Nobody Loves a Centurion (15 page)

“The aforementioned steward visited Titus Vinius twice each year and at those times the First Spear made his banking arrangements, presumably with an Italian banker. He kept at all times a balance of one thousand sesterces with the legion bank.” This was a tidy if not a princely sum. A senior centurion could be a modestly wealthy man, what with pay, loot, and bribes.

“Very well, Treasurer. Gentlemen, I hereby take charge of the movable goods of the late Titus Vinius. They shall stay here in the praetorium while Decius Caecilius Metellus conducts his investigation. There remains his ambulatory property: his livestock
and his slaves. His horse and pack mules will stay with the pack train animals for now. That leaves his slaves. Accommodation must be found for them and I have a full staff.”

Slowly, every head turned until we were all staring at Freda, who ignored us.

“Actually,” Labienus said, “I have room in my tent . . .”

“You know, I could use a cook . . .” and so on. Everyone found that he had room for just one more slave. Everyone except my cousin Lumpy. Maybe the family rumors about him were true.

“Recall, gentlemen, that Molon goes with her.” Even that dismal prospect did not slow down the offers of accommodation. Caesar silenced everyone with a wave and a look of utterly malicious humor came over his face.

“Decius, you may have them.” Instantly, every man in the meeting was glaring at me, even my old friend Carbo. This was perfect. Now everybody but the Gauls hated me.

“And now, gentlemen, I must ride. I shall take only a small escort of cavalry. I intend to be back here, with our reinforcements, in no more than ten days.”

“Is that possible?” asked Labienus, incredulous.

“If not, I intend to make it so,” Caesar said with that confidence of which only he was capable. It was a trick he knew how to use well. He could almost convince even me that the gods were truly on his side. “You are dismissed. Decius Caecilius, stay here.”

The others left as the small cavalry escort arrived. I was glad to see that Lovernius and my
ala
were not among them. I needed friends at that moment.

“Decius,” Caesar began, “I cannot impress upon you too strongly just how much I depend upon you to solve this murder.
Even with the reinforcements my army will still be very small. I
need
the Tenth! And I must have it in top fighting order, not weakened by suspicion and dishonor and fear of evil omens.”

“Caesar, Vinius was a prodigious wretch. There are six thousand suspects within these walls.”

He waved it aside with a gesture. “Men do not achieve the centurionate by being mild. Nobody loves a centurion. But they are seldom murdered. You must find the murderers for me, Decius. If you do not, I will be compelled to execute Burrus and the others, guilty or not. This war is about to commence and there will be no time for niceties.” A Gaul led up his horse and boosted him into the saddle.

“A moment, Caius Julius,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Why did you give me that woman?”

He sat there for a moment, savoring his peculiar jest. “First of all, you deserve something for the misery you are going to endure. Then again, the man who has her will have the jealous resentment of the others and all my other officers are more valuable than you. I would as soon their efficiency not be impaired. But most of all, Decius, someday you may be very valuable to me and I will be able to hold this over your head.”

I knew exactly what he meant. I was betrothed to his niece, Julia, and she would never forgive me for having owned this woman.

“Caius Julius,” I said bitterly, “you are an Etruscan punishment-demon in human form!”

Caesar rode off laughing.

7

I
FACED, QUITE PROBABLY, THE
most demanding task of a decidedly checkered career. In Rome I would have known where to begin, but here I was in all but alien territory. Not only was I not in Rome, I was in a legionary camp, and that camp was in Gaul, and Gaul was in a state of war. All of these were distracting circumstances. Before I could even begin, I had to regain my equanimity. I needed to speak with the only sane, sensible people in the camp. I decided to call upon my Gauls.

Before I could do that, though, I had to make some domestic arrangements. I went to the heap of Vinius’s belongings. Molon wore a nervous grin and Freda studied me as if I were some sort of odd new bug.

“You both understand that you belong to me now?”

Molon nodded vigorously. “Yes! I am very glad to be your property, sir!”

“How about you?” I asked Freda.

She shrugged. “One Roman is much like another.”

I did not appreciate being likened to Titus Vinius, but I let it pass. “You,” I said to Molon, “are to lay out your former master’s belongings over there by the desk. I want to make a complete inventory this afternoon. You,” I said to Freda, “are to go to my tent and busy yourself there; clean up or whatever it was you did for Titus Vinius when he was away. My boy Hermes is there now. If he tries to lay hands on you, you may beat him.”

She stepped down from her perch and walked past me without a glance or another word. I could not restrain myself from following her with my eyes. What a view she presented.

“Did she act this way toward Titus Vinius?” I asked Molon. “He struck me as a man who had a short way with insolent menials.”

“She’s not your typical menial, sir,” Molon said. “And she has, if you’ll forgive me, an unerring eye for men’s weaknesses. I think she’s already sized you up.”

“Thinks I am a man who will put up with anything, eh? Well, she shall learn otherwise.” I pulled the tunic away from Molon’s hunched shoulder. It was almost black with bruises. “I am not a centurion, so I do not carry a vinestock. I beat slaves only for the most serious infractions, but then I am merciless. Let us establish our relationship in this manner: See to it that you please me, or I shall sell you to a less easygoing master, and almost anyone in the world is less easygoing than I am.”

“Oh, believe me, sir, I want to remain with you! But then,”
that crafty gleam came into his eye, “are you sure you can sell me? A relative of Titus Vinius might show up sometime and claim me.”

“Molon, anyone with the brains of a snail would knock you on the head and leave you in a ditch rather than feed you all the way back to Italy. I may have some use for you as an interpreter. I will be in Gaul for no more than a year. Keep me happy and when I leave, I’ll sell you to some genial merchant who needs your skills. You’ll be out of the legion camps and living easy.”

He nodded, rubbing his hands together. “That would be most acceptable.”

“See to it, then. If anyone wants me, I will be with the praetorian cavalry for a while. Have everything ready for me when I get back.”

“Just leave it all to me, master.”

I have always found that slaves respond better to kindness than to severity, although they are quick to take advantage of perceived weakness. Molon knew what a soft position he now had and I was confident he would exert himself to please me. Freda was apt to be another question entirely.

I found my
ala
caring for their horses after their daily patrol. As non-citizens, they had not been required to attend the funeral. They welcomed my arrival with smiles and back-slaps.

“Good to have you back, Captain!” Lovernius said. “Will you be riding with us again?”

“Not for a while, as luck would have it. Caesar has assigned me to investigate the First Spear’s killing.” Judging from their smiles and cheerful attitude, these men did not share the
legionaries’ poor morale. They were not a part of the Tenth Legion and the death of its senior centurion did not upset them at all.

“We’ve been talking to the spearmen,” Lovernius said. “They tell us someone strangled him.”

“Strangled him, stabbed him, smashed his skull, and threw him into a pond,” I elaborated. Abruptly the Gauls frowned and one of them snapped something in their native tongue.

“What did he say?” I asked, surprised.

Lovernius looked mildly upset. “If you will pardon my saying so, Captain, they take it very ill that someone would dump a Roman carcass in one of our ponds. They are uneducated and superstitious men.”

I was not pleased with the comment, but not for the reason he expected. “I am sorry to hear it. I keep hoping that I can pin the killing on the Helvetii, but I don’t suppose they would have defiled a holy place in such a fashion.”

“Undoubtedly not,” Lovernius said. “And with such wounds it is unlikely that he would have crawled there and died. Why are you so anxious to blame the Helvetii?”

“Murder within the legion is bad for morale. That the victim was the senior centurion makes it worse. Not that anyone liked the vile brute, but these are men with a powerful sense of hierarchy and a centurion should be inviolate, killable only in battle. A whole cohort is in disgrace, a century banished beyond the camp walls, and a
contubernium
facing a truly vicious execution upon Caesar’s return. To make it all worse, the prime suspect is a personal friend and client of mine.”

“That is bad,” Lovernius commiserated. “Cheer up. It may
have been the Germans. They have no respect for our sacred waters.”

“Is this true? Not that I like the idea of Germans lurking about out there, but it would help things immeasurably if I could blame them. “Have they no sacred places?”

“Only groves in the deep forest, beyond the Rhine. The oak and the ash and the rowan are their holy trees. Places where lightning has struck are sacred to them. Not much else.”

“This bears looking into. Indiumix, saddle my horse. Lovernius, I want you to ride out a short way with me.”

“It will be my pleasure.” He addressed the men at some length in their own language. They nodded somberly. I had not thought a dead man in a pond would put such a damper on their spirits, but barbarians can be odd.

When I was mounted, we rode out through the Porta Decumana in the north wall. The sound of tent pegs being hammered led us to a spot just northeast of the legionary camp where the First Century was setting up its new, unwalled camp. From the vantage point of my saddle I had no trouble spotting the silvery helmet of the
optio
upon whom I had made so poor an impression a few nights before. He was pointing and shouting orders at the tense-faced men, who were in for a very frightening night. He betrayed no expression as I rode up and dismounted.

“
Optio
,” I began, “I know you are extremely busy so I shall not detain you long. I wish to speak with you in the praetorium tomorrow morning concerning the activities of the late Titus Vinius.”

He spat on the ground, narrowly missing my left
caliga
. “I’ll be there, assuming I’m alive tomorrow morning.”

“Well, there is always that unwelcome possibility.”

“Half of us will be on guard at all times.”

“This whole army is a conspiracy against a good night’s sleep. Perhaps I can help you out a bit. I am giving my Gallic riders orders to provide continuous night patrols for this area. I’ll talk to Gnaeus Carbo about sending out some of his skirmishers for the same purpose.”

“We’re being punished, Captain,” said the
optio
. “You’re interfering.”

This seemed unreasonably obstinate even for a man like this one. “I happen to believe that this punishment is unjust.”

“Nevertheless, it was ordered by our commander and we will endure it. You can bugger off, Captain. We’d rather guard ourselves than depend on barbarians.” The stony glares of the nearby legionaries told me they shared their
options
’s poor opinion of me and my Gauls.

Lovernius laughed at this. “So be it. Fools should die like fools.”

“That’s enough,” I said. I had not expected my offer to be met with such ingratitude. But then, I have never understood professional soldiers. “Tomorrow, then,
Optio
.” I remounted and we rode away.

“I still want you to provide night patrols,” I told Lovernius. “They may be stiff-necked idiots, but they shouldn’t be put into such danger just because a man like Vinius got himself killed.”

“Whatever you say, Captain.”

That evening I settled down to the task of sorting through the goods left behind by the late First Spear. These were not great in bulk. A legion has to march great distances, and even a senior centurion is allowed no more than four or five pack
mules for his personal use. The chest that had held his dress armor and decorations was now empty, since those items had been cremated with him. I wondered if the puddle of melted silver and gold would go into the urn along with his charred bones, to be buried beneath the tasteful gravestone being commissioned from one of Massilia’s more reputable monument firms.

There was a chest of clothing and another holding his field armor and weapons, which were almost identical to those of an ordinary legionary, but of higher quality. Another held preserved foods, pots of honey, and seasonings; the sort of little comforts and minor luxuries every campaigner takes along to ease the rigors of soldiering.

The smallest chest was heavy for its size. Its lid was fastened with a lock that appeared to be fairly elaborate. I could find no key among the miscellaneous belongings on the table.

“Molon!” I called.

“Here, sir,” he said, right at my elbow.

“Where did Vinius keep the key to this?”

“He never allowed me in the tent when he opened that chest, but I saw him reaching for a little pouch at his sword belt on the occasions when he ordered me out.”

Wonderful. Doubtless the key now rested among the other metallic debris in the ashes of Vinius’s funeral pyre.

“Then run to the smithy and fetch me a crowbar. Be quick about it.” He didn’t exactly run, but he went into a fast lurch. A short time later he was back with the tool. The box was even stouter than it looked and it took the two of us levering the bar to break the lid open. Inside were papyri and folded wooden tablets, some of them with dangling leaden seals.

“This looks more like something a banker would own than a soldier,” I commented. I picked up a tablet and opened it. It was a deed to an Italian estate in Tuscia.