“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.
“You’d think he’d keep his land deed in a temple closer to home,” I said. I opened another. This, too, was a deed, to an estate in Campania, purchased just a few months before. I noticed Molon studying it over my shoulder. I pointed to the other belongings.
“Stack these things over by the big tent and find something to cover them with.” He did not look happy but he set to the task. Quickly, I went through the documents. The bulk of them were deeds to sizable estates. It looked as if Titus Vinius had been determined to buy up Italy. I recognized the names of some of the sellers but that meant nothing. Many wealthy Romans owned lands they had never seen. They bought and sold them through intermediaries, as the wars and politics of the times caused values to rise and fall.
I glanced over the sums recorded for the various sales and made a quick estimate of the total, then I sat back, stunned. Titus Vinius had died a millionaire. Where had this money come from? Men from wealthy families did not make a career in the ranks. I knew that the Tenth had not been in on any of the great looting parties like the sack of Tigranocerta, Mithri-dates’ stronghold, which fell to the legions of Lucullus some eleven years earlier. It had been stationed in Gaul or Spain for at least the last ten years, with occasional visits to northern Italy. The total of his pay and bribes and loot could hardly have amounted to a tenth of the fortune recorded in these documents.
“Will there be. .?”
I snapped a deed shut at the sound of Molon’s voice. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” He hadn’t been sneaking, but I was so absorbed in this incredible revelation that I was oblivious to everything else.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, your nerves are on edge. Shall I bring you some wine?”
“Do so.” Suddenly, I realized that my mouth was dry. How did these deeds tie in with his murder? I was sure that there had to be a connection. Titus Vinius had died under very peculiar circumstances. Titus Vinius was incredibly rich for a career soldier. Any man may have one great anomaly in his character or his history. I was not prepared to accept two unless they were bound together in some way.
Molon returned with a pitcher and a cup and I drank gratefully. I began to put the deeds back into the chest, and as I did so I shifted it slightly. It still seemed to be exceptionally heavy. I decided to wait and investigate this when there was no observer present.
“Molon, I am going to return to my tent. Carry this chest.”
“Excuse me, sir, aren’t you going to add these items to the inventory?” He indicated the scroll that lay open by my elbow, one end weighted with a dagger, the other with my helmet. I had completely forgotten it.
“I’ll finish up in the morning. It’s getting too dark to write. What business is it of yours, anyway?”
“Oh, none, none. Have a little more of this wine, sir.”
I did as he suggested. It soothed my agitation wonderfully. After all, what was there to get excited about? I couldn’t help it: things were not as expected and that was always upsetting in a hostile environment. I was getting almost soldierlike in my yearning for an orderly existence.
We trudged back to my tent and I kept Molon in front of me the whole time, making sure that he had no opportunity to peek into the chest. I could see that I was going to have a problem with the thing. I wanted nobody to know what I knew until I had some answers to my questions.
Hermes looked as uneasy as I felt when we arrived at my tent. I took his chin between my thumb and forefinger and turned his head for a better view of his face. He had a fine black eye developing.
“You’ve made Freda’s acquaintance, I see.”
“Why did you buy him?” Hermes demanded, looking sourly at Molon.
“I didn’t buy anybody. Caesar gave them to me.”
“It’s going to be crowded in this tent,” he complained.
“No, it isn’t. You and Molon can sleep out here under the awning. Spring is here and summer isn’t far off.”
“I’ll freeze!”
“I shall miss you,” I assured him.
The tent flap opened and Freda came out. Hermes’ peeved expression changed to one of worshipful awe. It was going to take more than a black eye to dampen his ardor.
“I have set your tent to order,” she reported. “You and the boy have been living like swine.”
“I suppose it takes a nomad to know how to keep a tent tidy,” I said. “Molon, take that chest inside and leave it under my bed.” He did as I told him, and I kept my eyes on him the whole time to make sure he didn’t look inside it. Then Hermes helped me out of my armor. I waved my arms around and flexed my stiff shoulders. I always felt as if I could fly when I was relieved of that weight.
“Hermes, fetch lamps and put them in the tent.”
“There’s already one in there,” he said, referring to the tiny clay lamp that provided a minimal glow.
“I want more lamps and bigger ones,” I told him. “Find me some.” He went off muttering and I sat down to absorb some wine before getting to the night’s major activity. Freda stood by the doorway, ignoring me while I spoke to Molon.
“Now that you belong to me, I need to know about you,” I began. “Tell me about your history.”
“Not much to tell,” he began, meaning that there was not much he was willing to tell me. “My father was a Greek merchant who lived in Massalia. My mother was a Gaul, a Boian woman from the north, so I learned both their languages as a child. I went with my father on trading expeditions up the river valleys all the way to the Northern Sea.” He said all this as if he were speaking of someone else, giving no indication whether it had been a happy time for him.
“I suppose I was about sixteen when we were captured by a party of German raiders. Ordinarily, Greek traders can pass through territory fought over by warring tribes in perfect safety. The Gauls never molest them. They value the foreign trade too highly. But these were Germans who had just come across the river and we were just more foreigners as far as they were concerned. They got into the wine we’d been trading and before long they were putting the men to death and having fun with the women slaves we’d bought. The next morning we were marched back toward Germany. My father was dead by that time, which was a great relief to him.”
“Why did they spare you?” I asked him.
“Later on, when I learned their language, I found out that they thought I resembled a forest sprite of theirs; a mischievous creature that lives beneath the roots of trees and plays tricks on people. They thought it might be bad luck to kill me, so they made me their slave. At first they used me for hard labor, but I proved I could be more valuable to them as an interpreter.”
“Why?” I asked. “There are German tribes that have lived next to Gauls for centuries. There should be no shortage of Germans fluent in both tongues. And they must have plenty of Gallic slaves.”
“Very true,” he nodded, “but these were a tribe from the deep forest, and they had little trust of the river-dwelling tribes, and none at all for Gauls, slave or free.”
“What made you different?”
“I was Greek, or at least half-Greek, and therefore exotic. I wasn’t connected to any of the local tribes, so I wasn’t likely to betray them out of tribal loyalty.”
“So how did Vinius acquire you?”
“My mas-that is to say, my former master was among the envoys sent by Rome two years ago to treat with King Ariovistus. He met with them on the east bank of the Rhine, in order to keep up the fiction that he was not maintaining a presence in Gaul proper.”
“These Germans may not be as politically unsophisticated as we often think,” I mused.
“They have little liking for subtlety,” Molon said, “but they are adept at just about everything that helps to expand their power. They like to fight, but they would rather intimidate than fight, and they are quite willing to negotiate until they are strong enough to attack.”