“Before you hear it secondhand, Materna’s daughter already accused me. Sorry you missed the first act.”
His cheeks stood out like jutting rocks. He pursed his lips together, pretended I wasn’t there. He said to Octavio: “What are we waiting for?”
I answered him. “For Secunda to tell us what happened this morning. Materna wasn’t the only one poisoned.”
Philo’s eyes took in the vomit on the hem of my tunic. Octavio asked before he could. “You mean Sulpicia-”
“Was poisoned, too. With the same thing-and we don’t want the fine people of Aquae Sulis to think there’s strychnos in the water, now, do we?”
Papirius’s slave whisked a fly away from his master, who made a dismissive gesture at him.
“Do we, Papirius?” I said softly.
He looked over to where Secunda and Philo were standing. “Make her talk.”
She clutched Philo’s arm. “Don’t let them-”
“For all we know, she did it.” The priest’s voice was a trifle bored. “Make her talk, and get the body out of here.”
“She’s still alive.”
“Well, for God’s sake, Philo, take her to your house, then, but get her out of here. We need to reopen.”
Octavio pulled at Papirius’s sleeve. “What about Secundus? We should send someone to Londinium-”
“He’s not in Londinium.” Secunda’s nose was red from blowing it on a tunic fold. She looked up at Philo and gave him the big eyes. “He’s on one of our farms. The northern one.”
Papirius shook his arm away from Octavio’s fingers. “Handle it, then.” The balneator bowed, more stiffly this time, and scurried away.
Philo looked down into Secunda’s face. “Can you talk now?”
She leaned against him, but he drew away. She glanced at Papirius. No soft place to hide. She knew better than to look at me for it.
“All-all right. Is Mama-is Mama really going to-”
“In about an hour, more or less. So save the shock and surprise for when you’ll need it.”
I was tired of Philo treating her like a little girl who was losing her beloved mother. She wasn’t little, she wasn’t lost, and only the Furies knew what Materna was.
She blew her nose again while Papirius tapped his foot and his slave looked for more flies. Octavio ran back into the room, looking around as if he’d forgotten something.
Philo nudged her. “Go on.”
“When we got here this morning-she always uses the same storage shelf, you know, our slave reserves it for her-well, there was-there was a cask of wine in it, and a note.”
“Did she buy the wine herself?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“What about the note? Was she holding something, Philo?”
He turned to me. “I didn’t see-”
Secunda interrupted him. If she was going to talk, she wanted all the lines.
“She tore it up after she read it. Laughed, chucked me under the chin, like she-like she…” Artistic sob on her sleeve. No one said anything, so she managed to regain her strength. “She tore it up-threw it in the spring. Said it was a dedication to Sulis.”
“What kind of wine was it?”
“How should I know? Something sweet. She said it was foreign-and that she wanted to-to celebrate, so she drank it.”
“How soon afterward did she not feel well?” Philo had a way of making poison sound about as harmful as a fart.
“I guess-I guess an hour or two. We could hear-hear her heart beating, and she said her chest hurt. Crassa told her to get you, Philo, but she got mad-really mad all of a sudden. Then she turned red, and her mouth got dry, and she was thirsty-and she started shaking.”
“Anger is a symptom.” Or maybe Materna was still thinking about the slap he gave her.
Secunda stared at me, some spittle on her lips. “If you know so much, why don’t you tell it?”
“I’m not a trustworthy source.”
Papirius interrupted us. “Octavio-go get the servants that were watching the cubicles this morning.”
The bathmaster didn’t like to be reminded that he wasn’t. He faded back into the vapor.
The priest asked: “Is that all?” It wasn’t a question.
“Not quite. After anger and the shakes, there’s delirium. She saw Faro. What did she say, Secunda?”
I’m not sure why I wanted to know so much. The girl’s eyes bounced off all of us, then settled on Philo, until they lowered at what used to be her mother stretched out on the floor.
“She said-she said-‘Faro. Nail it. Nail it, or it’s over.’ ”
A shudder twisted Papirius’s straight back. “Anything else?”
She shook her head.
Philo said: “After that-she must’ve lost consciousness.”
She nodded again. None of us said anything for a long minute, while Materna’s slow breath made the room a little colder. A broken-down chorus of three little boys and two old men followed behind Octavio and trooped in the room.
He lined them up in front of Papirius. One of the old men scratched himself. Bath servants were more cheap and plentiful than the cubicles themselves.
I held up a coin. “A denarius for anyone who saw who put wine in the fat woman’s shelf this morning. No other questions asked.”
They licked their lips and stared at the money. I twisted it around, the shiny silver promising life to the old, experience to the young.
“You won’t lose your place here, or be punished in any way. Right?”
I shot it at Papirius, and he flinched when it hit him, but he nodded.
An old man smacked his lips, this time getting out more than spit. “It were a woman.”
“What kind of woman? Young, old, ugly, pretty-”
“Don’t know. Saw her from behind. Looked young from there.”
I rubbed my nose and took a deep breath. Without looking at him, I said: “Philo, ask Secunda to turn around.”
“What? What are you-I can’t believe-I won’t stand-”
Papirius said: “Just turn her.”
A combination of cajoling and physical force resulted in a good view of Secunda’s best side. I looked at the old man. “Is that the one?”
He squinted and craned his neck, then looked at me. “Will I get the money-no matter what I say?”
“No matter what.”
He drew up some phlegm from his lungs, spat on the floor. “Don’t think it were her.”
Secunda’s shoulders slumped with relief. “You cheap quack-I still think you killed-”
“Not so nice to be the one accused, is it, Secunda?”
It drew a little blood and shut her up for once, and she went back to cringing against Philo, as helpless as a viper in a basket.
I knelt down by Materna and straightened her stola, her legs sticking out like stems on a toadstool.
Papirius asked: “Any change?”
“There won’t be any. Until she dies.”
“Can we move her and open the baths?”
“Sure. If anyone still thinks he can get clean in Aquae Sulis.”
Papirius’s mouth turned down until it met the wrinkles in his skinny neck. He directed his irritation at Octavio. “Don’t stand there like a gaping fish-get rid of the slaves, bring a stretcher! Philo-you don’t mind…”
He looked like he did, but shook his head.
“Have them carry her to Philo’s house-by the back way, in a litter. Use one from the temple. And get the baths open!”
Octavio flushed, but he wasn’t the kind that bites. Papirius drew himself up, nodded at Philo, and flounced out the doors. His robes trickled through the opening like a puddle of blood.
Secunda slumped on the bench, staring at Materna. Philo’s eyes met mine. Octavio skittered in with some muscular slaves and a wide stretcher.
He barked at the slaves. “Get her on there. Be careful-she’s not-”
“Dead yet?”
I thought I’d prod him a little, maybe get him to spill out what was eating his guts, and tell me what part of his miserable little life was my fault. He breathed hard through his nose.
“I wouldn’t joke, if I were you. You were hired to make sure-”
“I wasn’t hired, Octavio. I was asked. By a lot of nice people, who now all seem to want me out of town. At least as far away as, say, the cemetery.”