rubbed my neck. “What about other deaths? Like Sulpicia’s husband? Did you know him?”
“Old man. Marcus Atius Vettus. Died in bed. Nothing strange about that. ’Course, his wife was happy, but I couldn’t blame her much. He was a nasty old bastard and she … she’s quite a woman.”
He blushed. He was young.
“You said Aquae Sulis has changed.”
“Marketplace, for one. More of these astrologers and whatnot. Curse people. Ghost stories, people say they can raise the dead. It’s not right. We always got lots of tourists-it’s a healthy place, good for bathing. But the ordo and the temple-they keep wanting more money. So they let more of these types in. Papirius didn’t used to run it-he was promoted to head priest, and he likes the money.”
“What about Grattius?”
He shook his head. “A fat, slobbering fool, but he’s lived here his whole life, same as me. It was his turn to be duovir, I guess.” He coughed and spat on the floor.
“Do you think people are being murdered?”
He looked me full in the face. “I don’t know. I just know it’s not right. People are dying who shouldn’t. Those mine people-they had something to do with Aufidio, that I do know, and they’re supposed to be out-of-towners, not from around here. Plus there’s the development down the way, with the ordo wanting to bring more baths, more temples, more crooks.”
He shook his head. “It’s not right.” He poured himself another drink.
I reached across the table and grabbed his arm. “Did Bibax have anything to do with this? Was he a contact for-getting rid of people?”
He spilled the drink on the table and wiped it with the sleeve of his tunic. “I don’t know. Maybe. He didn’t have nothing, though. He wasn’t rich, or at least he didn’t look like it. Lived down by where the new baths will be-not much down there but a couple of apartment houses.”
“But you suspected something.”
His eyes got evasive. “Look, maybe I saw somebody see him who shouldn’t see him. And maybe somebody died. That don’t mean it was wrong, exactly.”
Sulpicia.
I stood. I’d gotten as much as I could hope for.
“Thanks for the ale.”
He looked up at me, spat again. “I’m not saying anything about Bibax. But I do know Aufidio was murdered.”
“Do you remember a boy dying at the baths a couple of years ago? Sort of the town simpleton?”
“You must mean Dewi. Some out-of-towner said he stole a bath towel. Dewi died a few days later. That-that was another one, shouldn’t have happened. Dewi was a good lad, couldn’t help the way he came out.”
“Do you remember how he died?”
“You know, there was something about it-but damned if I can think of it now. If it comes to me, I can let you know.”
“Thanks. And Drusius-”
He looked up from where he’d been staring at the floor.
“Stonecutting’s not good for the lungs. Mix some horehound and mustard leaves with honey, and put them in some wine. Not ale. Drink it every day. And think about getting a farm. You can grow your own barley.”
He looked surprised again, but didn’t say anything.
* * *
I left for the temple, walking through the precinct area. Papirius made me wait. Even if he was inside playing footsie with the incense bearer, he would make me wait. He had to. He was important.
A junior-grade priest finally fluttered down the steps and pulled at my mantle. “Papirius said he will see you now.”
“How accomodating of Papirius. Lead on.”
We walked around the temple and into a back building that adjoined it. Papirius was lying on his side on a couch, attended by two other priests, drinking some wine. I sniffed. It smelled like Trifoline. An underappreciated variety. Papirius must be a connoisseur.
He motioned for me to join him.
“No, thanks. Just had some ale.”