Free The Curse-Maker by Kelli Stanley Page B

spring with the other offerings. Not that I needed the testicles.
    The bell for the baths finally sounded, and a throng of women rushed out, hair gleaming. I looked for Gwyna, and thought I saw her arm toss something out the window into the spring, but then I couldn’t see the rest of her and couldn’t be sure.
    I made my way to the entrance, threading past females of all ages, shapes, and income levels. It was a relief to see Ligur, who’d been waiting all morning. We waited for the last stragglers, crimping their perfumed hair with their fingers, smearing rouge on their cheeks as they walked. I still didn’t see Gwyna. She’d stand out in the crowd like Venus in a roomful of gorgons.
    Other men were waiting, too, trying to get an eyeful of any body part the last few women hadn’t shoved back into place. I paid half an as to the toothy attendant and finally stepped through the archway.
    Dressing room first. This one offered large shelves in the shape of open boxes for you to store your clothes, and a not-too-narrow bench for slaves to sit and watch them for you. A few freelancers stood around, for those who couldn’t afford one or more slaves of their own.
    The apodyterium was decorated with little sayings and greetings some promotionally-minded person obviously thought were clever, like GREETINGS, BATHER! THIS WAY TO HEALTH! Another small fresco illustrated a scene of two women bathing one another—a perennial favorite. Some poor bastard suffering from impotence had scratched a grafitto: I LIKE WOMEN. I LIKE SONG. I TAKE BATHS. SO WHAT IS WRONG?
    I changed into a plain linen wraparound kilt. The steam from the heated pools was making it hard to breathe. I left Ligur sitting on the bench beneath my clothes and walked through another arch into the main building. The exercise room was on the right.
    It was a spacious palaestra . Three large windows on the north, with views to the frigidarium, and three on the south, with unfortunate views to the market square. A few ex-gladiator types were trying to attract the attention of the women outside, flexing muscles and raising their kilts a little higher than was necessary.
    Some were getting massaged, some getting their hair plucked here instead of in the baths themselves. The hell with fashion. My chest hair wasn’t in anyone’s way. Besides, there were too many hairy asses strutting around for anyone to pay attention to me.
    I’d brought a handball, started throwing it at one of the walls. The sounds from the bath area filtered through the doorway, making it harder to concentrate.
    â€œSausage—fresh sausages with basil!”
    â€œâ€”all night long. She just wouldn’t stop! I thought my back would—”
    â€œPerfume from the East—perfume from the East! Only two sestertii !”
    â€œâ€”and watch as this amazing performer will thrill you with her ability to fold herself into this tiny little box—”
    â€œQuit splashing, you buffoon!”
    â€œAnd I said—you won’t believe it—and I said—”
    â€œOuch! Goddamn it, that’s not a hair!”
    I threw the ball and caught it on the return. A throaty chuckle made me feel even less dressed.
    I turned to the window. Sulpicia was leaning on it with both arms, staring at me—and my kilt. I felt myself flush.
    â€œHello—Doctor. How do you like the baths?”
    I threw again, missing the rebound. It hit a fat man with a furry back, who shot a venomous look in my direction. I picked it up, careful not to bend over toward Sulpicia.
    â€œI haven’t been inside yet.”
    â€œThe water is special. Not the building, so much. You’ll see. Everything’s at just the right temperature.” Everything except me.
    â€œWhere’s Vitellius?” I asked abruptly.
    She laughed. “He’s in the big bath. He never exercises.”
    Her eyes crawled all over me. I felt like a slave at an auction.