Memento Mori by Ruth Downie

Author:Ruth Downie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

32

Ruso was stretched out on a couch having his back trampled by a small elephant when a slave in the red-trimmed tunic of the temple staff appeared at eye level and explained that his master would like a word. Ruso held up the hand on the end of the arm that didn’t hurt, and the masseur made a final attempt to crush his kidneys before pausing.

A summons to the chief priest was the perfect excuse to abandon the couch before the masseur had finished testing his resolve not to howl in pain. Easing himself upright, he answered the man’s “How was that for you, sir?” with “Remarkable!”

Remarkable was turning out to be a useful word in Aquae Sulis.

He followed the slave into the main bathing hall, padding barefoot along paving that was slick with other bathers’ wet footprints. The slave led him past a scribe and a snack vendor and a wizened doctor with a queue of patients to the corner of the pool opposite the entrance. He looked down at a pale round head and a bony brown one bobbing on the rippling surface, like buoys marking the positions of submerged dangers on the steps beneath. The slave bowed to the heads and murmured, “Doctor Ruso, master,” before stepping back to stand in the corner—just out of earshot, but close enough to deter eavesdroppers.

The round head belonged to Dorios. Ruso recognized the bony one from the parade on his first night in Aquae Sulis. The deep eye sockets and sunken cheeks could have been the model for one of those artistic reminders of death that were supposed to encourage dinner guests to enjoy themselves while they could. Although Ruso’s first wife, once obliged to dine above a mosaic of a skeleton serving drinks, had insisted that the sight of it gave her terrible indigestion.

Somehow it was no surprise to learn that this present apparition in the pool was Lucius Marcius Memor, the town haruspex, interpreter of signs from the gods.

Memor’s voice was a disappointment, though. Ruso had been expecting something deep and sonorous, but the greeting and the expression of sympathy about the prior night’s attack were delivered with the blurred consonants of a man whose false teeth were not well attached. As he spoke, Ruso caught a glimpse of gold wire and wondered why whoever had replaced the central incisors hadn’t chosen a better match with the yellow teeth on either side.

The two men shuffled in opposite directions along the steps, making more space between them for Ruso to sit in the corner. From where, he noted as he tossed his towel aside and stepped into the warm water, he could not see both of their faces at once.

“Do submerge yourself as far as possible, Doctor,” Dorios urged. “The water will be marvelous for that arm.”

It would also hide the bruising from the curious stares of the other visitors. Wondering how many of his fellow bathers knew that a guest had been assaulted the night before, Ruso slid down to the priests’ level and lifted his chin well clear of the water.

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