The pile of horse manure showed they stayed a while. My homecoming spoiled their plans, and they had to wait until the lights were off. Careful, patient murderers.
I was out of breath when I reached Gwyna and Draco, and braced myself on the door frame. Exhaustion and concussion. No time for it. I turned back to look at the body. Faro had all the time in the world.
“He was brought here last night in a cart. They waited around because the lamps were lit.”
Gwyna’s hand grasped my arm. “Should we-should we bury him?”
Everything between my ears hurt like hell, but it worked well enough for me to know what was next.
“No. That’s what they want. They expect us to hide it. To act guilty. Draco, get the litter. We’re taking Faro the Great back where he belongs.”
* * *
Lineus gave us the details before we left. He opened the door just before dawn to check the stable slaves. At first he thought it was a drunk. Then he moved closer and realized it was something worse. The mask was still on the face, and through a combination of curiosity and morbid compulsion, Lineus pulled it off. Then he threw up. One of the other slaves woke Gwyna.
She wrapped Faro in a sheet. I let her do it, but I didn’t like the look on her face, a kind of tenderness mixed with revulsion. As if there had been something between them.
It was toward the end of the second hour when our little parade entered the temple precinct. Wind from the west, storm on the way. Women were streaming into the baths; the tents and stalls creaked and flapped, some empty. The spring bubbled, a smell of thunder mixing with the tang of the water, the blessed, blessed water. Bathers to baths, hopeless to health, maggots to flesh.
All the actors were in place today, but someone else would have to play the necromancer.
I parked the litter bearers in between the spring and the temple. Found a stray priest and told him to get Papirius. We waited a few moments, Gwyna staring at the waters, remembering the last time she looked at them.
Footsteps hurried along the pavement. Papirius was jogging along, not a dignified gait for a head priest. My head throbbed just from looking at him. He was followed by three underpriests. He looked from one to the other of us, his eyes lingering on Gwyna.
“Papirius.”
“Arcturus. What-what’s all this about? I understand it’s urgent.”
“You could say that. Take a look in the litter.”
He drew his eyebrows together. “I don’t like games. What do you want?”
I shrugged, and it was worth the jolt. “There’s a hard way and an easy way for everything, Papirius. I’ve got a concussion, and frankly, I don’t give a good goddamn which you choose. I was giving you the easy option. Since you don’t want to play…” I nodded to the litter bearers. “Bring it out.”
The tall, brawny men threw aside the drape; each grabbing an end of Faro, and lowered him like a sack of barley on the pavement. A small crowd was starting to gather. Flies already.
“What-what are you-that’s-”
“That used to be Faro Magnus. The former necromancer. I don’t think you can be a dead necromancer, do you? Seems like a conflict of interest.”
I reached in the litter and brought out the tin mask. I laid it next to Faro. “Maybe you didn’t recognize him without this.”
Papirius dragged his eyes up to meet mine. Little braziers of hatred burned behind them. “Why did you bring this-defilement-to the temple? What did you do … kill him?”
I rubbed my chin. More onlookers were starting to buzz their way in.
“No, Papirius-but someone wants me to think I did. One of the slaves found him on my doorstep this morning, and I’m not about to defile-as you like to put it-the governor’s villa with a corpse that was even more unsavory when it was alive. Your temple’s a little more used to dead bodies.”
Gwyna moved closer to me until she could feel my arm next to hers. Getting angry made my head feel better, and there was always plenty to get angry about around Papirius.
He stood there, robes stiff and irritable, fingers curved into a ball of frustration. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to get Grattius down here. Secundus, too-and Octavio and any other men on the council who know anything about the supposedly haunted mine. Faro was murdered because of it.”
“Meanwhile, you’re just-you’re just-”
“I’m just going to stand here and wait for you. And leave Faro the Great exactly where he is.”
He snapped an order to the other priests, cast a venomous look in my direction, and pivoted away, his robes trailing in the wind behind him.
Mutterings were getting louder, and the bodies and wagging tongues were making the temperature rise. A tight cluster was forming around the corpse. I ordered the bearers not to let anyone touch the body or get too close.
I whispered to Gwyna: “Are you all right? We’ll have to wait.”
She murmured: “Don’t worry about me.”
I squeezed her hand from beneath my tunic fold. A throaty laugh choked off suddenly. I wasn’t sure if it was because Sulpicia noticed the corpse or Gwyna.
She threaded through the growing crowd. “Arcturus-Gwyna. What is-what is that? My God-”
“It’s Faro the Great. He was left in that condition on our threshold this morning.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Getting some answers.” She raised her eyebrows, but there was more wariness and fear in her face than surprise. Her eyes drifted over to Gwyna and took her in like someone checking an inventory list. The smile was a little strained.
“I’m surprised you’re here. Don’t you find this all-distasteful?”
So she’d heard about the dinner party. Gwyna wove her arm into mine, smiled.
“Actually, yes-but I’m devoted to my husband. You know how it is.”
Sulpicia reddened. I changed the subject to something other than husbands and corpses.
“Where’s Vitellius?”
“I’m not sure. I was on my way to the baths when-”
“Sulpicia? Sulpicia!”
Not Vitellius. The young stonecutter shoved his way through the mob, his eyes bent on Sulpicia’s red hair.
“I thought I saw-”
He suddenly realized he was in a small clearing with four people. The growing crowd was packing in closer. Drusius flushed a becoming shade of rose, and Sulpicia’s mouth curled suggestively at the corners.
“Salve, Drusius.” She could say a lot in two words.
Drusius nodded to me, bowed to Gwyna. She smiled, and Sulpicia immediately started brushing stone dust off his old tunic as if it were a candidate’s toga. He turned his head, finally seeing the body.
“Goddamn-Faro Magnus. Was he killed? Here?”
“He was killed, where I’m not sure. He was left on my doorstep. Thought I’d share the news.”
He stared at me. “I suppose you know what you’re doing.”
“Faro was murdered because of a dead lead mine haunted by live miners. Except it wasn’t lead, it was silver.”
Excited hum from the seventy-strong herd pressing in around us. Faro was more popular dead, but so was everybody in Aquae Sulis.
Drusius stepped forward excitedly. “Does this mean you found out something about my friend-Aufidio?”
“I think he was murdered. Because of the mine. Like Faro.”
He nodded. “Let me know if I can help. Who are you waiting for?”
“Priests. Council members.”
Drusius moved over to stand beside me, lowered his voice. “By the way-something I wanted to tell you. Remember I said there was something odd about Dewi-you know, the simpleton boy? When he died?”
“Yes?”
“Well, he kept saying there were ants crawling on him. Over and over. That’s what he said. Thought you’d want to know.”
More squeals and grunts, and an occasional thwack. Sulpicia clutched Drusius’s arm. Papirius was using a willow whisk to clear his way. Following him were Octavio and Philo.
Philo’s eyes were moist and concerned, mostly on Gwyna. Papirius wore his usual frown, more severe as the occasion warranted. Octavio gave Faro a quick glance and shudder, and spoke first.