“Why did Caesar need him to confer with these Gauls?”
“I don’t know. I was only there for a few minutes before I had to go to the camp of the auxilia to inspect the newly arrived cavalry. In any case, Caesar just told them to come back for court in two days. He didn’t tell them that he’d be gone. He just wanted to fob it all off on me. In some ways he is as lazy as he ever was.”
“You didn’t see Vinius after that?”
“No. He probably retired to his tent with his German woman.” He looked at me sharply, reminded of the grudge he and all the other officers had against me. “How did you rate her, anyway? If Caesar didn’t want her, he should have given her to me. I’m his legatus.”
“I have powerful friends in the Senate.”
“Hm. He probably owes you money. Caesar is supposed to have cleared his debts at last but I don’t believe it. They were just too enormous. Oh well, back to work.” He set his cup on the table, next to the gold-laden box. “Take my advice, Metellus: Let those men be executed. It will be the best thing all around.”
“Not until I’m satisfied they’re guilty.”
“It’s your career.” He stooped and went back outside.
I carefully stowed the documents back in the chest and locked it. Then I hung the key on a thong around my neck. Then I sat and stared at the chest for a while. I longed to take it to my tent, but I could not afford to draw attention to it. I certainly couldn’t carry it about with me. I entertained wild visions of sneaking out of the camp under cover of darkness and burying it someplace, to return later to dig it up. I pushed aside this childish fantasy and decided that the praetorium was the best place for it. It was well guarded and I had already ordered Vinius’s belongings transferred there.
How safe was it? For one thing, it wasn’t safe from me. Never had such temptation been thrown my way. I was getting the bitter feeling that I could be just as corrupt as all those Senators I so despised. Maybe their opportunities had just come along earlier. Then I thought of Burrus and the rest of his contubernium. Might I have given in had the lives of men I believed to be innocent not depended upon me? I still do not like to think about it.
But what of the others? There was a strong likelihood that Paterculus, the Prefect of the Camp, was involved in these unsavory doings. Did he know about the chest? If so, what could I do about it? Damned little. In fact, if any of these military savages wanted that box, I would be well advised to let them have it, unless I wanted to end up facedown in a pool myself.
And what of Caesar? Oddly, for one of the very rare occasions in all the years that I knew him, I did not seriously suspect him of culpability. For one thing, he had taken charge of the Tenth only about two months previously, while Vinius’ suspicious transactions went back at least a year. It was possible that Vinius had cut Caesar in on whatever he had going on, but I doubted that as well. If Caesar had something to hide he certainly would not have assigned me to investigate, knowing as he did my enthusiasm for snooping into things.
In the end I hauled the incredibly valuable box outside and stowed it with Vinius’ other belongings, under the cover Molon had spread over them. Either it would be safe or it would not, and in either case I intended to stay alive and unhurt. The temptation still rankled, though. The sudden wash of greed had left me feeling unclean. I almost envied men like Crassus, who could make a whole career out of raw greed and feel perfectly wonderful about it. That was his public face, anyway. For all I knew, he woke screaming in the middle of the night with dream-Furies chasing him, like any other man with a guilty conscience.
In the midst of these unsettling thoughts I walked out through the opening in the praetorium rampart and collided with a white-robed man who was passing by outside. I started to stammer apologies and realized that he was the youngest of the three Druids I had seen when the Gallic and German envoys had called on Caesar. I switched from Latin to Greek, which I thought he might understand.
“Your pardon, sir. My thoughts were elsewhere.”
He raised a hand to his breast and swept his staff to one side in a graceful gesture. “The fault was mine,” he said in heavily accented but very passable Greek. “I was admiring the standards and failed to watch where I was going.” He nodded toward where the eagle and the lesser standards stood in gleaming splendor, guarded by men draped in lion skins, near the pit where the provisionally condemned men waited for me to save them.
“I am Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger,” I informed him, extending my hand. He took it awkwardly, like one unused to the gesture. His hand was as soft as a patrician woman’s. Clearly, these Druids had made an easy life for themselves.
“Caecilius Metellus? Is that not one of the great Roman families?”
“We are not without distinction,” I affirmed, preening.
“I am Badraig, acolyte of the Singing Druids.”
“You came here for the court?” I inquired.
“Yes. We had expected Caesar to be here.” He looked annoyed at this. Apparently, Labienus had been correct about Caesar’s ruse.
“Caius Julius can be unpredictable,” I commiserated.
“I had thought he held us in higher esteem. Several times during the negotiations he has entertained us separately, and we have informed him of our religion and customs and practices.” Clearly, he didn’t realize that Caesar was gathering propaganda to use against them.
“Don’t be upset. In the Proconsul’s absence his legatus wields full authority. His every decision will be backed up by the Senate. If you don’t mind my asking, what business do you Druids have before the court?”
“There are several border disputes to be settled here, and these require our presence.”
“I am not well informed about your customs, but it was my impression that Druids owned no land.” He fell in beside me as I strolled toward my tent. I had no objection to such interesting and unusual company and he certainly led my thoughts away from that troublesome box.
“Nor do we, although we have charge of holy places. But by ancient custom Druids must be present before any decision can be taken concerning boundary disputes. In the days before the Roman presence in the land you call the Province, the decision would have lain with us.” I detected more than a hint of resentment in this.
“Well, that much less to trouble you, then. Ah, here we are. This is my tent. Will you join me for some refreshment?”
“You do me honor,” he said, with another graceful gesture. Whatever the rest of the Gauls were like, at least the Druids were well-bred.
“Molon! A chair for my guest.”
Molon came out of the tent and gaped in astonishment at my guest. “Right away, sir,” he said, and scurried off to borrow one from another tent. He was back in moments, and then he and Freda proceeded to serve lunch. She regarded the young priest with the same cool disdain she seemed to hold for the entire male sex. As Lovernius had hinted, the Germans had little awe of the Druids or their sacred sites.
“We’re low on wine,” she announced.
“Can’t have that, now, can we?” I reached into my pouch and handed her a few coins, wincing at the expenditure. No more worries about money if I can just get back to Rome with that box, I thought. I pushed the evil thought aside, knowing that it would return all too soon. “Run along to the camp forum,” I bade Freda. “Doubtless a wine merchant has set up. A trial crowd is always a thirsty crowd.”
Without comment, she turned and walked away. Badraig did not follow her with his eyes. These Druids were an unworldly lot, I thought.
Molon had come up with a passable hare, but Badraig passed it up in favor of fruit and bread. Likewise he declined to accept any wine, drinking water instead. More for me, I thought.