rowdy herself the night before. She coughed. Wet snot tickled her nose and made her sneeze. The love she’d enjoyed — and how she had enjoyed it! — with Titus Calidius Severus seemed a million miles away.
Customers came in: not too many. That helped Nicole, who was moving slower than she should have, to deal with them. Some of them were moving slower than they should have, too, as if they’d been recorded at 45 rpm and were playing back at 33 1/3.
That phrase wouldn’t mean anything to Kimberley and Justin. All they’d know would be CDs and tapes. Records would be primitive, outmoded. She laughed. She’d learned more about primitive and outmoded than she’d ever dreamt possible. Was a record primitive in an oxcart?
She was aware enough to realize her wits were starting to wander. When she thought about it, she could force them back into — or close to — their proper path. When she didn’t think about it, they started drifting again.
Brigomarus came in that afternoon. He was still healthy, but he looked grim. “Flavius Probus just died, ‘ he said. He didn’t sound astonished, as an American would have been to announce the death of someone in the prime of life. He sounded weary; this was but one more death piled on many. “He — Umma, are you listening to me?”
“Yes,” Nicole answered. It wasn’t easy to make herself pay attention, but she managed. “Too bad about him.”
“Too bad? Is that all you can say?” Brigomarus started to cloud up, but checked himself. He took a long look at her. “Oh, by the gods, you’ve got it, too.”
“I think so,” Nicole said vaguely. Again, she forced herself to focus. “You’d better go home, Brigo. It’s catching from person to person, you know. I don’t suppose I want to make you sick.” She wouldn’t have put it that way if she’d been well, but she wouldn’t have had to warn him then, either.
He didn’t take offense. Maybe he didn’t notice the way she phrased it; maybe he made allowances for the pestilence. He said, “As long as I’m well, I’ll come back and see how you’re doing. I’ll do what I can for you — you are my sister, no matter how — “ He broke off. “You
“That’s true. I am your sister.” It was nice to know they could agree on something.
Brigomarus didn’t linger after that. Nicole was interested to see how he got up and drifted out the door, moving as if he were underwater. After a while — Nicole wasn’t sure how long — Julia said, “Mistress, you ought to go upstairs and go to bed.”
“No, that’s what you do,” Nicole said: the first thing that popped into her head. She laughed. She thought it was funny. But she didn’t have a sense of humor. Nothing was funny to her. Frank had said it often enough. “Dawn makes me laugh,” he’d said after he split. Damned blasted cliche.
Damn: she was sicker than she’d thought.
Julia didn’t seem to think the joke was very funny, and Julia did have a sense of humor. “I don’t mean go to bed
“But I can’t rest.” Even through the haze of illness, Nicole knew that. “If I rest, the work won’t get done.” Yes, she sounded like Julius Rufus. She pressed her hand to her own forehead. She was hot. She didn’t think she was as hot as the brewer had been, but her palm was hot, too, so she couldn’t be sure. “I’ve got to go on.”
“What if you fall over?” Julia asked reasonably.
“If I fall over, I probably would have fallen over in bed, too,” Nicole replied. “You can drag me upstairs then.”
But Julia said, “We haven’t got any more. Poor Fabia Ursa used what we had — and how much good did it do her?”
Nicole hadn’t remembered that. “Go out and buy a new jar.” It had done a little good when she’d been down with the galloping trots. Maybe it would do a little good now. Would that be enough? What could Nicole do but hope?
Julia seemed eager to snatch whatever hope she could find. She scooped coins out of the cash box and left at a lope. After she was gone — quite a while after — Nicole realized she had no idea how much money Julia had scooped up. Well, if her freedwoman had ripped her off, she damn well had, and that was that.
Julia came back fairly quickly with a little jar clutched in her hand. She dumped a handful of money back in the cash box. Either she’d been honest or she was covering her tracks. Nicole rebuked herself as soon as she’d thought that, poured the potion into a cup of wine and honey, and drank it down. It still tasted hideously bitter — yes, like aspirin in the back of her throat. She chopped onions, trying not to chop off any fingers while she was doing it, and waited to see if the medicine would help.
It did — a little. Instead of feeling very hot and disconnected from the world around her, after an hour or so she felt hot and distantly connected to the world around her. She still didn’t feel good, or anything close to it. She snapped and railed at Julia and the children. Every little thing set her off; it was all she could do not to take it out on the customers. Of course she knew why she was so irritable, but she couldn’t help it. The words came out all by themselves, with nothing conscious in them at all.
Toward evening of what had seemed an endless day, Titus Calidius Severus crossed the street and swayed into the tavern. Maybe it was her fever, but he seemed to weave where he stood, like waterweeds in a current. He ordered bread and wine, but before Nicole could reach for the loaf, he grimaced and shook his head. “No, just wine,” he said, setting a
Nicole realized she’d hardly eaten anything, either. The thought of food, even food as bland as bread, made her stomach cringe. “How are you?” she asked as she brought the fuller and dyer his wine.
He studied her. It took a while; he seemed to have to pause and remember why he was doing it. Finally, he said, “About the same as you are, I expect.” He sighed and shook his head. “Not much point to pretending anymore, is there? We’ve got it, sure as sure.”
“Yes, I think we do,” Nicole said with a kind of relief. She hadn’t known how much effort it took to deny the truth. It was like a load off her back — even with the fear that replaced it, the bone-deep dread of death.
Calidius Severus frowned and stuck a finger in his ear, as if he didn’t think he’d heard right. “What was that?”
“Yes, I think we do,” Nicole repeated. Listening to the words, she realized they were in English. She said them again, this time in Latin.
“Ah.” Calidius face cleared. “I wondered if you couldn’t talk right, or if the fever was doing funny things to my ears. What were those noises you were making? Sounded almost like the grunts the Quadi use for a language.”
“I don’t know — I suppose it must be the fever.” Nicole had never made that kind of slip before. She hoped she never made it again. This time, at least, she had an excuse for it. Next time…
There couldn’t be a next time. There
“The fever,” Titus Calidius Severus agreed. “And the eyes — I’m like an owl in the daylight.” Nicole nodded. He went on, “Then the rash comes — and then we find out if we live or die.” He tossed back the rest of his wine. “One way or the other, it won’t be too long.”
“No.” Back in Los Angeles, Nicole hadn’t worried about dying young, except for a few brief, dreadful moments on the freeway. She thought she should have been more upset. If she’d felt better, if she’d been more fully a part of the world, she would have been terrified. On the other hand, she wouldn’t have had so much to worry about if she’d felt better.
“Everyone else here well?” the fuller and dyer asked.
“So far,” Nicole said. “And your son?”
“Gaius is fine — so far, as you say,” Calidius Severus answered.
Wearily, blearily, Nicole shook her head. “My brother-in-law died today — Brigomarus brought me the news. By the time it’s over, half the people in town will be dead.”
“It’s not quite that bad,” Calidius Severus said, but before Nicole could feel even a little bit hopeful, he went on, “By what I’ve heard, down in Italy and Greece it’s killing one in four, maybe one in three. “
A fourth to a third of the people in Italy and Greece — dead? From a disease? A pestilence? Nicole thought
